The Creeping Death

CHAPTER XIV THE MEETING

IT was after nine o’clock that night when Pierre Armagnac left the Westbrook Inn for a quiet stroll. As usual, the bearded Frenchman was wary in his actions. He laughed at his own precautions, however, for he was sure that there was no one at the hotel who might be interested in his activities.

As Armagnac made his way along the road toward the cottage in the woods, he failed to notice a peculiar phenomenon — a drifting shape that kept pace close behind him.

Had Armagnac noted that fleeting form of blackness, he would probably have ignored it. For it was scarcely more than a shadowy blotch moving along the path that he was taking.

When he reached the clearing in the woods, Armagnac gave a low whistle — a signal agreed upon between himself and Morales. He advanced; opened the cottage door, and entered. There he found Morales awaiting him. The Frenchman smiled in greeting. He sat down and began his tale.

“I have learned all you wish to know,” he said. “Your surmise is correct. The gold is kept outside the house.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Morales. “The real gold?”

“The real gold. The synthetic metal is in the large building.”

“Excellent! How far is the real gold from the house?”

“One hundred yards — in a frame workhouse by the edge of the gorge.”

“Better yet! Is it guarded?”

“By an electric alarm that evidently goes to the mansion.”

“The mansion, too, is a frame structure?”

“Yes. The laboratory takes up much of the main floor. The furnaces are in the basement.”

Morales drew Armagnac to a table and produced paper and pencil. The Frenchman began to draw an outlined plan of Lucien Partridge’s domain. Armagnac’s remembrance of detail was amazing. When he had completed his sketch, the territory across the river was an open book to Alfredo Morales.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the Argentinian. “I could not have done so well had I covered the terrain by plane. That would have been a bad thing to do — and it would not have given me the details that I absolutely needed. For instance — the hiding place of the gold. I suspected that it might be outside the house.

“In the house or out, I would chance the scheme that I have in mind. But inside would not be so good as outside. Ah — you will understand, soon.”

A line of darkness crept along the floor. To-night, as on the preceding evening, it extended inward from the window. The area of darkness became motionless, escaping the attention of the plotters.

Armagnac was telling Morales his estimate of the wealth concealed in Partridge’s secret hiding place. The Frenchman was enthusiastic. Morales, now, was dreaming as he listened.

“GOLD — masses of it — shelves of it” — Armagnac was breathless — “and the old man has no need of worry. Guarded, hidden, weighing such a huge amount — how can it be spirited away?”

“Why do you think he showed it to you so readily?”

“I led up to it. He knew that I was planning to make millions of my own. He wanted to add to my confidence. He is gold-mad.

“You know, Partridge has sought to make real gold. He claims that he has succeeded, to a remarkable degree. This yellow metal is but inferior. But — according to his tale — he cannot produce the perfect metal cheaply enough to warrant its manufacture.”

“He is a dreamer,” declared Morales. “One cannot be too sure about his capabilities.”

“But he has gold,” said Armagnac. “I could see his ambition in his face. He wants to dominate the world by controlling the gold supply. A remarkable ambition, but too high. Better to seek what we have sought — a vast quantity of gold that will enable us to forget our counterfeiting.”

“It will be ours,” returned Morales, with a sallow smile. “Ours — very soon!”

Armagnac expressed doubt in his eyes. Morales smiled more broadly. Armagnac’s doubt increased. He spoke thoughtfully, with carefully chosen words.

“I have done my part, Morales,” said the Frenchman. “Now is your turn. By our agreement, we were to exchange information and services. I have found out all that you needed. Now I want to know your plans.”

Morales began to laugh. Armagnac wondered why. The Argentinian arose and lighted a cigarette. His mirth continued. When he paused, he faced the Frenchman and explained the reason for his laughter.

“Armagnac,” he said, “you are wondering what I intend to do. You have brought me information that is worth millions; yet you yourself cannot understand its value. Unthinkingly, you have ended your own usefulness in this enterprise.

“I am here with men; with method; with purpose. You are alone. I need you no longer. You have begun to realize that fact. Nevertheless” — his eyes flashed shrewdly — “I place each of us upon an equal basis. Why? Because one and one make two — and two are better than one.

“I am thinking of the future — of the vast possibilities that will open up to two clever men who can work in harmony. You understand? This will be the beginning.

“You ask me my plans? I shall show you. You, Pierre Armagnac, with all your experience, with all your genius, will admire the schemes of Alfredo Morales.”

Approaching the door of the room, Morales uttered a low whistle. Jose entered from the outer door. Morales questioned him.

“Manuel has not returned?”

“No.”

“Remain here, Jose. Keep watch until we return.”

Armagnac expected to see Morales indicate that they were to leave the cottage. Instead, Morales went to a door in the corner of the room. He paused there, and spoke, with dramatic effect.

“You were in the great war, Monsieur Armagnac?”

“Yes,” replied the Frenchman, puzzled.

“There were many successful attacks then,” declared Morales. “Many attacks that were directed against strongholds more formidable than the one in which Lucien Partridge now barricades himself.”

“Quite true.”

“I have my forces, Armagnac. There are men whom you have not seen — men who are waiting. To sweep into Partridge s domain — to carry off that gold — such would not be difficult with proper equipment, provided that—”

Morales paused to observe if Armagnac caught the thought. The Frenchman responded quickly.

“Provided that the way should be open,” he said. “But it would have to be clear for quick action.”

“Exactly,” declared Morales. “Often, in warfare, infantry have gained their objective almost unmolested because of the attack that preceded it.”

“The barrage.”

“Yes. You have named the very method that I intend to use against Lucien Partridge. Come. I shall show you.”

MORALES opened the door. He revealed a flight of steps that led upward. Beckoning, Morales ascended the steps. Armagnac followed, closing the door behind him.

Jose sat down in a chair. His task was to keep watch while his master was on tour of inspection. Jose gazed idly about the room. His eyes sighted the long shape of black that lay upon the floor.

A startled expression crept over Jose’s greasy features. He looked toward the window; then at the black silhouette. Again his eyes were raised toward the window. Jose uttered a gasping scream as he cowered in the chair.

Silently, like a weird phantom of the night, a figure had appeared within the room. There, by the window, stood that strange being whom Jose had encountered on the mound of rocks.

The Shadow’s arms were folded; his long black cloak swayed mysteriously from his shoulders. His fierce eyes glowed beneath the protecting brim of the slouch hat.

Chilling, whispered mockery emerged from invisible lips. That echoing laugh brought terror to Jose. It was unreal, that shuddering mirth that came from the personage in black. The very air seemed tense with the power of The Shadow’s presence.

“Jose” — the words that followed were in Spanish — “I am here to warn you again. Should you speak one word against my bidding, I shall strike. Only while you obey me can you live.”

The Shadow strode across the room. He towered over the cowering form of Jose. His burning eyes fathomed the man in the chair.

Jose could not meet that glance. He turned away, pitifully frightened, expecting doom which he could not prevent. The shuddering laugh echoed in his ears.

Then came silence. Jose waited. Slowly, he turned his head and gazed about the room. He was alone. The being in black had departed. There was no silhouette upon the floor. Jose’s eyes sighted the door through which Morales and Armagnac had gone.

Was that the route which The Shadow had taken? Jose did not know. He was afraid to leave the chair. Still cowering, he waited, hoping that Morales and Armagnac would not be long in returning.