The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XVII MEN FROM THE NIGHT

HARRY VINCENT was already at the radio when Clyde Burke arrived in their third-floor room. Harry had watched from the window after planting Parrell’s pipe and Myra’s diary in the station wagon. He had seen Clyde and the detective make their find. Harry had allowed a short interval; then had begun to signal The Shadow.

An acknowledgment was sounding. As Clyde whispered details to Harry, the latter sent through a coded message. The Shadow’s reply was brief. Events had shaped as he had anticipated them. Harry nodded as former instructions were corroborated. The Shadow’s signal came to sign off. Harry responded; he twisted the dial and disconnected wiring. He nodded to Clyde.

Together, the agents headed downstairs. They had made the most of brief minutes. The clock in the lobby showed twelve minutes after eleven. Goodling, Parrell and the latter’s three men were still upstairs. Clyde and Harry heard their tramp in the hallway above.

Derry was in a telephone booth, sending out calls to the various posts where deputies were watching roads. Clyde and Harry hurried out through the side door, dashed past the station wagon and reached the reporter’s coupe.

Clyde started the motor; they rolled away just as Goodling and Parrell were coming out of the hotel with their party. The Shadow’s agents took a rear street; between buildings they saw the five men heading for the courthouse, where Goodling’s car was parked.

Clyde was taking the route that The Shadow had used when he had gone to Claig’s. A circling course that would bring them to that obscure road fringed by trees, where not even the lights of the car could be seen from Claig’s house.

The trip required less than one dozen minutes. As they curved into the old road, at a point above Claig’s, Clyde shut off the motor and switched off the lights. Feeling his way by the ruts, the reporter coasted the car along the road. He finally applied the brakes.

Both agents alighted. They crept up the bank of the road and passed a cluster of bushes. The night was clouded; but they could discern the outline of Claig’s garage; they could also see the house beyond it.

As they waited, they saw a momentary glimmer from the near side of the garage. It was The Shadow’s signal; and meant that he would join them.

Watching tensely, Clyde saw a car approaching Claig’s. Its lights were coming up the regular road. The machine was Goodling’s; the prosecutor was using the strategy that he had planned with Parrell and Dolthan.

Then, as Goodling’s car drew closer to the house, Harry pointed out other lights. These were down the road; they slowed, stopped and finally blinked off.

“Dolthan’s limousine,” whispered Harry. “The chauffeur must have followed pretty close after Goodling.”

“They’ll wait there,” added Clyde. “Then they’ll come closer after they know that Goodling and Parrell are inside the house.”

The comments ended. Both agents were silent, knowing that soon The Shadow would arrive where they were stationed. Harry held a flashlight close against the ground, ready to deliver a cautious answering glimmer the moment that The Shadow gave an arriving blink from close at hand.

MEANWHILE, Goodling’s car was slowly climbing the up grade to Claig’s. The prosecutor was making a cautious approach, despite the fact that there was reason for the visit. He was not anxious that the physician should know of their arrival until they rang the doorbell.

While he drove, Goodling exchanged comments with Parrell. In response to a suggestion from the detective, the prosecutor swung wide as they entered the drive and brought the car to a standstill at the very edge of the gravel.

This made the path easy for Parrell’s three followers. The trio would be able to avoid crunching gravel when they approached the house.

Goodling and Parrell alighted. Apparently their arrival had not been heard. The lower floor of the house showed dim lights from various rooms. Doctor Claig had applied his usual method of deceiving visitors. The county prosecutor strolled slowly to the porch; the private detective followed at his heels. Reaching their goal, they stopped at the door. Goodling rang the bell.

An interval followed. Goodling rang again. Two minutes of waiting; then a light appeared suddenly upon the porch. The door opened; Doctor Claig appeared. The physician smiled as he recognized his visitors.

“Well, well, Goodling,” he ejaculated. “This is a surprise. I did not hear your car arrive. You appear troubled. Have you come to report an illness in town?”

Goodling nodded; it was Parrell, however, who spoke.

“We’ve come on account of Rufus Dolthan,” he explained. “He is just about beside himself, doctor. Pacing like a caged lion. Won’t go to bed.

“We’ve got to get something to put him to sleep. Can’t you fix up some opiate for him? Something that will look like ordinary medicine? So he’ll take it?”

“I believe so,” responded Claig. “Come in, gentlemen. We can go right into my office.”

The door closed as the three men entered. Darkness stirred in the blackness beside the house. A cloak swished softly.

The Shadow had returned from his trip to the rear road. His business with his agents was ended; his return journey had been accomplished with swiftness. In fact, The Shadow had arrived just in time to catch the last of the conversation between Doctor Claig and the physician’s two visitors.

Listening, The Shadow heard sounds from Goodling’s car. A door was opening cautiously. Men were easing out into the darkness. The Shadow sensed that Parrell’s three aids were creeping toward the porch. He waited no longer. Turning in the darkness, The Shadow skirted toward the rear of the building. His course was untraceable.

INSIDE the house, Doctor Claig was holding consultation with Goodling and Parrell. Head cocked, the white-haired physician was listening to the detective’s description of Rufus Dolthan’s nervous symptoms. A ticking clock showed the time as twenty-five minutes before twelve.

“I see,” declared Claig, wisely. “Mr. Dolthan has reached a high pitch of nervousness. Unquestionably, the strain has been too great for him. He must be soothed. Quieted. Suppose I write you a prescription, Goodling? You can wake Billings, the druggist, and he will prepare it for you. Let me see — where did I place those prescription blanks?”

Claig opened a drawer with his left hand. He reached in with his right; then stopped short as he heard a sharp remark from Parrell.

Looking over his shoulder, the doctor stared into the muzzle of a stub-nosed revolver that the detective had brought from his pocket. Even Goodling was momentarily surprised until he heard Parrell explain.

“You’ll find a gun in that drawer,” stated Parrell. “Take a look for it, prosecutor. I know when a man’s reaching for a gat. Claig was going to cover us.”

Goodling dived for the drawer. He uncovered an old-fashioned revolver. Removing the weapon, the prosecutor cracked it open and found bullets in the gun’s five chambers. Pocketing the revolver, Goodling eyed Claig severely.

“I’ve had that gun for years,” declared the physician, calmly. “Naturally, I have it in an available place. It is dangerous to live out in the country, Goodling. Everyone around here owns a gun.”

“Hurry up, prosecutor,” urged Parrell. “Don’t let him pull a stall. He’s holding out for twelve o’clock. Trying to help Kermal’s game.”

For the first time, Claig lost his self-control The physician’s face darkened; an instinctive gasp came from his lips. It was enough for Goodling. The prosecutor drew a .38 and covered the physician. He motioned Parrell to the door; the detective grinned and nodded.

Sneaking out through the front hall, Parrell opened the big door and let his three men enter. They followed him softly into the physician’s office.

Goodling was questioning Claig; the doctor was preserving firm silence. As the others appeared, Goodling stepped forward, gripped Claig’s wrist and pulled the physician to his feet. Searching Claig’s pockets, Goodling found a large key. He thrust it into Claig’s hand.

“Move ahead of us, doctor,” growled Goodling. “Unlock that door and lead the way upstairs. I warn you — despite the fact that you were once my friend — I shall riddle you with bullets if you display a sign of treachery.”

With that cold statement, Goodling rammed the muzzle of his .38 between Claig’s shoulders. Parrell nodded to his men; they drew revolvers of their own. Goodling forced Claig through the doorway to the hall. Key in hand, the physician moved to the alcove and unlocked the door.

Covered by five men, Claig had no chance to resist. His role of blind had ended; no longer could he cover Taussig Kermal’s hideout. With twenty minutes still remaining before midnight, invaders were on the threshold of the crafty lawyer’s lair.