Fingers of Death

CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW MOVES

A LONG silence followed after Hurley Adams had spoken those fateful words. Both the old man and his visitor sat motionless as though repressed by a pallor of gloom. Willard Saybrook’s head was bowed in thought. Hurley Adams, though unmoving, was studying the young man with keen, half-closed eyes that stared through narrow slits.

What was the meaning of that gaze? Did Hurley Adams regret that he had told so much? Was he considering other secret facts that he had not mentioned? Was he wondering whether or not to reveal the identities of the other men who had been involved in the great crime of years ago?

The lawyer’s look was cryptic; it seemed to take on a scheming air. It revealed the trait of the old man’s nature that had allowed him to enter into such a deal as that of twenty years ago.

Gradually, the look faded; the eyelids opened, and Hurley Adams was benign. The old man sensed that his secret would go no further; that by this long declaration he had fully gained Willard Saybrook’s confidence.

A slight smile came on the wan lips as Hurley Adams settled back into his chair. Conceivably, Saybrook had become a menace to the lawyer, now that he knew the secret. Yet Hurley Adams, shrewd and perceptive, realized that by his display of frankness he had gained much. Saybrook would now rely upon him; the young man was no longer a doubtful and dangerous factor in the lawyer’s secret affairs.

“Remember,” warned Adams, in a quiet tone, “you must keep silence! I, like others, am in danger. Say nothing, no matter what occurs. Fingers of death may work again; we cannot help it if they do.”

Saybrook nodded and arose from his chair. He extended his arm across the desk and shook hands solemnly with the gray-haired man.

“I’m going back to the house,” he declared. “I’ll stay close to home for a while. I don’t think that Grace is in danger — but it will be wise for me to be watchful.”

“A very good idea,” affirmed Adams.

“More than that,” added Saybrook, “the first crime took place there. Perhaps I can find a clew. I am going to try” — his voice was determined — “and see what I can discover. I’m glad you told me everything, Adams. I’m with you from now on. Count upon me.”

The unseen eyes of The Shadow were still peering beneath the blind when Adams and Saybrook arose.

The lawyer went to the head of the stairs and called his servant to show Willard Saybrook from the house. While his visitor’s footsteps were still tapping down the stairs, Adams came quickly back into his third-floor library.

THE old man was nervous now. His face twisted in a doubtful smile. He stood before the window, pondering; then suddenly went to his desk and picked up a telephone book that lay mere.

There was excitement in his action as he thumbed the pages until he found the one he wanted. His long, thin forefinger ran down a column and stopped at a name. With finger firmly pressed, Adams looked at the telephone upon the desk; then tossed the book aside and reached for the instrument.

Was Hurley Adams considering his plan of calling some one of the conspirators, in an effort toward a warning? The old man had suggested that he might take such a course.

The question, however, was not answered, even though it seemed fairly obvious. Adams did not pick up the receiver. He shook his head doubtfully; then walked to the door and called his servant.

The man appeared less than a minute later. Hurley Adams spoke to him by name, and gave instructions.

“Unger,” he said, “I am going out. Be very careful of the house while I am gone. Admit no intruders. See that all is safe in this room. Remember, you are on guard duty.”

Unger smiled. The man — perhaps forty years of age — was an ex-soldier. He tapped the side pocket of his coat, and Hurley Adams understood. Unger, when in the house, was armed. That had been in accordance with the lawyer’s recent instructions.

When Unger had gone downstairs, Hurley Adams went to the desk and removed a revolver from the drawer. He put the gun into his pocket; paced the floor for a few moments; then left the room.

As the lawyer’s footfalls echoed from below, the window blind rippled silently. The black crown of a soft hat came into view. It was followed by caped shoulders. A few moments later, The Shadow stood within the library.

The black-clad entrant picked up the discarded telephone book. With keen exactness, he opened it almost to the spot where Hurley Adams had turned. Keen eyes beneath the hat brim caught the tiny marks that the lawyer’s thumb had made upon the pages. A few moments afterward, The Shadow’s gloved forefinger was running down the very column that the old man had consulted.

There, pressed into the rough paper, was the mark of a finger nail. Inadvertently, Hurley Adams had indicated the name which he had sought. The Shadow’s eyes noted the name — Arthur Preston — and also the address.

Was Preston the conspirator whom Adams had stated that he might warn? Had the old man decided to visit him instead of telephoning?

The Shadow’s soft laugh indicated that The Shadow knew. Adams had named no living man tonight; but The Shadow had learned the identity of a person of whom the lawyer had been thinking!

The telephone book made a slight thud as it fell to the floor in exactly the same manner as Adams had dropped it. With that slight sound, The Shadow detected another noise that had not quite reached his ears before he dropped the book. Footsteps were coming up the stairs. The Shadow listened. The footsteps ceased; then began again, very softly.

Some one was coming to this room; and that person had heard the fall of the telephone book. The Shadow’s keen eyes scanned the place. The window, across the room, meant that he must encounter the path of the open door. Instead of turning in that direction, the black-clad personage swept toward the nearer of the end alcoves.

There, the figure of The Shadow merged with gloom. Nothing remained but a projecting splotch of blackness upon the floor. That spot was motionless when Unger entered, carrying a revolver in his hand.

The attendant had evidently decided to inspect the third-floor room as Hurley Adams had suggested.

Coming up the stairs, he had caught the sound of the dropping book. He was here to investigate.

Stare as the man did, in all directions, he saw no sign of a living person. His eyes spotted the telephone book, and Unger grinned. Probably it had fallen from the table, merely by accident. The attendant turned to leave; then, as an afterthought, decided to look at the windows.

He chose the alcove where The Shadow had gone! By freakish chance, he headed directly to the spot where the splotch of darkness lay upon the floor. Unger did not see The Shadow, but it was inevitable that he should come across him.

Once again, chance played a strange part. Unger, satisfied with his inspecting glances, sensed no danger.

Idly, he flipped the gun in his hand, about to put the weapon in his pocket. It nearly slipped from his fingers, and, as he caught the revolver, Unger’s gaze lowered. He found himself staring directly into a pair of blazing optics that flashed from a mass of darkness.

THE man acted quickly. His revolver was in his hand. It required but a fraction of a second for his finger to grip the trigger. Unger, however, did not act with the swiftness of The Shadow. Before he could fire, the lawyer’s servant felt a quick grasp upon his arm. A figure of blackness shot forward from the gloom and fell upon him.

Instinctively, Unger wrested away from The Shadow’s spring. The man freed his body, but he could not pull his wrist clear from the grasp that had caught it. A tall, wiry form was overpowering him, and with the roar of a savage bull, Unger put up a grim resistance.

The revolver fell from the man’s grasp, as he fought against this phantom shape that had taken on human form. Together, he and The Shadow twisted across the floor, Unger battling with a fury. He was a strong man; and he had gained an equal beginning in the conflict, for The Shadow had, of necessity, sought his wrist alone.

In the grapple, Unger suddenly felt his opponent yield. With a savage twist, he forced The Shadow downward.

That effort was his undoing. The black shape suddenly ceased to yield. Strong arms came upward. They took a firm hold upon the ex-soldier’s body, and in a trice, Unger was turning in a mammoth cartwheel as his body whizzed through the air.

The flight ended in a crash against the wall. Unger crumpled and lay still. The Shadow, a soft murmur of mirth upon his hidden lips, approached the vanquished combatant.

He saw that Unger was only momentarily stunned. That had been The Shadow’s intention. This conflict had been forced upon him. He had no quarrel with the lawyer’s servant. There was other work to do — and this delay might prove unfortunate.

Sweeping across the room, The Shadow gained the door. There was no sound of footsteps as he descended the stairs. His figure glided toward the hall below.

When Unger sat up a few minutes later, and rubbed his forehead, the whole fray seemed like a hazy dream. He wondered what had happened in this room. He could only remember two blazing eyes; then a struggle with an adversary whose face he had not seen.

Angrily, Unger leaped for his revolver, and began a thorough search of the room. He was cautious and complete. He seemed puzzled to find that there was no one there. He did not realize that he had lain stunned for several minutes.

In fact, Unger, in that peculiar condition that follows a period of unconsciousness, felt all recollection slipping. Imagination could not have thrown him against the wall; yet he could now remember nothing of what had actually occurred.

The man felt piqued and foolish. He realized that he had been bested completely in a swift struggle that had brought no credit to himself. Unger did not know that he had delayed The Shadow on a mission of importance.

That one fact was to cause misfortune within the next half hour!