The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XIII THE SHADOW’S PROMISE

Tap-tap — Tap-tap—

Myra Dolthan looked up, startled. The girl was seated in the corner of a plainly furnished room, the apartment to which she had been assigned since the arrival at Doctor Claig’s.

Tap-tap — Tap-tap—

Myra smiled at her own fright. She laid aside the diary in which she was writing and arose from beside a little table. She had recognized Daggart’s knock. This was probably another summons from Kermal. Myra supposed that the lawyer wanted her to hold a new interview with Lanford.

“All right, Daggart,” said Myra. “I am ready. Does Mr. Kermal want to see me again?”

She was unlocking the door as she spoke. She thought she heard a response in the secretary’s voice. Myra opened the door. Eyes wide with amazement, she stared across the threshold.

Before her, Myra saw an incredible figure. The darkness of the hall enshrouded cloaked shoulders. That same gloom obscured the features of a face beneath a slouch hat. Yet the girl could discern eyes — orbs of fire that shone from beneath the hat brim.

A warning whisper stopped the startled exclamation that sprang to Myra’s lips. Silent, the girl stared into those burning eyes. Yet fear passed instantly as Myra studied the glowing optics. Some mysterious flash of The Shadow’s eyes told her that this visitant was a friend.

The Shadow’s gaze brought further understanding. Like speaking lips, those eyes pronounced that their owner had come here secretly, that his presence in this house was unknown to other occupants. Stepping back from the door, Myra motioned for The Shadow to enter.

Blackness moved inward from the hall. The Shadow’s outline formed a clear-cut figure in the light. Silently, The Shadow closed the door. He turned and spoke to Myra. The steadiness of his whisper gave the girl new confidence.

“I have seen,” pronounced The Shadow. “I have heard. I am a friend. You may speak. Tell me your real thoughts concerning Taussig Kermal.”

The girl walked to the table. She picked up her diary, closed the book and extended it to The Shadow. A gloved hand received the volume.

“I have kept this record,” declared Myra. “You may have it. You must truly be a friend; otherwise you could not be here. Of if you were an enemy” — the girl managed a smile as she paused — “your purpose would be to kill me; not to talk of the dangers which surround me.”

MYRA had seated herself at the table. Her confidence in The Shadow was amazing. Instinctively, the girl had recognized The Shadow as a protector. She was anxious to unburden her troubled mind to this weird visitant who had conquered obstacles to meet her.

“The book tells everything,” declared Myra, her quiet eyes meeting The Shadow’s gaze, “and yet — and yet I do not fully understand. About Taussig Kermal — about my uncle. I would have believed Mr. Kermal fully if he had not spoken as he did of Uncle Rufus.”

“State what Kermal said,” ordained The Shadow.

“He told me that father had died suddenly.” The girl’s tone was sober. “He said that the will placed my life in jeopardy. Should I die before I became twenty-one, father’s money would go to my stepbrother, George. I have always liked George; but it is true that he is a weakling, as Mr. Kermal said.

“I do not doubt that George could be sent to prison by people who knew too much about him. I believed it best to do as Mr. Kermal said. The old house where we were seemed safe. I could see easily how my life would be sought by criminals if they intended to blackmail George Garling, should he gain my father’s wealth.

“But I could not understand why Mr. Kermal would not let me write to my uncle. I asked him; he said, at first, that my uncle would disapprove of the plan to keep me hidden. I insisted that I could persuade Uncle Rufus to make no objection. Mr. Kermal said then that maybe our enemies were watching Uncle Rufus. I became more persistent and finally Mr. Kermal said that my uncle was the one enemy whom we must guard against.”

THE girl paused. Her face was pale and troubled; her eyes had a far-away stare as she recalled those discussions that she had held in the past.

“I told Mr. Kermal that I did not believe him,” declared Myra, firmly. “He broke into a tirade against my uncle. He — he said that he believed my father feared my uncle. That — that my father’s death looked like murder.

“He claimed that!” The girl’s tone, though low, was indignant. “Mr. Kermal declared that Uncle Rufus first managed to poison my father. So cleverly was it done that no trace could be discovered; and that his next move would be to kill me.

“In my case, Mr. Kermal said, there would be no attempt at strategy. Any form of death would do, so long as I died before I came of age. Each day seemed more desperate; and yet I felt forced to trust in Mr. Kermal.”

“Your reason,” ordered The Shadow. “State why you still trusted Kermal.”

“I knew that I was safe with him,” explained Myra. “Events had proven that. Doctor Claig, too, seemed very kind. But when Blissop was killed, I–I began to wonder. That is why I warned the two men who came to the house.”

“Give your recollection of Blissop’s death,” commanded The Shadow.

“It happened while I was upstairs,” declared Myra. “At the other house. I heard the shots. I came down and saw Daggart wounded. Blissop was dead; Croy had killed him. Croy said that he had slain Blissop to save Daggart.

“Croy seemed honest. But Blissop had seemed honest, too. I think Croy did act to save Daggart. But Croy is stupid at times; Blissop was a much more intelligent man. I wondered if Blissop really was a traitor.

“Suppose that Mr. Kermal was the one who really plotted against my life; not Uncle Rufus, as he suggests. Croy would not have seen that Mr. Kermal was evil; but Blissop could have. He might have been acting to help me when Croy killed him.”

Again the girl paused. The Shadow spoke:

“Tonight,” he whispered, “you spoke as though you partly trusted Kermal. You managed well with it. You covered most of the doubts that you must feel.”

Myra nodded her understanding. She realized that somehow The Shadow had been present at that interview. She gave her explanation.

“I have realized that I must cover my mistrust,” she declared. “I am safe here for the present. But I fear Mr. Kermal. I know that the crisis may come soon. When he told me those lies about Uncle Rufus, I realized what his own game could be.

“Whether or not I do have enemies at present, I could certainly have one after I become of age. The one I mean is Mr. Kermal himself. He may be planning crime of his own, telling me these stories in order to cover his own plot.

“When I am twenty-one, my father’s wealth will be mine. I am actually in the power of Mr. Kermal and Doctor Claig. If they should threaten me, I should be forced to sign away my wealth to them. Mr. Kermal says he merely wants me to sign a will, leaving my money to some charitable organization, instead of to George Garling.

“And yet — yet I can no longer believe him. His statements about Uncle Rufus; his policy of hiding; the fact that he has covered Blissop’s death — all these things frighten me. Today is the fifteenth. My birthday is the eighteenth. Once midnight of the seventeenth has passed—”

THE girl stopped speaking. She shuddered; her lips trembled with suppressed fear. The Shadow spoke; his voice held a calmness that quieted Myra’s alarm.

The Shadow raised his left hand and drew back the glove that covered it. Myra observed a glowing gem. It was a magnificent opal, its depths as mysterious as The Shadow’s eyes.

“This girasol,” affirmed The Shadow, “is my token. You will recognize me by it, no matter what my guise. Have no fear; you are safe for the present. Before danger strikes, I shall be here.”

The Shadow stepped to the window. He unlatched folding shutters and drew one inward. Bars gleamed beyond. The girasol glittered as The Shadow pointed to the rods of steel.

“They have told you,” he stated, “that those bars are to protect you. But to you — not fully trusting — those bars make this room a prison.”

The girl nodded. She was amazed at The Shadow’s statement. Kermal and Claig had spoken of the bars the night that Myra had occupied this room. The Shadow closed the shutter.

“Keep these shutters closed,” he warned, “as you have been instructed. As for the bars, I shall deal with them tonight. Beyond this window you can see the upper story of the garage. My station will be there. You can signal me, should fear compel you.

“I shall know when danger threatens. I shall return at that hour. You will answer when you hear my summons” — slowly, The Shadow delivered four slow taps upon the table, with his gloved hand — “and you will know me by my token.”

The Shadow raised his left hand. Myra stared once more at the girasol, fascinated by its changing hues. Then the glove moved over the gem, blotting out its hypnotic radiance.

Myra saw a flash of crimson as The Shadow moved toward the door. The weird visitor opened the barrier; his form merged with the blackness of the hall. The door closed, leaving Myra stilled with wonderment.

To the girl, the episode was like a dream. Yet her diary was gone; sure proof that this being from the night had been a reality. Moreover, The Shadow’s presence had brought a calmness that remained. Myra Dolthan’s fears were allayed.

OUTSIDE the house, The Shadow was descending by the window through which he had entered. He reached the ground; he faded toward the garage as he saw lights coming up the road. Doctor Claig’s coupe rolled into the drive. A stooped figure appeared from the direction of the house. It was Croy.

The Shadow watched the big servant enter the garage. Peering through a window, he saw Croy and Claig jacking up an old sedan in the corner. This was the car that Croy had used earlier; they were fixing it so that it would appear to have been long since out of commission.

The coupe’s lights went out; Claig and Croy stumbled through darkness to the house. The Shadow let them pass, then entered the garage. He waited there a few minutes; then blinked his light along the floor. He found a third vehicle parked in the garage. It was an old station wagon that Claig had used in the past.

The Shadow’s light showed the right rear tire. The Shadow recognized the tread that he had seen on the road from the rear of the old house. The station wagon was the vehicle in which the furnishings had been brought here.

The flashlight blackened. The Shadow stole from the garage, glided to the back road and coasted away in Clyde’s coupe. Reaching Sheffield, he parked the car and entered the hotel.

He arrived at the room which his agents occupied. There he unlocked the door. Clyde and Harry were asleep in their beds.

From a large suitcase belonging to Harry Vincent, The Shadow brought out boxlike objects: items of special radio equipment. He produced wires and earphones; in their place he left a sealed envelope. Carrying his new burdens, he glided from the room and locked the door behind him.

LATER, he arrived on foot at Doctor Claig’s. Entering the garage, The Shadow found the door to the unoccupied upper floor. He went up the stairs, left the articles that he was carrying and descended. His figure glided to the house, directly beneath Myra’s room.

Scaling the wall in darkness, The Shadow gripped the outside bars. They were built into the masonry; The Shadow attacked them in the darkness with a sharp, glistening saw that cut its way steadily through the steel. He seemed untiring as he proceeded with this task, gripping the solid bars as he worked to weaken others.

At last, the central bars, though apparently untampered, were cut to a point where a single twist would break them. Loosening his hold, The Shadow dropped easily to the ground. The moonlight gave only a passing glimpse of his gliding figure as he returned to the garage.

Only Myra Dolthan had heard the sound of The Shadow’s sawing. Half asleep, the girl had scarcely noticed the sound until just before The Shadow’s task was completed. Rising, Myra went to the window and cautiously unlatched a shutter. She peered out into the moonlight.

A blink came from an upstairs window of the garage. It was repeated. Myra understood. The Shadow had discerned her face behind the barred window of her room. His glimmers were a signal that all was well. The Shadow had kept his promise. Myra knew that the bars of her window were formidable no longer.

She knew also that her mysterious protector had taken his new post. Day and night, The Shadow would be ready to aid her should danger strike. Myra smiled as she looked out into the moonlight. With a happy heart she closed the shutters and dropped the latch in place.

Whatever the answer to the complex problems that, confronted her, the girl felt confident that her security was assured. Somehow, she held the belief that The Shadow had delved deeply into the plots that up to now had threatened her.

The Shadow knew. Withholding action for the present, he was baiting men of crime. When the stage would be set for an exposure of evil schemes, The Shadow would be prepared.