The Creeper

CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW KNOWS

TWENTY-FOUR hours had passed. Dinner had ended at the Doyd mansion. Only Theresa and her Uncle Egbert had been present while Wilfred had served the meal. Theresa had conversed but little; after dinner, the girl had gone upstairs to her own room. Egbert had merely stated that he might go out for a short walk.

Silence was heavy in the old house; so heavy that it seemed appalling. Theresa had fancied that she had heard a ring of the front doorbell. Wondering, she had opened the door of her room and left it a trifle ajar. Perhaps that was why she had sensed the thick silence of the mansion. The hush was ominous.

With foreboding, Theresa went to her door and listened. As she waited, dreading what might come, she heard the sound that she had almost expected. It was a creeping that occurred suddenly below; that same, uncanny noise that she had heard before.

The Creeper!

Again, he was moving about in eerie fashion, his very location impossible to guess. Trembling, Theresa stole along the second-floor hall, to listen at the top of the stairs. The creeping continued; yet its intensity never changed. Front hall — rear hall — library — dining room — even the reception room: any one of those spots could have harbored the terrifying creep of unfaltering footsteps.

The creeping ended. It stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Theresa in a total quandary. She knew that The Creeper was below; but where he had gone, what he was about — these were factors that she could not even guess. Theresa knew only that she needed help. The upstairs telephone offered that opportunity.

Stealing back to her own room, Theresa softly closed the door and picked up the telephone. Before she could speak, she heard two voices talking. One was Mark Lundig’s; the other a gruff tone that Theresa had never heard before.

But the girl knew at once that Lundig must be in the house. The other extension of the telephone was in the library. Lundig was using that line to make an outside call.

The conversation had just commenced; Theresa was sure of that because she first heard Mark Lundig saying:

“Yes — this is Mr. Lundig.”

Then the gruff response:

“I thought it was you, Mr. Lundig. I’ve got some good news for you. We located Montague Rayne.”

“What?” came Lundig’s quick reply. “Have you seen him?”

“No,” responded the gruff voice, almost sourly. “He was staying at the Torrington; but he checked out. We’ll trace him, though, unless you want to do it—”

Lundig interrupted sharply.

“Is some one on this line?” he inquired. “It sounds that way to me.”

“Maybe it’s just a poor connection,” suggested the gruff voice. “Wait while I signal the operator.”

THERESA heard a receiver hook click violently. Quickly, she hung up while the noise was still in progress, knowing that the sound of her dropping receiver would not be heard during the clatter on the wire.

She waited tensely; then decided to go out into the hall again. She reached the top of the stairs and listened for a full two minutes. All was stillness during that interval.

Then came the creeping again — slow, steady, terrifying. Theresa was sure that it must be at the back of the hall; for the first time, she gained an actual impression of its location. The creeping was coming from the direction of the library; its destination, however, was impossible to guess. Particularly because it stopped abruptly.

The Creeper was below. Lurking somewhere in the rear hall. Waiting there, listening perhaps.

Theresa trembled; almost mechanically she tiptoed back to her own room. Again she closed the door; this time she locked it. In desperation, she again picked up the telephone. This time she heard nothing but the zing of the dial tone. Mark Lundig had ended his conversation with the gruff-voiced man.

Nervously, Theresa dialed Donald Shiloh’s number. She could hear the ringing of the bell; then a receiver was raised. The solemn voice of Jeffrey answered. Theresa knew the valet’s tone; she spoke quickly.

“Is Mr. Shiloh there?” she queried. “This is Miss Doyd calling. Miss Theresa Doyd.”

“He is right here, miss,” responded Jeffrey. “Hold the wire, please.”

Theresa could barely hear the valet speak other words, away from the mouthpiece of the telephone.

Jeffrey was addressing Shiloh, stating that Miss Doyd was on the wire. Then, before Shiloh could have possibly reached the telephone, Theresa heard a click, followed by the clatter of a dial.

“Hello,” she called, anxiously. “Hello…”

The dialing stopped short; again a receiver hook clicked. The dial tone zimmed its monotonous sound.

Theresa’s call had been cut off. For a moment, Theresa stood bewildered; then a sudden explanation flashed through her mind.

Mark Lundig must have started another call from downstairs. Probably Lundig — though it might have been some other, for Theresa had heard no voice. She decided, however, that her own voice must have been heard; that was why the dialing had ended so abruptly. The result, whatever the cause, had been unfortunate. Her call to Shiloh had been cut off.

Straining, Theresa listened as she hung up the receiver. She expected to hear new creeping from below; but the locked door of her room prevented any sound from reaching her. Half a minute passed; Theresa gained boldness. Raising the receiver, she heard the dial tone still zinging; she decided that her own using of the telephone must have been a disconcerting factor. Chances were that The Creeper had gone.

Steeling herself, the girl unlocked the door, deliberately walked through the upstairs hall and descended to the floor below.

Theresa’s courage increased. She heard no new creeping; the hall, though gloomy, was not too foreboding. Theresa passed the closed doors of the reception room. She continued on and came to the door of the library. The barrier was half open; the room was lighted. Theresa entered, to find the library empty.

THE girl suddenly sensed some one in the hall. She turned nervously, to see Wilfred approaching from the dining room. She called the servant and spoke loudly.

“When did Mr. Lundig arrive?” she inquired. “Did you admit him, Wilfred?”

“Certainly, miss,” returned the servant. “I admitted Mr. Lundig about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Did he come in here?”

“Perhaps so, Miss Theresa. But I could not say positively. He stopped in the front parlor — to look through the music portfolio, I presume. I had been occupied in the kitchen, so I went directly back there.”

“Where is Mr. Lundig at present?”

“Perhaps he is still in the front parlor, Miss Theresa. Shall I see?”

“Yes. Go there at once, Wilfred.”

As the servant turned about, the telephone began to ring. Wilfred hesitated; Theresa waved him on. She answered the telephone herself. A sigh of relief came from her lips as she heard Shiloh’s voice.

“Theresa?” came the anxious query. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course.” The girl laughed nervously; then looked about to make sure that Wilfred was gone. “Can you come over, Donald? Right away?”

“Certainly, Theresa. But tell me what it is—”

“Everything is all right. I can say no more at present. Come as soon as you can, Donald.”

Ending the call, the girl went out into the hall. She encountered Wilfred coming back from the front parlor. The servant shook his head.

“Mr. Lundig is not about,” he stated. “I believe that he must have gone out again, Miss Theresa.”

“Very well, Wilfred. You may go back to the kitchen. If the doorbell rings, I shall answer it.”

Theresa went into the parlor, to find it empty, as Wilfred had stated. She picked up the music portfolio and tried to study it; but could not keep her eyes from the slowly-ticking clock. Minutes were long intervals to the troubled girl. A dozen passed with increasing slowness. The came a ring of the front doorbell.

Theresa answered it immediately, to find Shiloh on the doorstep; beyond, at the curb, was the glistening green coupe.

Theresa closed the door behind her, pressing the latch as she did so. She spoke to Shiloh cautiously; he listened intently, as he noted the girl’s worried look.

“Don’t come in,” said Theresa. “I want to talk to you out here. I don’t know who may be listening inside.”

“You heard the creeping again?” questioned Shiloh.

Theresa nodded. Both she and Shiloh were intent. Neither had thought of the blackness about them, the nightly gloom that always clung to the front of the old looming mansion. Hence they did not see the shape that glided suddenly across a blotchy stretch of sidewalk.

The figure merged with the darkness. Shadowy in motion, it stopped near the steps. A listener had arrived to hear this conference. It was The Shadow. Obscure in darkness, he had come here only a few minutes before; just in time to see Shiloh’s car drive up.

“I THOUGHT it must be the creeping,” declared Shiloh. “Jeffrey answered the telephone when you called; but before I could get on the wire, some one must have cut you off. As soon as I realized what had happened, I tried to call you back. All I could get was a ‘busy’ signal.”

“I think some one was dialing from the library,” explained Theresa. “Mark Lundig, probably. He was here.”

“I tried to get the number twice,” added Shiloh. “Then I decided to wait for a few minutes. That seemed the best plan, despite my impatience. My third call went through; if it hadn’t, I would have dashed over here anyway.”

“You came very promptly, Donald,” smiled Theresa. “You must have driven rapidly.”

“Like blazes! But tell me, Theresa: What about the creeping?”

“I heard it from upstairs. It was in the lower hall. So I decided to call you. When I picked up the telephone I heard Mark Lundig speaking to a man with a gruff voice.”

“Lundig was talking from the library?”

“He must have been. I learned afterward, from Wilfred, that Mark had come in while I was upstairs. The man with the gruff voice mentioned something quite odd, Donald. He said that Montague Rayne had been staying at the Torrington Hotel—”

“Montague Rayne? Wasn’t he the old codger who jilted your Aunt Mehitabel, some fifty years ago?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember that Mark said Rayne might be important? He must have hired detectives to find out if Rayne happened to be in New York.”

Shiloh chuckled.

“What a fool Mark is,” he stated. “Worrying about Montague Rayne. Why— the old fossil must be at least eighty years old! Most of us decided that he was dead by this time.”

“Apparently he is still alive, Donald. Do you think he could have a purpose in being here in New York?”

“Only to see some bright lights before he dies. I cannot attach much significance, so far as we are concerned.”

“Shouldn’t we inform Mr. Clavelock?”

“That would be a good idea. Find out what he thinks about it. Was that all you heard, Theresa?”

“Over the telephone, yes. I hung up when Mark and the other man talked about some one being on the wire. Then I heard the creeping again. From the hall upstairs, I went back to the telephone. Mark was no longer on the wire. I called you, only to be interrupted.”

“Lundig again, all right. He must have gone back to the library. Was there any more creeping, Theresa?”

“I don’t know. I waited in my room with the door locked. Then I went downstairs. A creeping could have occurred during that interval. It never lasts long, Donald.”

“Is Lundig still in the house, Theresa?”

“I am not sure. He may have gone out. But perhaps The Creeper is still there.”

“The Creeper?”

The girl laughed at Shiloh’s question.

“I mean the person who has made those footsteps. The name occurred to me the other night. I think of him as The Creeper.”

“Go back in the house, Theresa.” Shiloh spoke slowly. “Make sure about Lundig. If he has gone out, I don’t think that you will hear the creeping again.”

“You think Mark Lundig is The Creeper?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. But I can’t figure who else could be — that is, among persons who openly enter this house. Uncle Egbert is rather sickly; Wilfred is an old and trusted servant. No one else ever comes here except myself and Clavelock.”

“Mr. Clavelock has not been here since he made his trip, Donald. He has called from his home, that is all.”

Shiloh nodded seriously.

“I’m thinking of two things, Theresa,” he stated. “Lundig’s way of acting, and that side door. If I could only hear the creeping for myself, I might make a better guess; as it is, I can settle on one point. The creeping has happened when Lundig has been about; or when he could have been about. Still, any one could use that side door.”

“Mark could use it. Keys are available.”

“I know. But we must not talk too long, Theresa. Go back in the house, while I stay in my car. If all is well, signal from your upstairs window. Turn the lights off; then on. If I don’t see the signal within ten minutes, I shall come banging at the front door.”

THERESA laughed, and went back into the house. Shiloh descended the steps and entered his coupe.

While both were turned, The Shadow glided along the front of the house; he turned into the side passage and moved swiftly to the obscure side door. He unlocked it in less than a dozen seconds. Entering, he reached the black gloom of the hall.

Theresa was opening the sliding doors of the reception room, the only place on the ground floor where Mark Lundig might have gone, if he had not left the house. A querulous voice came from the darkened room. Theresa stepped back, startled; then showed relief as old Egbert Doyd came stalking out into the hall.

“I was dozing,” quibbled Egbert, sourly. “Why did you disturb my nap?”

“Sorry, Uncle Egbert,” returned Theresa. “I was looking for Mark Lundig. Is he about?”

“Why question me?” demanded Egbert. “I have been asleep. I know nothing about Lundig. Look for him yourself!”

Egbert started toward the stairway. Theresa came toward the library. The Shadow saw the uncle turn about and stare after the girl. Stretching his chin, Egbert decided to go in that direction also. He reached the library door and stopped. He had heard Theresa talking from within the room; the girl was making a telephone call.

Egbert opened the door; evidently Theresa did not hear him. Her voice sounded louder; The Shadow could catch its words.

“At the Torrington,” Theresa was saying. “Yes, Mr. Clavelock, that is where Montague Rayne is staying… I have written the address, from the telephone book… What is that? You don’t intend to go and see him? I understand… Of course. He and my grandfather probably had not seen each other for years…”

Egbert Doyd was strolling away. The Shadow saw him reach the stairs. Moving forward, the cloaked watcher discovered that Egbert had left the library door ajar. Peering, The Shadow saw Theresa tearing up a slip of paper. Hearing the swing of a door, The Shadow moved back into the darkness at the rear of the hall.

Wilfred came from the dining room and walked directly to the library. The Shadow saw the servant pause; then enter. Apparently, Wilfred had seen Theresa tearing up the paper slip and tossing it into the wastebasket. A well-trained servant, he would naturally not have intruded at that moment.

Wilfred rapped on the library door. Theresa appeared and smiled as she went by, assuming that the servant had seen nothing. The girl went upstairs; Wilfred went into the library. Soon he returned, carrying the wastebasket; he went into the reception room and reappeared with another trash container. The Shadow watched Wilfred go through the library, back toward the kitchen.

THE SHADOW glided to the side door. He opened it, stepped to the outer darkness and locked the door behind him. Noiselessly, he reached the front of the house; stopping at the exit of the passage, he looked up keenly, to see a light blink from the side windows of the front room on the second floor.

Donald Shiloh had also caught Theresa’s signal that all was well. A motor throbbed; The Shadow watched the coupe slide away from the curb. After a few moments, The Shadow moved out to the sidewalk and glided away under the shelter of darkened building fronts.

A whispered laugh in the darkness. A knowing laugh that faded echoless. The Shadow had gained much, though his visit had been belated. His investigation at the old mansion had given him the chance to make a final check-up. The Shadow learned all he required.

He had heard talk of The Creeper. He had certified his own conjecture as to the mysterious foeman’s true identity. More than that, he had discovered that The Creeper had gained information concerning the recent whereabouts of Montague Rayne.

The Shadow could guess the next move that would be made. He would prepare to check it by means which he had already considered, through measures that would lead to an effective counterstroke. There was work ahead, however, for The Shadow and his agents. The groundwork had been laid; the rest would depend upon clockwork action.

With Jerry Kobal safe, recovering from his ordeal, The Shadow had won one victory of consequence.

New combats were in the making; The Shadow would seek to shape them to his own approval. Leeway to The Creeper; such was the present step. Once given, that easy path would lead to a desired climax in which The Shadow could deal not only with The Creeper, but with the supercrook’s fully assembled hordes.

The future offered promise of new triumph, with a climax on the side of justice. Agents must accomplish their appointed tasks; The Shadow must himself be timely in all actions. Such was all that was required.

The Shadow knew.