The Shadow - The Shadow's Justice Part 6

Listening outside the window, The Shadow had heard Farland Tracy's statement that the two letters-one to Carter, the other to Drew-were couched in similar phraseology. Hence, when The Shadow had quickly a.s.sembled the fragments of the torn letter, he possessed a practical replica of the epistle which Carter Boswick had so recently perused.

There, on the table, before the keen eyes of The Shadow, lay a note from uncle to nephew that carried the same theme-even to the dash of sentimental conclusion-that had appeared in the letter from father to son.

A soft laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips. To the black-clad being, this letter had a definite meaning. Where Farland Tracy had seen nothing more than a mere statement of existing wealth that lay hidden, The Shadow was picking out a definite clew.

The subtlety of old Houston Boswick was manifested in this letter. The Shadow's black finger rested upon one vital phrase: If you are a true nephew-as I feel sure you are-the thoughts of your dead uncle will prove a helpful guide.

That sentence was a key to the part of the letter that followed. With Drew Westling, as with Carter Boswick, the dead man had made a definite effort to guide the reader's thoughts!

Again, The Shadow laughed. Here, in this reclaimed letter that had never been delivered, he was finding the clew to Houston Boswick's secret!

CHAPTER IX. THE STOLEN CLEW.

DOWNSTAIRS, Carter Boswick was bidding Farland Tracy good night. The lawyer was standing at the open door. Headley, the attendant, was holding his coat. In the driveway outside, Tracy's car was warming with Holland, the chauffeur, beside it.

Beyond were bushes. Dark splotches above a blackened lawn, they seemed to shout out a warning of hidden eyes that watched the scene at the doorway. Men were lurking in that shrubbery, but there was no tangible evidence of their presence.

The door closed. The m.u.f.fled purr of Tracy's car sounded from the drive. Headley walked across thehall toward the back of the house. Carter noticed Drew Westling standing by the door of the dining room. His cousin was smoking the inevitable cigarette, in its accustomed holder.

Without comment, Carter turned back toward the stairs, which were just beyond Drew Westling's range of vision. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he did not ascend; instead, he went through a short hallway that led to the library.

This was an old room lined with many shelves of books. It was at the middle of one side of the house. It had one doorway entering from this hall, and at either end were curtained openings that led into adjacent rooms.

Carter softly closed the door behind him. He turned out a single lamp that rested on a table. Satisfied that he was free from observation, he began a prompt examination of the bookshelves.

For Carter Boswick, the moment that he had finished the second reading of his father's letter, had gained a sudden knowledge that he had kept entirely to himself. Inspired by the thought of a possible clew, he had said nothing to Farland Tracy.

It was evident that Houston Boswick had wanted his heir alone to learn of the place where wealth was hidden. The tone of the letter had given that indication. In reading, Carter had wondered at first how the information would be gained. Then, the reference to boyhood days had dropped like a bolt from a clear sky.

The very subject that Carter and Drew had discussed-those days when the two boys had played at duel with the elderly man watching them. That was a reference which only two persons could have understood with surety. Carter or Drew-either one as Houston Boswick's heir-might quickly catch the meaning. Carter believed that he had done so.

To picture past events-to go over the details of long-remembered scenes-to follow his father's track of memory-that was the duty imposed upon Carter Boswick. In the letter, now reposing in Carter's pocket, was the statement that memories were as important as wealth.

Perhaps there was a connection between the two!

A PAIR of dusty volumes reposed high upon a neglected shelf. They were both portions of the same work-"The Three Musketeers," by Alexandre Dumas. Carter reached up and brought down one of the volumes. He ran through the yellowed pages, skimming them with his thumb, until there was a sudden stop. With a smile of elation, Carter drew forth a thin manila envelope from between the pages.

He shook the book to make sure that this was all. Satisfied, he laid the volume on the table where the lamp rested close beside a hanging curtain.

With eager fingers, Carter tore open the envelope and drew forth a slip of yellow paper. It bore a brief notation: Lat. 46 18' N.

Long. 88 12' W.

Carter Boswick's mind was retentive. He read this location, in terms of lat.i.tude and longitude, and the exact position made a definite impression. Accustomed to long sea trips, Carter was used to speaking of places in such terms. He noted this as exactly as another person might have noted a telephone number.

Carter laid the paper and the envelope upon the closed book. He turned back to the shelf. Still runningthrough his brain was the statement he had just noted: Lat. 46 18' N.

Long. 88 12' W.

Carter repeated the words with silent lips as he drew down the other volume of "The Three Musketeers," and stepped back to whisk its pages.

The curtain moved beside the lamp. The slight, wavering tremble was not noticed by Carter Boswick, for the young man's mind was upon the second book which he held.

From the curtain came a slow, cautious hand. Its fingers spread beneath the soft glow of the light; they closed upon the paper and the envelope, and withdrew as quietly as they had come. Only the book remained. The direction sheet and its container were gone!

Carter was shaking the second volume. Nothing between its leaves. The one message was all that his father had left. It was enough. It marked a definite location. There, in all probability, would lie the beginning of a trail-perhaps the wealth itself.

Carter's musing ended abruptly. He was staring at the table where he had placed the first volume of Dumas. To his amazement, he noted that the paper and the envelope were gone!

Quickly, the young man began a futile search. He looked through the pages of the first volume. He found nothing. He frantically looked beneath the table; he shook the curtain. It required only a few minutes to convince him that the message was gone.

HAD the whole discovery been a product of his imagination? For a moment, Carter fancied so; but the constant running of the tabulated location still persisted in his mind.

Methodically, Carter drew his father's letter from his pocket. With a pencil, he wrote down the exact lat.i.tude and longitude.

Impelled by a new idea, he hastily replaced the two books upon the shelf. He opened the little door, came out through the entry, and walked across the hall. He reached the door of the dinning room. Drew Westling was seated at the table, still smoking. Cigarette stumps lay in the ash tray before him.

Drew looked up as he saw Carter enter, and smiled nervously. It seemed obvious that he was trying to keep his thoughts to himself. When he spoke, he adopted an affable tone that was a trifle forced.

"Thought I'd stay in here while you finished your meal," he explained to Carter. "Now that Tracy went away, I figured you would come back for dessert."

"Of course," said Carter calmly. "Very thoughtful of you, Drew."

Headley entered while Carter was eating. The attendant cleared away the remaining dishes and went stolidly about his duty. Very few words were exchanged between Carter and Drew. Each appeared quite engrossed in his own thoughts.

Carter's mind was still picturing the scene in the library. The young man wondered if Drew Westling chanced to be considering it also. Nothing could be gained by silence; moreover, it would be wise not to mention that particular subject. Finis.h.i.+ng his dessert, Carter opened a quiet but friendly conversation into which Drew entered with increasing vivacity.BACK in the quiet library, the curtain moved once again; this time in darkness, for Carter Boswick had extinguished the lamp. A tiny light glimmered, held by an unseen hand. It ran along the bookshelves and stopped at two volumes that were very slightly out of place.

A black-gloved hand removed the two volumes of "The Three Musketeers." The books were placed upon the table there, the flashlight glowed while fingers went through their pages.

A low, laugh-like whisper came from lips in the dark. The Shadow, following a clew that he had gained, had arrived after Carter Boswick had inspected these very books. A slight yielding of one volume at a certain spot indicated the place from which Carter had removed a message.

The books closed. The hands replaced them upon the shelf. The Shadow's light went out. The whisper died away in the darkness as an unseen form pa.s.sed from the library, reached the hall, and looked into the dining room, where Carter still chatted with his cousin.

The figure moved toward the rear of the house. Soon it was gone. It reappeared momentarily from the side porch, and crossed the driveway toward the bushes. There, The Shadow listened. There was no sound.

Vigilant watchers were no longer here. The Shadow had detected them upon their arrival; now he discovered that they had left.

Why?

The Shadow, even though he had arrived late in the library, sensed the explanation. The young Boswick, The Shadow knew, had found some message.

Had word of that finding been pa.s.sed to those outside? Would an attack be made tonight?

Possibly; although the sudden departure of the watchers made it unlikely.

There was another explanation.

Some one within the house could have learned what Carter Boswick had found; or could even have taken whatever the young man had discovered. These watchers could have left with important information.

The Shadow had waited long in the upstairs study, believing that Carter Boswick had either failed to discover the meaning of his father's letter, or would have waited to follow instructions later in the evening.

It was Carter's prompt actions that had blocked The Shadow's careful plan of previous inspection.

Much might have happened during that unantic.i.p.ated interim. But The Shadow, even when he encountered ill fortune, never faltered. This strange personage had a weird ability to turn all events to his advantage. Such would be his plan tonight.

The stealthy figure made no sound, nor did it show itself as it moved across the lawn. Darkness seemed to swallow The Shadow as he set forth.

It was not until later that another figure made its appearance within the confines of the Boswick estate. A young man, cautious, but by no means invisible, took up his vigil at a convenient spot some distance from the house.

Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had been summoned to keep watch and to report on Carter Boswick's actions. That would be his duty for the present. The Shadow, himself, had other work to do.Into the darkness he had gone; within darkness would he remain. From somewhere, unseen, he would plan his campaign of swift action. The Shadow, alone, could frustrate the designs of those who had gained the stolen clew!

CHAPTER X. CARTER TAKES A TRIP.

CARTER Boswick possessed an amazing faculty for walking into trouble. In Havana, aboard the Southern Star, he had deliberately stepped into difficulties. That same oddity was due to manifest itself again.

Had Carter Boswick failed to remember the lat.i.tude and longitude mentioned in the message he had found, he would no longer have been a factor in the grim game which Hub Rowley was playing. The Shadow, shrouded in darkness, knew well who was seeking the information which Carter had discovered.

Hence the course of The Shadow's investigation lay toward Hub Rowley. But The Shadow, wise in all procedure, had not neglected Carter Boswick as a possibility.

Nor had Hub Rowley.

When morning was well under way, the Boswick mansion was under surveillance from two directions, watched by men of opposing sides, neither of whom knew the others were on the job.

Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was lounging by the side of his coupe at a filling station across the highway from the Boswick home. Stacks Lodi, underling of Hub Rowley, was eating a belated breakfast in a little restaurant a few hundred yards farther down the road.

Meanwhile, within the big house, Carter Boswick was announcing plans. Those arrangements, from their very start, were destined to bring the young man back into the zone of action, making him a princ.i.p.al factor in the battle for wealth. For Carter, after a night of troubled sleep, had decided definitely to follow the lead that he had found in his father's message.

This meant that now, more than before, Carter Boswick would be slated for elimination by Hub Rowley.

It also meant that he would be of vital importance to The Shadow-as a short cut to the information which The Shadow now was seeking to obtain.

Without realizing it, Carter was making himself a p.a.w.n on the board that lay between two shrewd and relentless players.

Yet Carter felt that he was taking every precaution when he spoke to both Drew Westling and Headley, in the dining room where he and his cousin had just finished breakfast.

"I intend to establish my residence here," declared Carter. "Nevertheless it is essential that I follow business plans which I made before I left Montevideo. I represent a large South American importing house. My trip to New York was intended purely as a step toward a further business voyage to Europe.

"My original intention was to remain here a few weeks; then to go to Paris and Berlin. My father's death has caused me to change my plans. I must conclude the obligation which I owe to my a.s.sociates in Montevideo; then I shall be free entirely. The sooner I discharge my duty, the better.

"Therefore, I shall book pa.s.sage for Europe at once. I shall he back in New York within six weeks, and this will then become my permanent home. With Farland Tracy handling the affairs of the estate, there should be no obstacle in the arrangement. If you choose to remain here, Drew, you are welcome to do so-""Never mind about me," interrupted Drew Westling. "I'll stay here when you're here, Carter; but in the meantime, I'd as soon drop away for a while. I'll move into the club as soon as you leave."

"Which will be today," remarked Carter, in an offhand tone. "I plan to go by way of Montreal and the St.

Lawrence waterway. So I should like to start for Canada this evening."

"Suits me," returned Drew.

"As for you, Headley," stated Carter, "you can resume your old duties of caretaker. The house will be closed; you can stay wherever you choose."

"Very well, sir," said the solemn attendant.

"That settled everything, then," concluded Carter. "I have packed sufficient luggage. I shall start for the city at once. Call a cab, Headley."

WHEN Carter Boswick's taxi rolled forth from the driveway, it became a target for watching eyes. Harry Vincent, nonchalantly stepping into his coupe, took up immediate pursuit. Stacks Lodi hurried from the restaurant and entered a sedan which had Scully at the wheel.

The flow of traffic along the highway, the fact that the road led directly into Manhattan-these were the factors that prevented either of the trailers from noticing the presence of the other.

When the course finally ended on an uptown street in New York, and Carter Boswick left the cab and entered a towering skysc.r.a.per, it was obvious that the young man intended to visit some office in the building.

Both of the pursuers worked similarly. Harry parked his coupe across the street, and watched the door of the building. Stacks dropped from the sedan and lounged at a convenient post, while Scully managed to find a stopping point for the sedan, about half a block away.

Carter Boswick's business was brief. He told Farland Tracy exactly the same story that he had given Drew Westling and Headley. The lawyer agreed that the European trip should best be handled at once, so as to a.s.sure a return at the earliest opportunity.

He expressed only one doubt; namely, the possibility of Carter receiving some communication from a source not known.

"Remember," he said sagely, "you may have an immense fortune almost within your grasp. It might be advisable to remain at the old home."

"I thought of that," returned Carter abruptly. "Nevertheless, I feel confident that my father planned well.

No, Mr. Tracy, there is really no possibility of my failing to receive the information which belongs to me."

"You speak with a.s.surance," said Tracy. "If you feel that way about it, I can see no objections to your voyage. Have a good trip, Carter, and do not worry. I shall attend to all affairs of the estate, and be ready with an exact report when you return."

Coming from the building, Carter Boswick took a cab and went directly to the Grand Central Station.

There, at the information booth, he drew a large map from his pocket and, after partially unfolding it, consulted certain notations which he had made on the back of it.

Carter had found this map before leaving the house; it was one of many old guides and charts that had belonged to his father's library.Pocketing the map, Carter made inquiries regarding Western railroad lines running northwest from Chicago. He did not ask a single question concerning trains to Montreal. He named certain towns in the State of Wisconsin. The man at the booth consulted a huge railroad guide.

WHILE this was going on, other persons began to form in line. Half a dozen men were behind the rotunda counter, but all were busy. Carter paid no attention to the people close by, hence he did not realize that two men were overhearing his plans.

One was Harry Vincent. The Shadow's agent, a young man of athletic appearance, might well have been a chance traveler seeking routine information for a trip.

The other was Stacks Lodi.

But Carter would not have recognized Hub Rowley's underling, even though the man had been a pa.s.senger aboard the Southern Star. Stacks had shaved away his darkened, waxed mustache. The smooth upper lip gave him an entirely different appearance.