The Condor

CHAPTER XVI. THE STRONG ROOM

TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since Harry Vincent’s return to Paulington. Reporters, satisfied that there was no further story, had made their departure. One, however, had not gone to New York.

Clyde Burke was the exception. He had contacted with The Shadow, near the path on the abandoned road. After that, Clyde had driven to the little city of Southbridge, some five miles distant. He had called Harry from there; through Clyde, Harry could communicate with The Shadow.

There had been no need for contact, however. Nothing had happened in Paulington on this first day of Harry’s return. Sheriff Brock had gone to the county seat and had not returned. Vic Marquette, strolling about with Harry, had made no comment whatever upon his coming plans. He had not even mentioned the search warrant that the sheriff was to have obtained.

Clouded evening had brought a somberness to the entire countryside. The pall of quiet that lay over Paulington was existent also at Mountview Lodge. Cliff Marsland, strolling on the veranda, felt a sense of melancholy.

He was still brooding because he believed Harry Vincent dead. He was troubled, also, because he had learned nothing new from Griscom Treft. The Condor had promised to show Cliff the strong room beneath the lodge; then had neglected to mention the subject again.

Corey had gone out in the coupe this evening. Cliff had seen the chauffeur leave, half an hour ago.

Jengley had been present at the time; he had gone in shortly afterward. At present, Thuler was on the piazza, at the end away from Cliff.

The opening of the front door awoke Cliff from reverie. Delland came out; the secretary beckoned. Cliff approached him; Delland stated that the chief wanted to see him in the study. Cliff entered the house.

Scarcely had Cliff gone in before lights showed at the lower end of the drive. Corey was back, unlocking the massive gates. Delland and Jengley watched the car pull forward and stop while Corey locked up again. Then the coupe rolled up and stopped outside of a garage at the rear of the lodge.

Corey alighted in darkness. He saw the light in The Condor’s study, a gleam that showed hazily through frosted window and grilled framework. Corey’s footsteps crunched the gravel as the chauffeur walked hastily toward the front door.

Immediately, the top of the rumble seat moved up at the back of the coupe. Keen eyes peered from the interior. Corey had brought along a rider whose presence he did not suspect. A figure emerged in darkness. The Shadow stepped noiselessly to the drive.

The Shadow had found a way of entering the Mountview Lodge grounds without giving an alarm. But he had no intention of invading the lodge itself. Instead, he took to the grass beside the drive and merged with darkness on the blackened lawn.

CLIFF was seated in The Condor’s study, listening to Treft as the master crook developed a forgotten theme. The Condor had recalled his promise to show Cliff the strong room. He was chuckling over the surprise that his new henchman soon would gain.

“I spoke of a natural stronghold,” Treft was saying. “It is all that, Marsland. All that and more. But words can not picture the sight that you will see. Come. Let us go—”

Treft broke off as the door of the study opened. Corey stalked in, his face sour. He approached the desk and handed Treft an envelope.

“From Zegler,” stated the chauffeur. “He started to talk to me, when I met him at the fork. I asked him if everything was in the note. He said yes, so I—”

“Never mind, Corey,” interposed Treft, harshly. “We shall discuss the matter after I read the note. Sit down; curb your impatience.”

The Condor perused the message. Cliff watched his expression; Treft registered no concern. Finished with his perusal, he laid the note aside.

“A trifling complication,” was The Condor’s verdict. “Zegler was in town last night and this evening. He has learned facts that are interesting, but not important.”

“He seemed worried, chief,” protested Corey. “Of course, I know what Zegler’s like. Just a countryman that owns a mill, even though he is smart, considering what he is.”

“Zegler is useful,” declared The Condor, wisely. “He belongs to me completely. He is bought and paid for; and he excites no suspicion about Paulington. No one would dream that he had connection here.

“He is troubled chiefly because some stranger is in town. The man’s name is Marquette; Zegler thinks that he is a secret service operative, attempting to trace Clint Spadling. I believe that Zegler is right.”

“I knew of a Fed named Marquette,” stated Corey. “I never saw him, though. But what about this other fellow on the hill? Zegler started to tell me about him, chief.”

“His name is Harry Vincent.” Cliff started as he heard The Condor speak; fortunately, Treft was eyeing Corey and did not note Cliff’s face. “It was he, not Spadling, who hired the car in Paulington.”

“He came up to the hill?” inquired Corey.

“Yes,” replied The Condor. “Zegler states that Vincent heard the explosion and took to the woods. Last night be came out of hiding and appeared in town. His story ended the mystery. It is now conceded that no one could have been in the shack when it was dynamited.”

“Say” — Corey managed a grin — “that fixes it all right, chief. Why was Zegler worried?”

“Marquette is still in town,” explained Treft. “He is keeping Vincent with him. Probably he expects to find Spadling. Well” — The Condor chuckled evilly — “let him wait. He will give it up eventually.”

Rising, The Condor waved his hand in dismissal. Corey went from the room. The Condor laughed indulgently; then chuckled as he spoke to Cliff.

“Spadling was a pal of Corey’s once,” explained Treft. “Somehow, he traced Corey here. They saw each other in town. Corey informed me; I told him to meet Spadling and be friendly. To advise him that it would be best to leave.

“Spadling failed to accept the hint. Instead of leaving, he roamed the hillside. Zegler, our outside man, learned that he was using the deserted cabin as his base.

“Our explosion was for Spadling’s benefit. He was in the shack when we blew it from its moorings. A wise deed on our part, now that we know Spadling was being sought by Federal agents.”

THE CONDOR led the way through a side door of the study. Cliff followed, his elation high. He recognized the truth. Spadling, spying on Mountview Lodge, must have seen Harry come to town, and learned that Harry was on his way to the cabin.

The coincidence had been fortunate. The Condor’s crew had planted dynamite during Spadling’s temporary absence. Had Harry arrived first, he would have been the victim. Spadling had beaten Harry there; a crook had been murdered by crooks.

The Condor was leading the way down an inner stairway. A lighted cellar was reached; there he stalked to the rear and stopped before an iron door set in the rock. The Condor lifted a bar of metal and clanged against the door.

An interval followed. Scraping came from beyond the door. Released, the barrier swung outward. Cliff saw a steep passage hewn through rock. Standing within the door was a brawny, dark-skinned giant who had the appearance of a Hindu. The man was robed and turbaned in native fashion.

The Condor spoke in a babbling tongue. The huge man bowed and stood aside. Treft and Cliff entered.

The giant barred the massive door behind them. Treft chuckled.

“The man is Salyuk,” he stated. “Up ahead is Toklar, awaiting us” — Cliff saw another huge man at the end of the underground corridor, as Treft pointed — “and this is where they live.”

The Condor paused while Salyuk passed to join Toklar. Like mammoth slaves, the two unbarred another door at the inner end of the lighted passage.

“Both Salyuk and Toklar,” explained Treft, “are Singhalese. They spent their lives in the ruby mines of Ceylon. I brought them to America as servants. I wanted two faithful serfs who could dwell underground.”

The second door was swinging outward. Lights glimmered from within. Treft motioned Cliff forward. The Singhalese servants stood aside. Cliff stopped short, his eyes wide with astonishment at sight of The Condor’s strong room.

BEYOND the corridor was a spreading limestone cavern. Long stalactites hung from its vaulted ceiling, like shapely icicles. Beneath them were stumpy stalagmites, upon which drops of water fell.

Hidden lights illuminated the walls. Flowstone formations produced a marvelous display. The cave was an Ali Baba’s cavern, rendered majestic by the lights. Cliff felt The Condor’s claw upon his shoulder as his companion drew him forward.

“This cave was known,” stated Treft, his harsh voice echoing from the tinted walls. “But it was scarcely noticed; never explored, until I had built the lodge. Our store of dynamite in the cellar was used, in part, to blast the corridor. A careful task, all noise avoided.”

They were turning a corner in the cavern. The Condor paused to point out a formation in the limestone of the ceiling. A light glowed full upon the shape — a beaked bird, black upon white background.

“Curious,” chortled The Condor, “that I should have a profile here so much like my own. However, as I was saying, we had dynamite left over; and some of it proved useful when we disposed of Spadling, a few nights ago.”

The cavern opened into a niche at the left. The Condor pointed. Cliff saw a pyramid of stacked boxes.

All were cubical in shape; each two feet square. They formed a pile six feet in height.

“Teakwood boxes,” informed The Condor. “Filled with our treasure. Your pearls, Marsland, have been added to the hoard. My Singhalese guards are the sole custodians of our wealth.

“Before we depart, day after tomorrow, we shall hold a meeting in this grotto. We shall survey our wealth; take inventory, before we carry it away.”

To the right of the niche, Cliff observed a stack of curious objects. They reminded him of torpedoes, save for the fact that the ends were somewhat blunt. A large array of metal cylinders, they tapered in size.

The lowermost was more than six feet in length and three feet in diameter. The others were smaller: some three feet long and one foot through; others half that size. Atop the stack were tiny cylinders, fully two dozen.

“Special containers,” explained The Condor. “To be used instead of the boxes, in case we find difficulty in removing the treasure. These could be packed and carried separately by individuals.

“The first ones were made too large. They will be useless to us. I had the smaller containers constructed afterward. One of those small ones, Marsland, would carry Walpin’s pearls quite nicely.”

The Condor’s tone carried a strange warning note that Cliff had heard before. It was harsh; it brooded no answer. It was Treft’s manner of ending talk on any particular subject.

“Come here.” The Condor clamped his clawlike hand on Cliff’s shoulder. “View this remarkable sight at the end of the last corridor. A subterranean lake, its water pure as crystal.”

TREFT led Cliff to a spot where the roof sloped to the ground. A light reflected the surface of a limpid pool. No glass could have matched the smoothness of that water.

“Ten feet in depth,” stated Treft. “Yet the eye would estimate inches only. The lake is fed by hidden springs. Its level is constant.”

“Where is the outlet?” questioned Cliff.

“Listen.” The Condor drew Cliff toward the low end of the passage. A sighing roar sounded from the floor of the cavern. “Listen and look yonder.”

Treft pressed a button against the limestone wall. A floodlight showed a low passage curving from the end of the pool. Cliff saw a stream of water pouring down into the ground. Its echoes roared back, muffled by the earth.

“A natural dam of smooth limestone,” stated The Condor. “Over it, like a waterfall, pours the surplus water from the pool. Few caverns can match this marvel, Marsland.”

Cliff nodded. The beauty of the natural waterflow impressed him. Momentarily, his mind was freed from the strain of his past surroundings. Then came The Condor’s fierce clamp. Cliff was jarred into reality.

Treft switched off the single light. They moved back past the pool, away from the treasure niche, down through the corridor to the door where the Singhalese stood.

Salyuk and Toklar closed the inner barrier after they had passed. They continued to the outer door, Salyuk hastening ahead to open it.

Then they reached the cellar. The massive portal was closed and barred behind them. Cliff had seen the strong room; a spot of matchless beauty, hidden beneath a lair of evil. The surroundings of the lodge seemed hideous as Cliff and Treft arrived upstairs.

It was late. The others had retired — with the exception of Corey and Trossler, who were putting the place in order for the night. The Condor bade his harsh good night. Cliff went upstairs to his room.

He stood by the window, speculating on the facts that he had learned. The good news concerning Harry Vincent had restored Cliff’s courage. His visit to the strong room had given him valuable material for a report.

Cliff realized that it would take formidable force to smash through to The Condor’s underground grotto.

He wondered, though, just how Treft would handle matters if the place were besieged. Despite the massive doors and the huge Singhalese guards, the cavern had objections.

Prompt removal of the swag, for instance, would be difficult if invaders managed to enter the lodge. Cliff speculated on that fact as he extinguished the light. As on a previous night, he stared out into darkness.

Again, Cliff Marsland became suddenly alert. Something was blinking from the night. Not from beyond the fence, but from a spot close by, inside the grounds.

It was The Shadow’s signal. Cliff’s real chief had passed the wired fence. Cliff realized now that on the other night, Harry Vincent could have been the man to whom he had flashed the names of Zegler and Spadling.

This time it was The Shadow. He alone could have contrived secret entrance past the barring gate.

Quickly, Cliff found his flashlight, to blink his response to The Shadow’s call.