Fingers of Death

CHAPTER VI. HARRY ACTS

IT was the next afternoon when Harry Vincent learned of the death of Maurice Pettigrew. The news created a sensation in Holmsford. It burst forth in the single evening newspaper, and was shouted out by the newsboys on the street.

Entering the Elite Hotel, Harry heard the call. That morning, Harry had begun a cautious investigation of Hurley Adams; now his thoughts turned instantly to Maurice Pettigrew. Scanning the front page of the journal, Harry absorbed the details that told the reading public of the finding of Pettigrew’s body.

The police had worked swiftly — so rapidly, in fact, that the newspaper was filled with a complete report.

Maurice Pettigrew had last been seen alive at midnight, when he had returned home with some friends.

These people, who had left in a group, had been interviewed. They agreed that Pettigrew had seemed eccentric, if not actually despondent.

A woman had come to clean the house just before noon. She had a key, and when she entered she had found the architect’s body in the study.

The case looked like suicide. Julius Selwick, retired business man and newly appointed safety director of Holmsford, had been there in person.

Death was due to poison, the safety director had declared. This poison, contained in a small vial, had been poured into a glass of cordial which Pettigrew had imbibed.

In a medicine chest, police had discovered other vials with the same poison. The inference seemed obvious. Maurice Pettigrew, after his conversation with his friends, had chosen this form of suicide.

Harry Vincent was thoughtful. He could see no connection between this death and that of Josiah Bartram, except that the two men — Bartram and Pettigrew — had once been associated. Nevertheless, Harry had been expecting the unexpected. His long service with The Shadow had trained him to observe such coincidences as these.

Suicide was the newspaper intimation. The evidence pointed strongly in that direction. All of Pettigrew’s visitors were sure that the architect had been alone. The front door had been found latched as Pettigrew had closed it on his guests.

A murderer — none was even suggested — could hardly have done such a deed. Furthermore, the items of evidence, the glass and the vials, were so obviously indicative of suicide.

Harry Vincent, himself, could hardly see murder in the case. It was another thought that dominated him — that of death alone.

Why had Maurice Pettigrew died?

To Harry, that question was all important. Through it, he could see a connection between the deaths of Pettigrew and Bartram.

WITH this thought, Harry acted on a hunch. He recalled that Willard Saybrook had shown an intensive interest in the death of Josiah Bartram. In fact, Saybrook had brought up that subject of his own volition.

Would Saybrook begin to talk about Maurice Pettigrew also?

Acting on his hunch, Harry headed toward Saybrook’s office. He reached the place within ten minutes, and as he entered the building, he felt confident that he was on a good trail. Saybrook, by this time, might also have heard of Pettigrew’s sudden death.

When he reached Saybrook’s outer office, Harry found it empty. The door to the inner office was ajar; and Harry could hear Saybrook talking to the stenographer.

“No call from Mr. Adams?” It was obvious from Saybrook’s tone that he had just come in. “Hm-m-m. I should have heard from him by now. I called his office while I was out at lunch. I left word for him to call here as soon as he came in. All right. Call his office if you do not hear from him within half an hour.”

The stenographer came out and saw Harry. She went back into Saybrook’s office to announce the visitor. Harry was ushered in, and Saybrook made him welcome. The tile man immediately began to discuss building construction. It was obvious to Harry that he wanted to avoid other subjects.

Harry played in with the policy. He noted that the newspapers of two days ago had been cleared from Saybrook’s desk, but that a copy of the Holmsford evening paper was at hand. From this, Harry knew that Willard Saybrook was cognizant of the death of Maurice Pettigrew.

There was worriment in Saybrook’s face, and Harry felt that he had come here on a good hunch.

Nevertheless, he did not want to bring up the matter of the architect’s death unless Saybrook commenced it. The situation was approaching a dilemma until a break occurred which worked in Harry’s favor.

The telephone rang on Saybrook’s desk. The young man eagerly seized the receiver, and Harry observed the gleam of excitement that appeared on his face. It was evident that Saybrook recognized the voice at the other end.

“Yes… Yes…” Saybrook was momentarily unrestrained. “Yes, Mr. Adams. I called your office… I wanted to ask you about” — Saybrook paused, and his eyes shot toward Harry — “er — the matter which we were discussing the other day. Do you think that — er — anything has occurred that might have a bearing on it?”

Harry could see Saybrook blink nervously. The receiver was clicking harshly as a voice came over the wire; but Harry could not distinguish the words.

“Yes” — Saybrook was talking again — “I — er — I cannot discuss matters at present, but it struck me very forcibly that there might be some connection… Yes, I think that I should see you… To-morrow, at your office… No?… Oh, I understand… Yes… Yes. At your home early to-morrow evening… Yes, I’ll be there.”

When Saybrook hung up the receiver, Harry Vincent, apparently unconcerned about the disjointed conversation, had picked up the evening newspaper, and was glancing idly at the front page. As Saybrook again turned his attention to his visitor, Harry chanced a remark.

“That’s a strange suicide!” he exclaimed. “Who is this man, Maurice Pettigrew?”

Saybrook took the newspaper with feigned indifference. His effort to appear composed seemed obvious to Harry.

“Maurice Pettigrew?” he asked. “Oh, yes. I noted that he had died. He was a fairly prominent architect here in town. Too bad that he is gone.”

This attempt to treat the architect’s death lightly was, to Harry Vincent, full proof that Willard Saybrook was concerned about Pettigrew’s supposed suicide. Corroborating Harry’s opinion, Saybrook nervously made a further tactical error by trying to explain his telephone conversation in an indifferent manner.

“I was just talking to Hurley Adams,” he said. “He’s the lawyer who handles Josiah Bartram’s estate. Lots of details in such matters. Women don’t understand them. Grace has been asking me to talk with Adams. He’s hard to get hold of. Appears to be very busy.

“By Jove!” Saybrook slapped the newspaper as though a thought had struck him. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if old Adams had been counselor for Maurice Pettigrew. He talked as though he had been very busy to-day. Said he would be tied up to-morrow.

“Well, lawyers have a great business when they get older. That’s when their clients begin to die and leave estates for them to settle.”

THE subject changed, and Harry Vincent soon found an opportunity to leave Willard Saybrook’s office.

The Shadow’s agent congratulated himself as he went back toward his hotel. Harry was sure that Saybrook wanted to confer with Hurley Adams regarding the death of Maurice Pettigrew.

Why?

That was a mystery; but it made Harry’s course obvious. The Shadow must be notified at once.

Harry could sense a purpose in Saybrook’s remarks after the telephone conversation. Anxious to talk with Adams, Saybrook had spoken quickly. He had feared — afterward — that he had given Harry some inkling to connect Adams and Pettigrew. Without a doubt, the lawyer was attorney for the dead architect. Saybrook, trying to cover up, had thought it best to mention that fact.

To-morrow night! There would be a meeting then between Hurley Adams and Willard Saybrook. It was scheduled to take place in the lawyer’s home.

Between now and to-morrow night, Harry must be both cautious and watchful. An idle cruise in his coupe would enable him to keep tabs on the Bartram home — to make sure that Willard Saybrook remained there this evening.

But to-morrow night!

That was the real problem. It was beyond Harry Vincent’s handling. Here as an advance investigator, it was Harry’s duty to report the first mysterious developments. In his room at the Elite Hotel, Harry worded a telegram to Rutledge Mann.

Purchase bonds as arranged and notify me before to-morrow night.

This telegram would reach Mann before he left his office. Its meaning was important. It meant that something serious had occurred in Holmsford; that the crucial time would be the next evening. This message, Harry knew, would go quickly through to The Shadow.

HARRY VINCENT was right. Shortly before five o’clock, a telegraph messenger entered Rutledge Mann’s suite of offices, in the Badger Building, near Times Square. He gave the telegram to the stenographer, who took it into Mann’s private office.

Rutledge Mann, a solemn, chubby-faced individual, opened the telegram and read it in methodical fashion. He picked up a desk telephone and called a number. A quiet voice responded:

“Burbank speaking.”

Burbank was The Shadow’s hidden operative. Stationed at a certain spot, he received telephone messages at any hour, both from The Shadow and The Shadow’s agents. Burbank changed his location frequently. Always, however, he was within immediate reach.

Mann read the telegram over the phone. A click sounded at the other end. Twenty minutes later, Mann, waiting expectantly, heard the telephone bell ring. It was Burbank, calling back.

The quiet-voiced man gave Rutledge Mann the wording for a telegram to send to Harry Vincent. The investment broker wrote out the message. He transferred it to a telegraph blank and called the stenographer.

While Harry Vincent was dining in the Elite Hotel, a bell boy entered, carrying a telegram. Harry opened the message. It read:

Harry Vincent thrust the telegram into his pocket. Finishing his meal, he went out to the street and entered his coupe. He drove in the direction of the Bartram mansion, and cruised past the place. Parking in an obscure spot, Harry alighted from the car and cautiously entered the grounds.

His objective was a lighted window on the first floor. Peering from an angle, Harry caught a glimpse of Willard Saybrook, seated in a chair in the living room. That was all that Harry needed to know. He was sure that Saybrook was not abroad tonight. A later check would be necessary; but in the meantime, Harry had other details to handle.

Driving back to the hotel, Harry went to his room and wrote out a complete report of the data which he had gathered during the day. He inscribed this in code, using his special ink. He folded the message and placed it in an envelope, which he placed upon a sheet of paper in the writing-table drawer.

Again Harry went out and drove slowly through the streets of Holmsford. Parking near the Bartram house, he sought the spot from which he had observed Willard Saybrook in the living room.

His new observation was as successful as the first. Saybrook was seated in the same chair. He was talking to some one, and as Harry watched, he caught a glimpse of a girl passing across the room. This was evidently Grace Bartram.

Harry returned to his car, and began another slow cruise, keeping always in the neighborhood of the mansion to make sure that Saybrook did not leave the place.

Shortly before eleven o’clock, the lights were extinguished. Fifteen minutes later, Harry, parked down the street, decided that his vigil was no longer necessary.

Before he could start the motor, Harry heard a thrumming sound. Peering from the window of the coupe, he saw the lights of an airplane moving above. Evidently the ship was descending toward the Holmsford airport.

IN driving back to the hotel, Harry took a circuitous route to pass the houses of both Hurley Adams and dead Maurice Pettigrew. Each place was dark.

When he drove his car into the garage, Harry began to think again of the descending plane. It was not unusual for a ship to land at Holmsford at night. But this plane, to Harry, had a peculiar significance.

Holmsford was only a few hours from New York, by air. The plane had come from that direction!

Could The Shadow have come from New York? Harry thought it likely. If such were the case, The Shadow might be at the Elite Hotel now. Harry conjectured on the possibility as he walked through the lobby.

Reaching the floor where his room was located, Harry walked down the corridor and made a sharp turn that brought him to his room. With key in hand, he stopped point-blank before the closed door.

In a twinkling, Harry had seen something which caught his attention. He was positive that he had detected a slight motion of the doorknob, as though some one had turned it from the inside. Was his imagination working? Or had some one entered that room a moment before?

Harry hesitated. To his mind came instructions which had been given him before he left New York for Holmsford.

A telegram such as he had received tonight carried one definite meaning. It signified that Harry should deposit his report in the drawer of the writing table in his hotel room, instead of forwarding it to New York. Harry had followed those instructions. There were no other conditions.

If The Shadow, himself, had planned to come for that report, he might be in Harry’s room at this very moment!

Knowing the secretive methods of his mysterious employer, Harry was reluctant to surprise The Shadow at work. Nevertheless, there was a possibility that some one else might have entered the room. Fearing this Harry boldly opened the door and turned on the light.

To all appearances, the room was empty. It was a large, old-fashioned room, and the single light left many obscure spots and corners as Harry glanced about him. Harry was now convinced that his imagination had been at work. To make sure that all was well, he opened the table drawer and saw that his envelope still lay there as he had left it.

With a slight laugh at his own imaginative wanderings, Harry walked across the room and lighted a cigarette. He stared for a few moments through the window, and went back to the writing desk.

A tiny click attracted his attention: Harry swung quickly toward the door. The knob was turning again — but this time it must have been actuated from some one outside!

THERE was something in the motion of the knob that brought a quick thought to Harry’s mind. It seemed as though the person beyond the barrier must have turned it with the deliberate intention of arousing Harry. It seemed like a signal of departure.

Momentarily alarmed, Harry sprang to the door and opened it. There was no one in the corridor. Peering past the turn, Harry saw that the hallway was empty beyond.

Back in his room, Harry closed the door and nervously puffed his cigarette. His mind reverted to the envelope. Harry opened the table drawer.

The envelope was gone!

In amazement, Harry lifted the piece of paper that he had been instructed to put beneath the envelope.

As the paper came into the light, Harry saw something that made him gasp.

Indelibly impressed upon the white paper was a grayish blotch that formed a strange silhouette. It made the profile of a man with features obscured by a projecting hat brim and an upturned cloak collar. As Harry stared at this mysterious sign, the gray silhouette vanished in the light.

The Shadow!

He had entered the room — as Harry had first supposed. The opening of the door, when Harry had come in, had caused The Shadow to glide out of sight, in some obscure portion of the room. Unseen eyes had watched Harry as he walked about the room. The Shadow had known that Harry had seen the turning knob.

Mysterious always, The Shadow had not appeared, even to his trusted agent. He had seen Harry look to see that the envelope was safe. As Harry’s eyes had turned in another direction, The Shadow, moving silently and swiftly, had taken the envelope from its resting place.

He had left that strange mark upon the paper; he had gone noiselessly from the room; he had finally clicked the doorknob so that Harry would again be aroused from reverie.

Thus had The Shadow, unseen, gained the information that Harry Vincent had left for him, and made it plain to his agent that he — The Shadow — had come to Holmsford.

From now on, Harry knew, his work would be that of a subordinate. There would be orders that he must obey; but the work of investigating mystery lay in The Shadow’s hands.

To-morrow night! The meeting between Willard Saybrook and Hurley Adams! The Shadow knew about it now — and The Shadow would be there!