The Condor

CHAPTER XVIII. MARQUETTE PREPARES

FIVE o’clock the next afternoon. Harry Vincent was lounging in the lobby of the Paulington House, staring out toward the dull asphalt of the town’s main street. He watched men stroll idly by on the opposite sidewalk.

Something was brewing. Harry had known that since noon, when Sheriff Brock had arrived to talk with Vic Marquette. Today was the twelfth, the date on which Brock had promised a search warrant. Harry believed that it had been delivered.

Moreover, those men opposite were not idlers. They were deputies, on tap, should they be needed.

Apparently, Brock had summoned them after a conference with Marquette. Yet Harry, so far, had gleaned no definite facts.

“Call for you, Mr. Vincent—”

The clerk was drawling from behind the desk. Harry swung in that direction, expecting that Clyde Burke would be on the wire. He saw the clerk hanging up the receiver.

“No need to answer it,” the fellow informed. “It’s from Burgess Dowden’s office. They want you to come over there. That’s all.”

Harry felt keen elation as he strode from the old hotel. He made quick time to Dowden’s office, knowing that at last facts were to be told. Arriving, he found the burgess and the sheriff in conference with Vic Marquette. The Federal man motioned Harry to a chair.

“Apologies, Vincent,” said Vic, with a smile. “Guess you’ve been wondering where you rated, with all this secrecy afoot. Well, I’ve just been waiting until our plans were set, before I let you in on the deal.”

Harry nodded. Vic resumed.

“We’re raiding Mountview Lodge tonight,” explained the operative. “Sheriff Brock is taking a posse of thirty men. You and I will be with them, as deputies. It’s going to be a county proposition.”

“Thirty men?” quizzed Harry in surprise. “Won’t they make a lot of commotion?”

“Not the way I’ve planned it,” chuckled Marquette. Brock and Dowden grinned with him. “Vincent, we’re going to go past that gate as smooth as plush. We’d be able to move in an army, if we wanted.”

Harry looked puzzled. Marquette’s chuckle continued.

“Griscom Treft has a chauffeur,” explained the operative, “who drives down to town nearly every evening. What did you say the fellow’s name was, sheriff?”

“Corey,” returned Brock.

“Well,” stated Marquette, “when Mr. Corey shows up tonight, he will be arrested. We’ll take his keys and unlock that gate for ourselves. A car will go through; but it won’t be Corey’s. It’ll be us, with the search warrant. We’ll walk right in the house and start to look around.”

“With half the posse inside to help us,” added Brock. “To back us up in case some cuss tries to make trouble.”

“You stay with me from now on, Vincent,” stated Marquette. “You’re going to be in on some excitement. Incidentally, I have given you these details partly to gain your opinion. What do you think of the plan?”

“EXCELLENT,” replied Harry. “That is, it will be, after you start out. But there’s a chance that you will ruin it before you are ready.”

“How’s that?” demanded Brock, before Marquette could put a query.

“You have too many deputies in the open,” stated Harry to the sheriff. “I’ve been watching them half the afternoon. Suppose this chauffeur spots them when he comes into town. If things really are bad out at Mountview Lodge, he’ll be watching when he reaches Paulington.”

“An excellent point,” agreed the burgess, with a sage nod. “Well taken, Vincent.”

“It’s getting along toward dusk,” observed Marquette, glancing through the window to note the thickly clouded sky. “Those fellows will be more conspicuous when it becomes darker. Vincent is right — a flash from Corey’s headlights on the lounging deputies, would tell him something. Those deputies won’t pass as loungers, sheriff.”

“Some of them will,” insisted Brock. “We’ll need half a dozen anyway, to grab Corey. I want to keep the rest of them close together. I’ll tell you where I’ll send them” — he nodded emphatically — “right down to the depot.”

“What about the evening train?” queried Marquette.

“It’s going to be kind of dark when it comes in,” assured Brock, “and anyway, we ought to be watching the depot. If there’s any strangers around there tonight, we’ll have them brought over here.

“We oughta been looking for strangers anyhow. There’s no use taking chances. And after the local pulls up the line, there won’t be nobody around the depot. Leastwise, nobody that’s got a right to be there.

“I’ll go out and pass the word to Hank. He’ll take enough of the men down there. You won’t see them parading like they have been, Vincent.”

Brock arose; Marquette followed suit. He suggested that Harry accompany him to the hotel. They left the sheriff when they reached the street.

At the hotel, Harry fumbled in his pockets and recalled that he had left his pipe in his room. He left Marquette and went upstairs.

No call yet from Clyde. Harry knew that this might mean a personal arrival of the reporter. He wrote out a report concerning Marquette’s plans. Sealing it in an envelope, he went down to the lobby. He was lighting his pipe when he arrived to find Brock with Marquette.

“Just take a look out that window, Vincent,” suggested Brock. “You won’t be seeing deputies any longer.

Hank’s taken most of them down to the depot. The ones that are still around are — ” Brock broke off and stared; then exclaimed: “Say, lookit! There’s the reporter fellow, Burke! What’s he doing here?”

A COUPE had stopped in front of the hotel. Clyde Burke was alighting; he saw Brock and waved a greeting. The sheriff started out to meet him, Vic and Harry following.

“Hello, sheriff,” said Clyde, cheerily. “Well, well, here’s Marquette — and Vincent. Still in town, eh? What’s keeping you here? The climate?”

“Technicalities,” returned Marquette, promptly. “We scared up so much hubbub that the sheriff has to make a report to the county authorities. He wanted us to stay there for a few days. We’re going over to Southbridge tomorrow, just as a matter of routine.”

“Come over there then,” suggested Brock, taking Vic’s cue. “I’ll have a story for you, mebbe. Only I guess most of the juice is out of it.”

Harry had strolled over to lean against the coupe. His left side was away from view. As he puffed his pipe and removed it from his mouth with his right hand, he used his left to bring out the envelope. He let that object drop through the opened window of the coupe.

“Sorry,” Clyde Burke was stating. “I won’t be around tomorrow. Not tonight, even. I’m going up country to cover a forest-fire story. Just thought I’d stop and say hello.”

Harry had strolled back to join Marquette. Clyde knew that a message had been delivered. With a friendly wave, the reporter returned to his car. He drove away from the hotel. Brock clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Good boy, Vincent,” commended the sheriff. “Getting those deputies off the street was a mighty cute idea. Darn these reporters! You can’t tell when any of them will come snooping around.”

Brock started toward Dowden’s office. Marquette decided to go along and beckoned to Harry, who followed. On the way, The Shadow’s agent smiled with satisfaction.

He knew that The Shadow must have already made plans regarding Mountview Lodge. All that the chief had needed was information regarding the law’s exact moves. Harry had passed such word along. Clyde would form contact on the slope. The Shadow would be able to arrange his own moves as he chose.

Burgess Dowden had gone home to dinner, but the office was open. Sheriff Brock took the chair behind the desk. Darkness was thickening outside as Brock stroked his chin and made comment.

“One funny thing about that Mountview Lodge,” observed the sheriff. “There’s never been a telephone put in the place. It would ha’ cost a piece of money to run a line in there, I’ll grant.

“But Griscom Treft has got money. No sparing of expense on other things. It looks mighty consarn funny, by heck. Like he was scared that there might be trouble if he had a line. There’s no private telephones hereabouts. People do lots of listening in.”

“Hm-m-m,” grunted Marquette. “It does sound odd, sheriff; but maybe it’s because Griscom doesn’t trust the people with him. How about that angle?”

“A right good one,” responded the sheriff. “Yes, sir, that’s another way to look at it. Yes, sir” — he broke off to listen; the evening train was chugging into the depot — “yes, sir! Suspicions kinda grow on you, when you begin to get them.”

THE clangor of the departing locomotive sounded through the window. The local chugged from the station; its noise faded; then a whistle blared in the distance as the train approached a crossing beyond the town.

Brock was about to speak when voices sounded from below. Footsteps followed on the stairs.

Brock sprang to his feet and opened the door. Hank and another deputy appeared; with them was a tall, well-dressed man, who carried a fair-sized suitcase. The stranger’s face was sharp-featured. His lips showed a wise smile; his eyes were quick as they roved from man to man.

“Fellow come in on the local,” explained Hank. “We up and asked him his business. Kind of lippy like, he wants to know ours. We tells him we’re deputies. He says that’s great.”

“You are the sheriff?” questioned the sharp-faced man, addressing Brock in a smooth tone.

The sheriff nodded. The arrival dropped his bag upon a chair. He surveyed Vic and Harry approvingly; then looked contemptuously at Hank and the second deputy.

“My name is Lieth,” declared the man. “Carl Lieth, in from Chicago. I’d like to talk with you privately” — he paused; then gestured his approval of Brock’s original companions — “or let us say semi-privately.”

“Without the deputies, eh?” questioned Brock. “All right, Hank. You two can go back to the depot.”

The deputies stalked out. It was Lieth, still smiling wisely, who closed the door behind them. Then the stranger turned to face the sheriff.

Vic and Harry eyed him. Both knew instinctively that the unexpected arrival of Carl Lieth was a matter of some import. Eagerly, they awaited word that might have to do with Mountview Lodge.