The Death Triangle

CHAPTER XII THE SEARCH BEGINS

THE men within the library were talking about Cyril Wycliff. The body had gone to the funeral parlors that afternoon. Howard Wycliff, with a meditative sigh, turned to Doctor Barton Keyes.

“Your prediction proved correct, Doctor Keyes,” said Howard. “You told us that death, if it came, would be sudden.”

“Yes, Howard,” returned the physician. “Thrombosis often works directly opposite to the apparent health of the patient. Those who seem to be progressing most favorably are frequently the ones least capable of withstanding the attacks.”

“Doctor Keyes warned us,” rasped Garrett Slader. “That is why I was so insistent all along—”

“About learning my father’s affairs,” interposed Howard. “Well, Mr. Slader, I appreciate your efforts, because they were unquestionably made in my behalf. However” — Howard smiled wanly at Garrett Slader — “all seems to be settled.”

“So far as the will is concerned,” declared Slader. “There will be no trouble with that document. Your father left practically everything to you, Howard. But as for this matter of the deed—”

“I am thinking about the will,” broke in Howard. “I am surprised that nothing was left to Miles Vorber. I thought surely that my father would have remembered him. However, I have offered Vorber steady employment.”

“Has he shown any resentment?” questioned Paul Marchelle.

“No,” answered Howard. “It is rather difficult, though, to guess what Vorber may be thinking. He is always the same in expression.”

“Suspicious by nature,” suggested Doctor Keyes.

“By training,” objected Garrett Slader.

There was momentary silence. None of the men realized that Vorber, the object of their present discussion, was listening just outside the half-open door. Vorber, beyond the barrier, had no inkling that he, in turn, was under observation of The Shadow.

“The matter of the will is settled.” The decisive words came from Garrett Slader. “We come again to the matter of the deed. If such a document exists — I am assuming, Howard, that your father spoke while still in possession of his faculties — it would be well to decide what you intend to do about uncovering it.”

“In the library,” mused Howard. “That means in this very room.” The young man paused to look about, at furniture and rows of books. “I suppose it would be best to begin a search for the missing deed. You have no idea, Mr. Slader, to what sort of property it refers?”

“I have no knowledge of any deed,” returned Slader brusquely. “You heard all that I heard, Howard. It is probable — as I have asserted all along — that your father possessed hidden assets. I would not count too strongly, however, on discovering any documents of any great value.”

“Your father,” remarked Doctor Keyes, turning to Howard Wycliff, “was under terrific pressure at the time he died. He may have been talking purely in delirium. His words may have been meaningless.”

HOWARD WYCLIFF turned toward Paul Marchelle. Howard’s expression was a bit dubious. With Garrett Slader indisposed to making an immediate search, with Doctor Barton Keyes questioning the accuracy of Cyril Wycliff’s last words, Howard expected Paul Marchelle to make a statement that supported the others. The young lawyer, however, took a different attitude.

“A search would be advisable,” he proposed. “Nothing can be lost. Much can be gained. I would recommend it. Naturally, I must keep in accord with Mr. Slader’s opinions—”

“I have offered no objection to a search,” interrupted Slader testily. “I merely refuse to attach too much significance to such operations. I am your attorney, Howard. Whatever I can do to assist you will be done gladly.”

“Let us begin the search,” decided Howard.

“It is rather late,” remarked Slader.

“That doesn’t matter,” returned Howard. “I’m going through the furniture first of all. That can be done tonight.”

With this decision, Howard arose from his chair and looked about the room. The library, large in size, was heavily and variously furnished. One could not appreciate the quantity of furniture until all the objects were counted.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Howard Wycliff went to the first object that looked most likely — a heavy secretary that stood in the corner.

“There’s not much chance of the deed being in plain view,” he said. “These drawers were never locked. My father was a man of caution. He would certainly have used some hiding place that could not easily be discovered.”

Garrett Slader showed sudden interest the moment that Howard Wycliff began the search. The old lawyer arose and approached the young man, to help him look over the items that were in the secretary.

Doctor Keyes, who had shown signs of being ready to leave, also warmed up to the idea of the hunt. He rummaged about the room, going from one article to another.

Paul Marchelle alone remained seated. His eyes roved curiously about the room, as though looking for probable hiding places. He was about to speak when the door opened and Miles Vorber entered.

The servant came into the library in natural fashion. He stared with his customary gaze, as he noted the men at work. He approached Howard Wycliff and spoke.

“Is there any way in which I can aid you, sir?” he questioned.

“Yes, Vorber,” remarked Howard. “Help us search this room. We are looking for a missing deed — the one my father mentioned just before he died.”

VORBER joined in the search. His method, however, was different from the others. He did not hunt of his own accord. He paid strict attention to everything that his companions were doing.

When old Garrett Slader rummaged through papers in a secretary drawer, Vorber was peering over his shoulder. When Doctor Keyes scruffed up the ends of rugs, Vorber was studying the action. Whenever Howard Wycliff turned to look at another piece of furniture, Miles Vorber quickly turned with him.

Only one person noted the shrewd, furtive look that showed upon the old servant’s face. That observer was Paul Marchelle. The young lawyer saw that Vorber was apprehensive. The servant apparently had a definite desire to uncover the missing document himself, and with all these persons present was worrying about their activities.

Moreover, Marchelle had noted a peculiar fact regarding Vorber’s entry into the library. The servant had arrived at the psychological moment; he had immediately suggested that he aid in the search; he had seemed to know what was going on. It was obvious — to Marchelle, at least — that Vorber had been listening outside the door.

Peering eyes were at the portal. They were the eyes of The Shadow. Unseen, they watched the searchers. They saw Vorber’s actions. They observed that Marchelle had gained an inkling of the servant’s unusual interest in the present search.

Howard Wycliff, stepping away from a large table, noted that Paul Marchelle was not searching. He laughed in jocular vein as he called attention to the fact.

“Thought you were enthusiastic,” he said. “Why don’t you join in the game, Paul?”

“I have an idea,” returned Marchelle, thoughtfully. “It seems to me that this search is being conducted in a rather hit-or-miss fashion. Why not go at it more intelligently?”

GARRETT SLADER and Doctor Keyes turned to hear what Marchelle intended to suggest. Vorber, who also ceased activity, listened while he looked here and there, seeking spots that had been neglected.

“What is your idea, Paul?” questioned Garrett Slader.

“A deed,” replied Marchelle, “is a fair-sized document. Moreover, most persons — and Cyril Wycliff was such a person — seldom fold such heavy papers. Therefore, to be systematic, we should reject places which seem unlikely.”

“You mean the furniture?” questioned Howard Wycliff.

“No,” responded Marchelle. “I would consider the furniture first. But why not segregate those items of furniture which obviously could not contain the deed?”

“An excellent idea!” exclaimed Howard.

“It means more work,” observed Doctor Keyes.

“At the start, yes,” declared Marchelle. “But it will lead to better results in the long run. Suppose we rearrange the room — set aside all articles which are useless?”

“Good,” agreed Howard Wycliff, in a decisive tone.

“That will end the search for tonight,” remarked Doctor Keyes.

“Certainly,” said Howard. “We can get the furniture established, then begin the actual search tomorrow.”

“You have the key to this room?” asked Marchelle.

“Yes,” returned Howard. “The only one. We can lock up after we have finished fixing the furniture. Those iron shutters will make the room completely barred.”

“I believe I must be going,” decided Doctor Keyes. “I think I would find the search interesting, gentlemen, but if it is merely a matter of moving furniture, my stoutness renders me incompetent.”

“I must waive claims also,” declared Garrett Slader. “I make my plea on account of my age. It is late. I think that I shall leave.”

“If you are leaving, Mr. Slader,” objected Paul Marchelle, “that means that I must have to go also—”

“Not a bit of it!” broke in Howard Wycliff. “You can stay here, Paul. There is plenty of room in the house. Why not remain overnight?”

Marchelle was about to voice an objection when he caught a glimpse of Miles Vorber’s face. The old servant seemed eager to have him go with the others. Marchelle pretended not to notice Vorber’s glance. He turned to Garrett Slader.

“I believe I shall accept Howard’s invitation, sir,” he said. “It will speed up the work here.”

“All right,” agreed Slader. “I shall see you at the office in the morning.”

DOCTOR KEYES and Garrett Slader went from the library. Vorber followed to get their hats and coats. None of the departing trio noted the gliding blackness that slid along the floor of the hallway, merging with the velvet curtains beyond.

When Vorber returned, a few minutes afterward, Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle were already shifting the furniture. Without a word, Vorber joined them in the work. Operations progressed.

It required three quarters of an hour to rearrange the library. When the work was finished, one end of the room was packed with possible objects that might contain the supposedly hidden deed. The secretary, a heavy table that contained several drawers, a long couch — these were the items that had been retained.

The other end of the room held light, frail chairs; two thin-topped, long-legged tables; a flimsy bookrack; and other articles that were naturally rejected. Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle stood puffing, with coats off. Miles Vorber, shrewd-faced as ever, stood near the door, surveying the faces of his new master and the young lawyer, Marchelle.

“What next?” questioned Howard, turning to Marchelle.

“Lock up,” returned the lawyer, “and call it a night.”

Miles Vorber sidled away from the door. The two young men went out. Vorber, his scrawny shoulders stooped, made a shrewd survey of the room, as though doubting that all had been properly done. At Howard Wycliff’s call, the servant turned quickly and went into the hall.

Howard Wycliff closed the massive door of the living room and locked it with a large key, which he pocketed. He and Paul Marchelle, coats over arms, went up the stairs together. Vorber stood in the hall, watching until they reached the top of the steps. The servant turned to stare sullenly at the locked door of the library. A knowing smile appeared upon his usually straight lips.

With his catlike tread, Vorber crossed the hall to the front door. He locked it, then followed the path that the two young men had taken. A switch clicked at the head of the stairs. The lower hall was plunged in darkness.

Blackness reigned near the locked door of the library. The stillness indicated that the search for the missing deed would be a matter of the morrow. Yet there was an ominous token of approaching action.

The Shadow, invisible as a phantom of the night, was still within that darkened hallway!