The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XV THE LAST DAY

TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed. Again, darkness had settled over the town of Sheffield. Searchers had scoured the terrain in vain. This — by Roy Parrell’s statement — marked the end of the law’s last chance.

Clyde Burke was standing at the window of his hotel room. By the inner wall, Harry Vincent was tuning in with a small radio, the duplicate of the device that The Shadow had removed from his suitcase, two nights before.

“Here comes the station wagon,” informed Clyde. “Carter and half a dozen deputies are in it. They’re parking alongside of the hotel, in that empty space. They look mighty tired.”

“Are they all going off duty?” questioned Harry.

“Not a chance,” replied Clyde. “Goodling is not through by a long shot. He’s posting all those fellows along the roads. He’ll start another hunt tomorrow.”

“Hoping that the girl will still be alive?”

“Yes. He says it’s the only bet. He’s sure that Kermal is still somewhere in the county. He doesn’t think the lawyer will take a chance on murdering Myra Dolthan until he has a chance to get the girl away from here.”

“What’s Parrell’s opinion?”

“He’s doubtful. Says it might work either way. Blissop was murdered in this county; so was Yager. Why should Kermal worry about the law?”

“What does he recommend?”

“To keep on with the search tonight. But Goodling won’t agree. He says that it’s best to watch the roads. They might try a get-away from their new hideout.”

There was a pause. Clyde strolled in from the window. Harry had set the radio dial as he wanted it. Clyde opened the door, peered into the hall; then closed the door and locked it.

“Craig was too smart for Parrell,” he stated in a low tone. “I watched Parrell when we were up there yesterday. He looked at the old sedan; but never guessed that it could have been the one Croy had used.”

“It’s good he didn’t,” said Harry. “He’d probably have asked you about it.”

“Yes. That would have put me in the bluffer class, with Claig. Of course, I could have gotten away with it; but it was better I didn’t have to. It had me shaky, for a minute.”

“What about that letter Goodling received today?”

“The one from Lanford? Both Goodling and Parrell figured it for a bluff. Lanford could have written it under orders.”

“Didn’t sound as though Lanford meant it?”

“Yes; but it was too vague. Goodling and Parrell agreed that Lanford might have listened to some hokum from Kermal. The lawyer is a smart bird, you know.”

“Undoubtedly.”

HARRY became thoughtful. Clyde watched him. The reporter knew what was passing in his friend’s mind. Harry was thinking of The Shadow, speculating on what the chief intended.

It was seldom that the agents discussed their superior’s methods; but on this occasion, Harry seemed inclined to forgo the usual custom.

“Our job is coming,” said Harry, slowly. “It’s for tonight, Clyde; we know that much. We’ll do what we’re told when we receive final orders. At the same time—”

“I know,” interposed Clyde. “You’re wondering just how the parties are going to react. It has me guessing, too.”

“Kermal is powerless until after midnight,” declared Harry. “Of course, its possible that he might murder Myra before then. He could make her sign documents at any time; then have them witnessed afterward. But that would be a dangerous procedure.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Clyde. “Particularly if he had Lanford buffaloed. He can use Lanford as a witness, you know, and if Lanford swears later that he saw Myra alive after she became of age, it would be an important point.”

“Myra is safe enough for the present,” affirmed Harry. “We know that The” — he paused, catching himself before he mentioned The Shadow’s name aloud — “well, we know she’s under protection. There’s only one answer to it, Clyde.”

“What’s that?”

“A show-down. At midnight. That’s the time when Kermal will have reached his goal.”

“That’s right, Harry.”

“And it’s also the finish line for Rufus Dolthan’s hopes. Rufus Dolthan will be desperate; Taussig Kermal will be triumphant.”

“Kermal’s wariness will be ended.”

“Absolutely. And yet, when the break comes, Clyde—”

“Well?”

“It can’t strike right at midnight. The time element would be too close.”

Another pause. This time it was Clyde’s quick brain that found an answer.

“I’ve got it, Harry!” exclaimed the reporter. Then, lowering his voice: “Look here: Kermal must have some details to make ready. Preparing documents, smoothing Lanford, getting everything ready. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“When will he do all that? I’ll tell you. Before midnight. He’ll have everything set; he’ll be waiting for the stroke of the gong.”

“That’s logical, Clyde.”

“Allow him an hour — between eleven and twelve. That’s the crucial time. That’s when Kermal will be all set for triumph, but Dolthan and Parrell will still have a chance to stop him. If—”

Clyde cut it short. A faint buzz was coming from the radio. Harry was listening to the call. Quickly, he began to manipulate his own set. Like The Shadow, Harry could send. He and his chief were in short-wave communication.

Faint, barely audible, those coded sentences. Toned low so that chance listeners might not even hear them, Harry caught a question that The Shadow was sending from Claig’s garage. He spoke to Clyde.

“What about Goodling’s men?” he queried. “Are they using the station wagon tonight?”

“No,” replied Clyde. “They didn’t use it last night. The road-watching groups are too small. They need something faster than the wagon, anyway. It’s only used for bringing in a big crowd during the day.”

HARRY was already sending a reply. Clyde heard instructions follow from The Shadow; but he was not close enough to catch the code. Harry nodded; but did not speak. He sent his acknowledgment. Then came another query. Harry questioned Clyde this time.

“Goodling will be at the courthouse?”

“Either there or over here with Rufus Dolthan.”

“Parrell and his men?”

“Here, with Dolthan.”

“Deputies?”

“Maybe a few will be available. Not many.”

Harry sent this information. He received another query and answered it. Then came a signal that Clyde recognized. The Shadow was signing off. Harry acknowledged.

He turned the dial, made some adjustments and strolled away from the radio. The soft melody of music came over the air. Harry had tuned in on a New York station. The set was giving normal reception.

“We’re right,” Harry told Clyde. “Eleven is the zero hour. That’s when the move must start up to Claig’s. You’re to be in on it, while I’m up here; that is, you’ll be with Rufus Dolthan, Roy Parrell and Jay Goodling when they plan their action.”

“And after that?”

“You’re to hop up here. I’m supposed to be in bed. That is, I will be at eleven o’clock. I’m no nighthawk, like the Classic bunch. I represent the National Press Association.”

Clyde chuckled.

“I’m glad the rest of the reporters went back to town,” he remarked. “They’re going to miss a story. Go ahead, Harry — after I get up here—”

“You’ll know the plans. I’ll send the details by the short-wave set. But we’ll probably be heading out on our own. In your car. Unless, of course, there’s some hitch that forces a change.”

“But suppose I’m wanted by Goodling and the others?”

“Then I can go out alone, using your car. You won’t need it if you’re with them.”

Clyde nodded his understanding. The Shadow always provided for emergencies. Whatever tonight’s mission might be, one agent would be available for it if both were not.

“Get that diary of Myra Dolthan’s,” said Harry. “It’s in the secret pocket of my suitcase. Here’s one point, Clyde; you’ve got to start the fireworks. The question is, can you ring Parrell in on it? Can you get him out of the hotel? Just for a stroll — any pretext — just so you’ll have a chance to steer him on a job of sleuthing that he’ll think is his own?”

Clyde pondered.

“If you can’t,” said Harry, “you can do the job alone. But if you can bring in Parrell—”

“I’ve got it!” interrupted Clyde. “Yesterday, Parrell whiffed some smoke from Claig’s pipe. The doctor was smoking when we were up there. The aroma suited Parrell and he dug out a swell briar of his own. He was smoking it today.”

“Well?”

“He left it in Goodling’s office. Parrell will be wondering where he dropped it. Let’s go and see if it’s still there.”

“Fine. Bring the diary.”

FIVE minutes later, The Shadow’s agents strolled into Goodling’s office. The prosecutor was out to dinner; but he never locked his door. The lights were on; and Clyde spied a pipe on the desk. The reporter recognized it as Parrell’s.

“Pocket it,” whispered Harry. Then, as they strolled out through the vacated corridor, he questioned: “Didn’t I see Parrell in the station wagon about the middle of the afternoon?”

“Yes,” replied Clyde. “He was in the front seat, talking with Carter. That was just after Carter came in to report no luck to Goodling.”

“That’s great!” Harry chuckled as they reached the street. He looked across to the spot where the station wagon was parked near a big limousine that belonged to Rufus Dolthan. “We’ll have some planting to do, Clyde. We’ll have dinner first; then take in a movie. It will be after ten by then. I’ll do the planting; you’ll handle the rest.”

“What’s the stunt, Harry?”

They had reached the little restaurant where they usually ate. Harry motioned for silence. He whispered last words as they entered.

“I’ll tell you after dinner, Clyde,” said Harry. “When we’re in the movie, you can slip me the pipe and the diary.”

They sat down at a table. Clyde was still half mystified. But Harry wore a smile. He knew that The Shadow’s orders could be carried through with ease. Clyde Burke would understand as well, as soon as Harry could give him three minutes of explanation.

The Shadow had planned a simple process which would bring confusion to those who schemed in crime. Yet Clyde Burke had not guessed what was due, even though Clyde was a keen thinker. That, to Harry, was merely new proof that facts, though simple, were not necessarily obvious.

Harry felt secret elation as he noticed Clyde’s thoughtful perplexity. He felt, for the moment, that he had gained the edge in a bit of friendly rivalry. Soon, however, Clyde would know all that Harry knew.

That, oddly, would prove to be less than Harry Vincent supposed. For while his agents were studying the surfaces of crime development, The Shadow had delved into the depths. Where others guessed, The Shadow knew.