The Shadow's Justice

CHAPTER VII THE HOME-COMING

WHEN the Southern Star docked at its North River pier, Carter Boswick was one of the first persons ashore. All the way up the river, the young man had imbibed the breeze of New York Harbor with a sense of new elation.

The sky line of Manhattan, replenished with huge buildings which had been erected during his absence, the familiarity of old views which Carter had not seen for years — these conspired to give the returning man an unexpected yearning for home.

Carter’s thoughts were of his father. All during the voyage from Havana be had read and reread the letter. His eagerness to greet his lone parent had reached the proportions of a mania. The details of customs examinations on the pier were an annoyance that Carter Boswick could scarcely undergo.

His luggage, each item labeled with a letter B, was subjected to an immediate examination, while Carter waited impatiently. Close beside him were passengers whose names began with C. One of those passengers — Lamont Cranston — was watching Boswick with careful gaze. Carter Boswick was not conscious of the surveillance.

While Carter Boswick waited, he felt a touch upon his shoulder. Turning, he faced a well-dressed man of medium height, whose features were firm and aristocratic. Carter had never seen this individual before. He was evidently some one who had come to meet the boat, for Carter did not recall him as a passenger.

“You are Carter Boswick?”

The man’s question was calm, but solemn. Carter nodded, wondering who the man might be.

“I am Farland Tracy. I have come to meet you.”

The name was momentarily unfamiliar. Then Carter recalled his father’s letter. The young man thrust his right hand forward.

“My father’s attorney,” he said.

“Yes,” responded Tracy, in an even tone. “I was your father’s attorney.”

As Carter blinked in slow understanding, Tracy’s hand dropped gently upon the young man’s shoulder. The lawyer’s eyes were sympathetic.

“Your father is dead, Carter,” he explained quietly. “He felt that the end was near the day he wrote his last letter to you. You received it? In Havana?”

Carter Boswick nodded.

“Your father lived scarcely more than twenty-four hours after he sent that letter,” resumed Tracy. “He was weary of life — incurably ill — a shell of himself as you had known him. He chose that you should not know until you had reached New York.”

It was with difficulty that Carter Boswick controlled his emotions. For years, his father had been scarcely more than a name to him. They had never quarreled, but there had never been a real understanding between them. Returning to America, Carter had sensed that his present maturity might enable him to meet his father on a basis of mutual friendship that had not existed in the past.

A surge of regret swept through the young man’s mind. He realized that he, while not a prodigal, was scarcely a deserving son. Farland Tracy sensed the mingling of emotions. He seemed to understand, and his kindly sympathy came to the fore. He beckoned toward his chauffeur, who had followed him on the pier.

“Take charge of Mr. Boswick’s luggage, Holland,” the lawyer ordered. “He and I will take a taxi to the Law Club. We are having luncheon there. Call for us about three thirty.”

HOLLAND was not the only person who heard the order. Lamont Cranston, apparently busy with a customs agent, had listened to Farland Tracy’s words.

A few minutes after Tracy and Carter Boswick had left the pier, Lamont Cranston followed. He stopped in a telephone booth and made a brief call. After that, he hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Law Club.

There was a thin smile on Cranston’s lips as he alighted at the portals of the Law Club. He entered the building, and spoke to the attendant who inquired his business there.

“I am Mr. Cranston,” he said in a quiet tone.

“Yes, Mr. Cranston,” responded the attendants. “You may enter, sir. Judge Lamark just called, sir. He said that you were to be admitted.”

Cranston still smiled as he walked through the lobby of the exclusive club. His phone call from the pier had brought quick results. Judge Vanniman Lamark was a friend of Lamont Cranston. He had been pleased to hear from him, He had promised to arrange Cranston’s admittance to the club, and would try to meet his friend there at three o’clock.

In the grillroom of the club, Cranston discovered Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick ordering lunch in a booth at the side of the room. Unnoticed, Cranston slipped into the adjoining booth. He gave a quiet order to a waiter; then listened intently. His keen ears caught every word that passed between Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick.

“As I have stated,” Tracy was saying, “your father made you his sole heir-except for a moderate but ample income that he left to your cousin, Drew Westling.”

“Why wasn’t Drew at the boat to meet me?” questioned Carter.

“I don’t believe that he knew when you were coming in,” answered Tracy. “Your father told him that you were on your way from Montevideo; but I don’t think that Drew inquired the day of your arrival. Your father’s death was a blow to Drew.”

“Of course,” agreed Carter. His tone, however, showed a tinge of disappointment. Drew Westling was his only relation, now that Houston Boswick was dead.

“You will probably find Drew at the house,” declared Tracy. “He is living there; and Headley, your father’s servant, has remained. There are other domestics — Headley is the only one of consequence. He is something of a supervisor, or caretaker.”

Farland Tracy paused after this explanation. Then, in a new train of thought, he came to a matter that proved to be of special consequence.

“There is a certain factor regarding your father’s estate,” resumed the lawyer, “that I cannot mention just at present. I discussed it with your father shortly before his death. My instructions were to wait until you had reached the home, and had established a residence there.

“Technically, such residence will begin as soon as you have stepped across the threshold, providing you announce your intention of keeping the old house. You will assume your father’s place as master there. So I shall come to visit you this evening. We can discuss affairs in the rooms that used to be your father’s study.”

There was a seriousness in the lawyer’s tone that impressed Carter Boswick.

“TELL me,” questioned the young man. “Was all well at the time of my father’s death?”

“Yes and no,” responded the lawyer thoughtfully. “Your father, Carter, had been living under certain apprehension. He had hoped for your return. If you had not come back, Drew Westling would have been his heir. Therefore, he took rather extraordinary methods to protect his estate.

“At the time he died, he believed that certain efforts were being made to interfere with his plans. He did not seem to fear that his life was in danger; but he did think that his property might be in jeopardy.

“He was positive that unknown persons had entered his home during his absence, in an effort to frustrate his plans. There was, however, no trace of an actual plot. He might have been mistaken—”

Carter Boswick interrupted. In a low, tense voice, he recounted his adventure in Havana, and the episode that had taken place aboard the Southern Star. Farland Tracy listened intently to the story. When Carter had concluded, the lawyer rubbed his chin in deep thought.

“Those events may be of a serious nature, Carter,” he declared. “It seems amazing that two attempts should have been made upon your life, at a time when you were coming home to gain a heritage. On the contrary, they may have been chance episodes. They may have no bearing upon your present situation. That, I sincerely hope, is the case.”

“Why?” questioned Carter, as the lawyer paused.

“Because,” continued Tracy, in a regretful tone, “there is only one person who could profit by your death.”

“Drew Westling?”

“Yes.”

Carter Boswick chewed his lips. He knew that Farland Tracy had spoken an apparent truth. Nevertheless, he was loath to believe that his cousin could be planning perfidy.

That, too, appeared to be Tracy’s thought. The lawyer expressed it in definite terms.

“Drew Westling is a spendthrift,” he declared. “Shortly before your father’s death, Drew lost heavily at the gaming table. I did my utmost to disentangle him from the snare. I succeeded only partially — enough to protect Drew for the time.

“I said nothing to your father regarding the matter. Had I mentioned it, Drew would probably have lost his income, and all claim to the estate, had you failed to arrive home.”

While Carter was still nodding his understanding, Tracy continued in a milder, more tolerant tone.

“Nevertheless,” he resumed, “Drew is a likeable young man, with all his faults. I would hesitate to class him as a plotter. I feel that he should be given the benefit of all doubt. At the same time, you should use discretion, Carter. My visit tonight will be important. It must be between ourselves. It concerns your affairs only.

“Drew Westling is entitled to his provision in the terms of the will. He is your cousin. He has a right to live with you at the old mansion. I know that you will treat him generously. Still, you must remember the existing facts. Give affairs a chance to adjust themselves. Be cordial to Drew, but make your renewed friendship one of slow culmination.”

“I appreciate the advice,” responded Carter. “It is well given, Mr. Tracy. Drew Westling’s lack of interest in my arrival gives me an excellent starting point. I shall be cordial and glad to see my cousin. But my experiences in foreign lands have shown me the folly of becoming too friendly all at once — even when a relative and boyhood chum is concerned.”

The men finished their lunch. Farland Tracy glanced at his watch and noticed that it was half past three.

“Holland must be here with the car,” said the attorney. “He will drive you to your home, Carter. I shall call tonight shortly before nine. It will apparently be no more than a chance visit; actually it will be a matter of greatest consequence. You understand?”

“Absolutely,” replied Carter Boswick. “You may rely upon me.”

The two men left the grillroom. Lamont Cranston remained. A few minutes later, an entering man stopped at Cranston’s table. It was Judge Vanniman Lamark, pleased to greet an old friend whom he had not seen for nine months.

As he chatted idly with the judge, Lamont Cranston still wore his thin smile. He was thinking of that appointment between Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick. He, too, would be there at nine o’clock.

But he would not visit the Boswick mansion as Lamont Cranston. Tonight, The Shadow would reappear to again play a hidden part in the destinies of Carter Boswick!