The Death Triangle

CHAPTER XVIII VORBER SEES THE SHADOW

THE SHADOW was right. Miles Vorber intended to return to the library. It was more than a half hour, however, before the servant’s key clicked in the lock. When he had entered, Vorber left the door open so that he could hear the first sounds that would tell of Howard Wycliff’s return.

Vorber’s first action was a final inspection of the furniture. The servant seemed to have difficulty in rejecting the bulky objects which had been so thoroughly examined. Convinced, however, that further search of this sort would be fruitless, Vorber began an examination of the walls and floor.

There were hanging pictures on the walls. The searchers had looked behind them. They were to be removed with the books. Vorber went to one picture and lifted it carefully. He looked at the back of the picture; he examined the wall where the picture had been. He replaced the object.

Vorber repeated the operation with the next picture that he reached. Slowly, methodically, he continued the procedure until he came to a large photograph which hung near one end of the room. It was a portrait of Cyril Wycliff.

Holding the picture in the light, Vorber stared at it with narrowed eyes. The servant was looking at his master. The portrait, life-sized, was a perfect reproduction of Cyril Wycliff’s visage. Vorber’s lips moved. His teeth grated. His breath came in short hisses. This study of his former master’s features had roused the servant to a state that resembled suppressed fury.

Carefully, Vorber hung the picture upon the wall. He stared toward it as he backed to the center of the room. Then, with new incentive, he began a more rapid search. His desire for accomplishment had reached a fever pitch.

The Shadow, stationed in the niche beyond the bookcase, saw all this. Every emotion appearing upon Vorber’s face had been plain to The Shadow. Vorber was at the walls, tapping here and there. On hands and knees, he crawled along the floor, pounding in a vain effort to discover hollow spots under the flooring.

The servant seemed to lose all sense of time as he continued in his exploration of new territory. He rounded the end of the room, and neared the place where The Shadow was stationed. It was then that The Shadow glided across the floor. Totally unseen by Vorber, the phantom watcher gained the door that led to the hall.

As on the preceding night, the motion of The Shadow seemed to produce a psychic effect upon Miles Vorber. The servant turned abruptly toward the door, and assumed a listening pose. He was a few seconds too late to witness the departure of The Shadow.

However, Vorber was not content. He went to the door of the room, stepped into the hall, and listened. Two minutes elapsed. Vorber saw nothing and heard nothing. He did not detect the unusual blackness that pervaded the curtains hanging in the near-by arch.

WHEN Vorber finally went back into the library, The Shadow moved from his hiding place. He glided swiftly up the stairs, reached the telephone in Howard Wycliff’s room and quietly called a number. Burbank responded. The Shadow held a whispered conversation with his agent.

When he returned to the lower floor, The Shadow, spying from the door, saw Vorber tapping the window sill. The searcher had passed The Shadow’s chosen hiding place. Gliding along the wall, The Shadow reached the bookcase niche and merged with darkness.

Vorber completed all the searching that was possible. He appeared dejected as he looked about the room. He knew that he would have to wait until the furniture was gone, much though he might prefer to anticipate the others who were anxious to uncover the missing deed.

The servant had two courses: one was to leave; the other to go over the ground again. Vorber preferred the latter course. He stared at Cyril Wycliff’s portrait; then resumed his tappings of the wall.

The hour was growing late. Vorber seemed to know that Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle might return at any minute. Nevertheless, the servant was loath to end his search. His attitude became spasmodic: first a few taps upon the wall; then moments of listening.

It was during one of these latter intervals that the telephone rang in the lower hall. Quick as a cat, Vorber leaped to the door of the room. He switched off the light. He answered the telephone. His querulous “Hello” was repeated. Vorber received no answer.

Within the darkened room, The Shadow was busy. He knew the source of that telephone ring. Burbank had called this number to signify that Howard Wycliff’s car had returned. The garage was farther along the street. It would be a few minutes before the master of the house would enter. Those were the minutes which The Shadow wanted.

The black cloak swished. The slouch hat came from The Shadow’s head. It went beneath the cloak. Gloved hands were bared. The Shadow crouched between the two small tables that were with the rejected pieces of furniture.

Something glowed in The Shadow’s hand. It was a tube of glass from which a rubber covering had been removed. The hands stroked the tube; The Shadow raised it toward his face.

From the hallway came a click as Miles Vorber replaced the telephone receiver upon the hook.

The servant had returned to the door of the library. He was about to close it, puzzled by the phone call and knowing that Howard Wycliff might soon return. It was then that The Shadow acted. His right hand, shining in the darkness, stretched forth and overturned the small table that was nearest to him.

Miles Vorber sprang into the room. He had heard the table fall. His hand upon the light switch, the servant faltered as he gazed into the darkness. He did not press the switch. The Shadow had half arisen and was staring in Vorber’s direction.

The Shadow’s hands and face were luminous. They glowed through the darkness and cast a weird, phosphorescent range of dimmed radiance. The sight was ghostly; to Miles Vorber, the effect was doubled.

There, in the darkness, the old servant saw the shining features of Cyril Wycliff! The Shadow, who had seen Cyril Wycliff’s portrait on his previous visit to the room, had adopted a countenance that resembled the dead man’s visage!

BURNING from the face above the floor were the eyes of The Shadow. Those brilliant orbs held Vorber’s gaze. The servant dared not press the light switch. The Shadow’s hands came upward, and the space about them reflected their ghoulish light. The Shadow was raising the table that he had overturned.

Weird, hollow raps came through the darkness. Vorber heard them. They were the same spectral tappings that The Shadow had delivered on the preceding night; this time they were heard by Vorber’s ears as well.

The table settled on its legs. It seemed to topple back and forth as the ghostly hands released it. Then the hands were gone — they had passed beneath the black cloak — and only the face still showed; the face that was the countenance of a dead man!

Blackness suddenly obscured the ghostly visage. The Shadow’s slouch hat, brought from darkness, was responsible for the strange evanishment. Vorber, trembling with excitement, fumbled with the light switch. A cloak swished; Vorber did not hear it. When the light came on, the servant found himself staring at the end of the room, where nothing but furniture was visible.

Hissing tensely, Vorber crept forward. His hands were outstretched like claws. His eyes were bulging. He feared that phantom face that he had seen; dreaded it as a visitor from the other world.

Upon the floor, Vorber spied a long streak of darkness that came from the niche beyond the bookcase. Before he could advance farther, Vorber stopped and leaped back toward the door of the room.

He had heard someone rattling the front door. He knew that Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle had returned. With frenzied speed, Vorber extinguished the light and closed the door of the library. He gained the hall just as Howard Wycliff entered. The young man spied Vorber with his hand upon the door knob.

“What’s this?” questioned Howard sharply. “What are you doing here, Vorber?”

Paul Marchelle was peering from behind Howard’s shoulder. Vorber stepped back a pace; then pointed to the library door. He offered a quick explanation.

“I heard you coming in, sir,” be declared. “As I reached the foot of the stairs, I thought I caught a sound from the library — like something falling.”

“You were going in there?”

“I went to the door, sir. I had forgotten that it was locked.”

“I have the key. Are you sure you heard a noise from the library?”

“I thought I did, sir.”

Howard Wycliff quickly produced the key. He unlocked the door, which had a spring bolt. He entered and turned on the light. Paul Marchelle crowded in behind him. Vorber followed. The servant’s gaze went straight toward the end of the bookcase. Vorber’s eyes dropped to the floor. The stretch of blackness was gone.

In his eagerness to spy the spot that he had last noticed, Vorber was too late to detect a motion by the window. The iron shutters were closing in the same mysterious fashion with which they had acted on the preceding night. The bar dropped into place. No one observed its easing fall.

“There is no one here,” declared Howard Wycliff.

“Let’s look around a bit,” suggested Paul Marchelle, eyeing Vorber as he spoke.

THE three men prowled about. Vorber examined the niche beyond the bookcase. He found no one. The servant shook his head thoughtfully.

“What was the noise you heard?” questioned Howard.

“It was — ” Vorber broke off suddenly. “I can’t just say, sir,” he added. “It came from” — Vorber wheeled — “from this end of the room, sir.”

The servant was staring directly toward Cyril Wycliff’s portrait as he spoke. The sight of the dead man’s picture made him start. Paul Marchelle noted the action and promptly questioned it.

“What’s the matter, Vorber?” he asked. “Have you seen a ghost?”

“Yes — ” Vorber shook his head to change the statement. “No, sir. I was thinking about my old master, sir. I served him many years.”

Marchelle surveyed Vorber narrowly. The servant turned away and ambled to the other end of the room. Marchelle followed, to examine the barred shutters. It was then that Vorber glanced at the table which The Shadow had replaced upon the floor.

The servant’s eyes glittered. He looked shrewdly about him. Seeing Marchelle turning from the window, Vorber was careful not to look at the table again. His face, however, wore a look of new knowledge.

“Vorber must have been mistaken,” declared Howard Wycliff, as he strolled toward the door. “There could have been no one here—”

He broke off as he heard an odd click from the direction of the window. Paul Marchelle, also on his way toward the door, turned to locate the sound. Both men glanced at Vorber. The servant also seemed perplexed.

“Was that the noise you heard?” questioned Howard.

“No, sir,” responded Vorber.

Paul Marchelle was thoughtful. He turned to Howard Wycliff.

“Suppose I sleep in this room,” he volunteered. “If there are any spooks in the place, I’ll find them — if they turn up.”

Marchelle was looking at Vorber as he finished his statement. The old servant returned the gaze, but said nothing. He watched Howard Wycliff.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” observed Howard. “The couch will make a good bed. You can leave the door open; if anything occurs, call for my assistance.”

“You have a gun?”

“Two revolvers. You can have one; I’ll keep the other. Come upstairs; we can load them there. Vorber, make up the couch. Mr. Marchelle will sleep here.”

Marchelle eyed Vorber until the servant had started upstairs to get the bedding. Then Marchelle followed with Howard Wycliff. The guns were produced and loaded. The two men heard Vorber going down the stairs. They arrived to find him making up the couch.

From then on, Paul Marchelle did not leave the library. The young lawyer wore a serious look. After Howard Wycliff and Miles Vorber had gone, he walked about the room, glancing here and there. Finally, he extinguished the light and retired.

DEEP silence pervaded the old mansion. There was no noise from the ground floor, where Paul Marchelle kept vigil in the library; nor from the second floor, where Howard Wycliff slept. But on the third floor, a man was wide awake, long after the others had retired.

Miles Vorber was seated upon the edge of his bed. A revolver — his own — lay close at hand. The servant’s face was harsh and determined. Vorber was thinking of what had occurred in the library.

Whether ghost or human, the being whom he had seen there resembled only some fantastic creature of a nightmare. Reflecting, Vorber fully believed that he had been the victim of a strange delusion. Once the old servant stalked from his room, revolver in hand, to listen at the head of the stair. Intent, he seemed ready to pay another visit to the library. The thought of Paul Marchelle on guard restrained him.

Peering eyes were watching from a long alcove when Miles Vorber returned to his room. The old servant extinguished the light, and went to bed. He did not hear the slight sounds which came from the window as a living form departed.

The Shadow had reentered the old mansion. He had made a final survey of the situation. He knew that his plan had succeeded.

Playing the part of a spectral visitant, he had given Miles Vorber a clew to the whereabouts of the missing deed. By timing his action to the return of Howard Wycliff and Paul Marchelle, he had prevented Vorber from making use of the discovery.

Tomorrow, Vorber would be forced to act. It would be his only chance. By placing Vorber in a predicament, by clicking the closed shutters, The Shadow had also made Paul Marchelle vigilant.

Whatever steps Vorber might take, Marchelle would be watching. Vorber, in turn, would be observant of Marchelle. The way was paved to the culmination that The Shadow desired. The finding of the missing deed would be challenged when it occurred. The result would be the emergency which would bring the murderer here to aid.

The crisis would not arise until after the furniture had been moved. Then, depending entirely upon Marchelle’s aroused vigilance, a final encounter would result. So far as Miles Vorber was concerned, the missing deed was in his grasp, could he but gain the opportunity to take it.

But the servant would require outside aid before he could transfer that document to other hands. That The Shadow knew. The Shadow would be here upon the morrow. Miles Vorber would see The Shadow again before he would have the chance to dispose of the valuable trophy which he was ready now to gain!