The Eyes of the Shadow s-2

by Maxwell Grant

  Then came a sensation of warmth and dryness. He opened his eyes and stared with surprise at his surroundings. He was seated in a chair, in the downstairs room of the cottage. He was wrapped in a blanket. His outer garments were hanging over the wire screen before a blazing fire.

  Bruce felt weak and tired. He rose wearily and went to the window. Raising the shade, he saw that the first touches of dawn were appearing in the sky.

  Bruce picked up his shirt from the screen. It was nearly dry now - dry, but covered with caked dirt.

  Gathering his garments, he went upstairs. He was in his stocking feet, and he made no noise as he passed the closed doors and reached the bed in his own room.

  As sleep came upon him, Bruce Duncan's mind was filled with confused thoughts of his adventure. But one dominating impression filled his mind. The identity of his rescuer came with startling suddenness.

  He had been drawn from his tomb by The Shadow!

  CHAPTER XXXIII. LAMONT CRANSTON RETURNS

  AT nine o'clock, Wednesday morning, Richards was awakened by the ringing of a bell in the kitchen.

  The valet had spent a sleepless night, wondering what had become of his master. He was dozing when the bell rang, and he leaped from his chair when he heard it.

  "Mr. Cranston is ringing!" he exclaimed. Then, realizing that the millionaire was missing, he added: "Some one must be in his room."

  He hurried upstairs and stood in amazement at the door of Cranston's room. The millionaire was lying in bed, with his head propped wearily against the pillows.

  "Mr. Cranston, sir!" exclaimed the astonished valet.

  "Yes," was the reproving reply. "What kind of care have you been giving me, Richards?"

  "What - what, sir?" stammered the valet. "Where have you been, sir?"

  "A short while ago I found myself in the wireless room upstairs. I was dressed, and I felt very tired. So I came down and went to bed."

  "So you were up there!" exclaimed Richards. "We wondered where you had gone, sir. Did you go up there yesterday afternoon?"

  "Yesterday afternoon, Richards? I don't recall it. I imagined that I had been there only a short while."

  "You were missing from your room, sir, and we could not find you."

  "Did you look upstairs?" The millionaire asked the question wearily.

  "We tried the door, sir, but it was locked. Your key was downstairs, so we didn't suppose you could be there, sir."

  "Burbank must have left his key in the lock. I recall going in the room - I'm not exactly sure of the time I entered - and it seems to me the key was in the door."

  The valet hurried to the phone and called Doctor Wells. Richards reported the return of Lamont Cranston, and the doctor hurried over immediately. He listened to Richards's story and decided that Cranston must have become delirious during the previous afternoon.

  "That wireless room was preying on your mind," the physician said to the millionaire. "You must have gone upstairs and fallen asleep. I can't understand how you managed to get that far. Oddly, your condition seems to be improved despite the exertion."

  "Perhaps I am capable of greater exertion than climbing stairs," said Cranston with a slight smile.

  "Possibly," replied the physician. "I believe now that your condition was somewhat better than I supposed."

  "Mr. Fellows has arrived," announced Richards.

  "Hello, Fellows," said Lamont Cranston as the chubby-faced insurance man appeared. "What brings you here?"

  "Richards called me at the office. I was there before eight o'clock to-day. He said you were missing."

  "I appear to have been in the wireless room upstairs."

  "I thought Burbank was attending to that."

  "He went away yesterday."

  "Mr. Cranston's interest in Burbank's work appeared to be taxing his strength," explained Doctor Wells.

  "When I mentioned that fact, we agreed that Burbank should go."

  "I can't keep my mind off the sending station," said Cranston. "Perhaps you had better let me go up there today."

  "No, no," exclaimed the physician.

  "Then we'll have to send for Burbank."

  "Very well. I suppose that would be best under the existing circumstances."

  FELLOWS undertook to call the wireless operator by telephone. When he had completed his mission, he had received Burbank's promise to come immediately.

  "I am glad you are here, Fellows," said Cranston. "There is something I wish you would do for me. I am anxious to learn what has become of a friend of mine - an Englishman whom I met last year at Palm Beach. His name is Hubert Weston. He was an officer in the British army during the war - a major, I believe. I have intended to write Weston, but have lost his address. You have many unusual connections in New York. Perhaps you could find out something about him."

  "I might be able to do that," said Fellows thoughtfully. "Do you merely want his address?"

  "It would be better if I could obtain additional information - other facts - a picture of him would be excellent. I want to be quite sure that I am writing to the right man - not to some one of the same name."

  "I'll do what I can," promised the insurance broker. "Perhaps I can learn something about Weston through the British consulate. You will hear from me as soon as possible."

  The matter had been discussed in an indifferent manner; there seemed no further topic of conversation.

  Fellows went back to New York. Doctor Wells also left after deciding that his patient could sit up in a chair by the window.

  "Wonderful improvement," he had said. "Your visit to your wireless room seems to have done you good.

  Don't overdo yourself. I may have you completely well within a week."

  When Burbank arrived, he was sent to Cranston's room. The millionaire gave the wireless operator a code message which he had written.

  "Send this quickly," he said. "I answered a call this morning. Told them to wait for two hours. This will explain a lot of questions that will be asked. Bring me the reply."

  Burbank made occasional visits to Cranston's room during the course of the afternoon. At five o'clock a messenger arrived with a large envelope from Fellows. The packet was brought to the millionaire's room.

  The Shadow smiled with satisfaction as he drew out several pages of data along with the photograph of a man in the uniform of a British officer.

  "Very quick work," he said musingly. "Now to get Weston to look into the box. That will be easy."

  He took pencil and paper and wrote a careful message in longhand:

  The box which was installed last night is an improved device to aid transmission. We are ready to test it.

  Open the front of the box, press the button on the side, and look in. You will see intermittent lights. Make sure that they change regularly.

  When you use the key, have some one else look in the box while you are operating, to make sure that the lights are regular. Since Duncan is asleep, you may intrust that simple duty to Major Weston. Your previous messages have been difficult to receive because of static. The new device, if it functions correctly, will over come that difficulty. Explain the matter to Major Weston.

  The Shadow rapidly translated the writing into code. He rang the bell for Richards and dispatched the valet to the wireless room with the message.

  Five minutes later the door of Lamont Cranston's room opened softly. Richards was standing in the hall, but he heard nothing. He did not even see the form that slipped silently up the stairs to the sending station in the tower - a form attired in a dark dressing gown.

  Burbank was seated at a table on which stood a small screen. The room was dark. The wireless operator looked up as some one touched his shoulder. It was Lamont Cranston.

  "In a minute," said Burbank quietly.

  A slight buzzing began. The small white screen was illuminated. The face of Harry Vincent appeared there, flickering like a motion picture.

  The face disappeared; another took its place. It was the face of a squar
e-jawed man - a man with a short mustache and close-cropped hair.

  Lamont Cranston focused a small light on a picture which he held in his hand. He compared it with the image on the screen while Burbank looked on with interest.

  "Identical," whispered the millionaire.

  "Excellent television," replied Burbank.

  The Shadow's fingers sought the sending key. They tapped a slow message.

  "I am sending an O.K. to Vincent. Do not make any more complaints about static, Burbank. Let them think that it has been eliminated by the new device. I am greatly pleased by the clearness of the images.

  The television apparatus has proven quite satisfactory. We may have occasion to utilize it further, Burbank."

  The image of Major Hubert Weston had disappeared. Burbank turned off the light, and the little screen was dark.

  When Richards entered his master's room a short time later he found Lamont Cranston sound asleep in his chair by the window.

  CHAPTER XXXIV. TWO MEN TALK

  MAJOR WESTON sat in front of the open fireplace, watching the sparks fly upward as he puffed at a massive meerschaum pipe. He turned suddenly as the door opened. Harry Vincent entered.

  "Ah!" said the major. "I was just wondering when you would return. How is Bruce Duncan?"

  "He seemed better after I got him home. The Hindu servant was waiting there and took charge of him. I think he will improve quickly. It was impossible to keep him here."

  "I agree with you. This place is too near the scene of his terrible adventure. We have enough trouble ahead of us without the added responsibility of a sick man."

  "I was wise to take him home to-day. To-morrow will be Sunday - heavy traffic on the road. I don't like those once-a-week drivers," said Harry.

  "You were away fourteen hours. You left at seven in the morning; it's only a few minutes past nine now."

  Harry Vincent picked up the ear phones and listened a while. Then he tapped a brief message.

  "Reporting my return," Harry explained to Weston. Then:

  "Well," he said, "we have our instructions. Nothing to do until Tuesday. Then intercept the sixth man - if possible. I hope we have the same luck that Duncan and I ran into when we discovered you."

  "By the way," said the Englishman, "you said that you expected to pick up special instructions in New York. Did you receive them?"

  "That's right!" exclaimed Harry. "An envelope was waiting for me at Duncan's house. Abdul gave it to me. Here it is."

  Harry read the letter carefully, then tossed the paper into the fire. The Englishman noted that it turned over as it fell, but he did not observe writing on either side. The fact struck him as curious, yet he made no comment.

  "Important instructions," said Harry. "First, no more wireless messages are necessary until Tuesday. We must be careful in our actions. We are to use our own judgment in finding the sixth man."

  "Good," remarked the Englishman approvingly.

  "If we find the man," resumed Harry, "I shall report immediately. But we must not, under any circumstances, tell him of Bruce Duncan's miraculous escape."

  "Why not?"

  "It sounds too incredible. Our story is simply this: Duncan and I met you by chance and explained matters. We decided not to visit the meeting place at the time appointed. Duncan, acting independently, disappeared. We do not know where he is. We cannot understand it.

  "We are afraid that he visited the ruins at midnight, yet we can scarcely believe that he could have been so foolhardy as to have gone alone. We are acting cautiously; hence we have not investigated. We know that danger lurks, and we are waiting for the crucial time before we take a single step. That time will be Wednesday - the day originally set for the authentic meeting."

  "Very well," agreed the Englishman. "I must confess that I would not have believed Duncan's story under ordinary circumstances. The idea seems to me to be the correct one. Let us set our minds to it; in all our conversation, we must speak of Duncan as one who has disappeared."

  BOTH men considered the matter mentally, and their thoughts concurred. After all, Bruce Duncan had actually disappeared. Their story was one of fact. The theory that Duncan might have gone, prepared for danger, to the meeting place was a correct deduction. To say that he had not returned would certainly be a curbing influence upon the sixth man. It would make him quite willing to abide by the wishes of Vincent and Weston, to follow any instructions that they might receive.

  "I wonder why Bruce Duncan does not return," remarked the Englishman casually as he lighted his pipe.

  Vincent smiled. The major was accustoming himself to the story already. Vincent opened the front door a trifle. The room was smoky from the fire.

  "What have you been doing all day?" he asked the Englishman.

  "I tramped down to the village," said Weston. "A long hike it was. I was there most of the day."

  "That was a mistake," observed Harry. "You might have been seen."

  "By whom? I told my name to no one. You and Duncan went to the village frequently, didn't you?"

  "Yes; but our case was different. We established a reason for being here. We even had Pennsylvania licenses on our car. You are here alone, with no reason for your presence. You are obviously a Britisher.

  The natives are apt to talk about you."

  "Right-o," said the Englishman. "I never considered it in that light. What shall I do? Stay around here?"

  "I guess that's the only thing to do. You might climb Rocky Summit to-morrow. That's the mountain from which Duncan and I observed the old ruined house."

  "Topping idea," declared Weston. "By the way, what do you suppose has become of our friend Duncan?"

  "I don't know," said Vincent, repressing a smile at the major's persistency in sticking to the trumped-up story.

  "What plan do you have concerning the sixth man?" questioned Major Weston. "Shall we watch the station or the bus?"

  "We'll go downtown in the afternoon," declared Harry. "He may come in on the early train, as you did. If we have no luck, you ride on the bus from the station. I'll take you downtown in time for the last trip.

  You will probably not be noticed that late at night. Try to open conversation with any passenger who seems likely to be the man. If he is on the bus, he will get off at Ridge Road. You can get off, too; I will be waiting there."

  "An excellent plan. Perhaps I can discover the chap and begin negotiations on the bus."

  "That's the very idea I was suggesting."

  HARRY rose and walked toward the door. Major Weston followed him. The two men stood on the porch, breathing the cool mountain air.

  "How do you like this district, Major Weston?" inquired Harry.

  "The place is delightful," replied the Englishman. "This has been an enjoyable week - but for our worries over Bruce Duncan - and I am glad to be here. Tomorrow I shall climb Rocky Summit. Will you accompany me?"

  "I had better stay here," replied Harry. "There's another reason why I am sorry you went to the village.

  One of us should be here all along, on account of the wireless."

  "I believe you are right. I should not have gone to the village. In fact, it was after dark when I started back. A man gave me a lift."

  "Who was he - a native?"

  "I don't believe so. I couldn't see his face in the dark. He talked as though he came from the city. He brought me along Mountain Pike as far as our road."

  "You didn't tell him where you were staying?" Vincent's voice seemed anxious.

  "No, indeed. I merely mentioned that I was stopping at a house near by."

  Harry Vincent became suddenly alert. He drew a flashlight from his pocket and turned a glare of light on the ground in front of the porch.

  "What is it?" asked Weston.

  "Thought I heard something out there," replied Harry. "I must have been mistaken. It sounded like a crackling twig."

  "Probably some small animal."

  "I suppose so. The woods are full of them."

  Harr
y pocketed the flashlight. Accompanied by Major Weston, he reentered the cottage. Harry closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER XXXV. THE SIXTH MAN

  A STRANGER alighted from the afternoon train at Culbertville. He was a dapper man of rather good appearance, his pointed mustache forming a thin black line beneath his aquiline nose. He glanced leisurely about him and looked with interest at the bus which was loading passengers for its trip across the mountains.

  He approached as though to speak to the bus driver. Then, apparently changing his mind, he sat on a bench of the station platform. Even when the bus got under way, he made no move.

  The stranger finished a cigarette, then strolled across the street and stopped to light another cigarette beside a parked coupe. Two men were seated in the automobile. The stranger noticed them as he raised his head.

  "Pardon me," he said with a pleasant smile. "Which direction do I go to find the road called Mountain Pike?"

  "Straight ahead," said the young man at the wheel of the car. "But if you are going up Mountain Pike you should have taken the bus."

  "I realize that," replied the stranger. "But I can take the bus on its next trip."

  "That isn't until late at night - half past eleven, to be exact."

  "I'm in no hurry," said the stranger with a shrug of his shoulders.

  "We are driving in that direction," said the man at the wheel. "You are quite welcome to go with us."

  The stranger hesitated.

  "You would be overcrowded," he said.

  "Certainly not," came the reply. "There's room for three of us. Come along if you wish."

  The stranger accepted the invitation. The man at the side of the driver shifted to the left to allow room.

  "My name is Vincent," said the man at the wheel, "and this gentleman is Major Weston."

  "Glad to meet you," said the stranger. "My name is Garrison Cooper."

  "How far along the pike are you going?"

  "I'm not quite sure. I expect to stop off at a road somewhere on the way. Let me think a moment - the name slips my mind."

  "Ridge Road?"

  "That's it. How did you happen to name it so quickly?"