The Wealth Seeker

CHAPTER IX. DORAND ASKS ADVICE

ON the following evening, Lamont Cranston’s trim coupe was again rolling along the road to Garport.

The Shadow, hidden at the wheel, was on his way to visit Folsom Satruff.

The car swerved swiftly from the main highway, without slackening its speed. It whirled along a narrow byway. The road-worthy car responded as its driver swung it into an entrance between two pillars.

Gravel crunched as the coupe ascended the slope to Satruff’s mansion.

The car came to a stop beside the porte-cochere. Alighting, The Shadow stalked through the darkness.

His keen eyes had spied the fork, farther back, where a disused driveway went to the opposite side of the house. Now his burning gaze was centered upon the mansion itself.

Few lights were glimmering, although a parked sedan indicated that a visitor was in the house. As The Shadow came into a dim range of illumination beneath the porte-cochere, his form was no longer hazy. It appeared as the shape of a tall man, who bore the passive features of Lamont Cranston.

Riggs answered the door when the visitor rang. He recognized Cranston and conducted him to the second-floor living room. Entering, Cranston was greeted by Folsom Satruff. With Satruff was an elderly, shrewd-faced man who rose to be introduced.

“This is Mr. McEwen,” stated Satruff. “Tobias McEwen, the attorney. He is my legal representative.”

Cranston nodded as he shook hands with the lawyer. Evidently McEwen’s name was one which he had recognized.

Satruff waved Cranston to a chair. He then closed the door of the living room and returned toward the fireplace. Satruff glanced at McEwen. The lawyer was studying Cranston.

It was evident that Satruff had invited his attorney here for some specific purpose. Whether or not McEwen was responding as Satruff had expected was something that could be left only to conjecture.

Satruff took it for granted that McEwen was satisfied.

WITH his back to the fireplace, Satruff spoke directly to Lamont Cranston. A glimmer of interest appeared in the visitor’s eyes as the millionaire host began his discourse.

“Cranston,” declared Satruff, in a confiding tone, “I realized last night that I owed you a debt of gratitude. I have appreciated that fact even more since then. I know that in you I have found a true friend.

“When I discussed the matter with McEwen, here at dinner, I explained that a man in my position must be very careful about taking others into his confidence. The more wealth that a man accumulates, the more does he separate himself from the world at large. He limits his potential friendships to those few who can understand the situation of a moneyed man. Do you agree?”

“Quite,” acknowledged Cranston quietly. “That is one reason why I prefer to roam the world at large, rather than confining myself to a limited area. My real friendships are found in most obscure localities.

“A British consul in Timbuktu; the chief of staff of a maharajah’s guard” — Cranston paused to smile reminiscently — “those are typical friends of mine. I have others who possess great wealth, such as Pascual Cordillez, the Chilean mine owner. I understand these men because I have met them completely freed from thoughts of profit-making friendship.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Satruff. “You see, McEwen, that Cranston’s experience has been parallel to mine. That is why, in the light of what occurred last night, I think it best to tell him of the peculiar circumstances which surround me.”

McEwen nodded in half-given approval.

“Cranston,” said Satruff, in a serious tone, “there was a reason for that gang raid here last night. Those mobsters came with well-planned purpose.”

“So Detective Cardona seemed to indicate.”

Satruff nodded as he heard Cranston’s reply. He knew that Cranston had not been present when Cardona had set forth his theory; but the gleam in Satruff’s face indicated that he had felt sure that Cranston had divined the detective’s hunch.

“Cardona spoke to me along that line,” remarked Satruff. “He suspected that Pug Hoffler had received some information that this place could be robbed. But what Cardona did not guess — and what I did not tell him — was the amount of available wealth that lies within my vault.”

Satruff paused to judge the effect of his words. Cranston made no comment; nor did he indicate any undue surprise.

“Nor,” continued Satruff, “did I tell Cardona why I might happen to be holding so much cash in my home, instead of keeping it in safe deposit. I suppose, Cranston, that you will consider it odd that a man of wealth should commit such an indiscretion.”

“Hardly,” observed Cranston, in his monotone. “Not in your case, at least.”

“Why not?” queried Satruff in surprise.

“Because,” returned Cranston, “the initial of your middle name is D.”

TOBIAS MCEWEN stared as he heard these words. Folsom Satruff was taken aback. He had been preparing Cranston for a surprise; instead, his guest had delivered one.

“You mean,” ejaculated Satruff, “that you have guessed that I am—”

“Dorand,” interposed Cranston.

Satruff turned to McEwen. The lawyer nodded as he caught his client’s look.

“You were right, Satruff,” he said. “I had thought it inadvisable to take any party into your confidence. But since Mr. Cranston already suspects the truth, it is better that he should have been told.”

“I am Dorand,” announced Satruff, turning to corroborate Cranston’s suggestion. “In fact, Dorand is my middle name — but I have never used it except as an individual title. McEwen, here, has records of all my philanthropies. When I have finished with my efforts to aid unfortunate persons, I may, perhaps, reveal my identity. Until then, however, I have preferred to keep it secret.

“Last night’s episode, however, has convinced me that my work has been watched. It has reached the ears of men of crime. Pug Hoffler came here knowing that my vault contained thousands upon thousands in actual cash.

“His dying words told me that he was but one who shared the secret. That, Cranston, has placed me in a most difficult situation. I must either give up my benefactions or else reveal myself as Dorand. That, in turn, will mean an end to my plan of philanthropy, for I have chosen to keep my true identity unknown.

“Either course is distasteful. I felt that it would be wise for me to study my predicament. I knew that I could rely upon McEwen. I also wanted the advice of some one who would be qualified to give it. Inasmuch as you had saved my life through your prompt action in the strong-room, I decided that you were the proper person with whom I should confer.”

LAMONT CRANSTON was thoughtful. He had placed a cigarette between his thin lips. Each well-timed puff came as the expression of a growing chain of thought. Cranston, himself a millionaire, was surveying Satruff’s situation.

“I take it,” came Cranston’s easy tone, “that you have made your work known to persons in whom you have confidence. That is, to persons other than Mr. McEwen.”

“To only two,” acknowledged Folsom Satruff.

“The others,” remarked Cranston, “are—”

Although Cranston’s voice paused, there was something in his tone that indicated his ability to supply the names himself. Folsom Satruff caught the suggestion; nevertheless, the man who called himself Dorand was prompt to give the identities of those whom he had mentioned.

“One,” he stated, “is Bartlett Okum. As my secretary and my aid in philanthropic work, it was necessary that I should tell him everything. The other is Doctor Wesley Harlow, a young man in whom I have great confidence.”

“You have told no one else that you are Dorand?”

“Absolutely no one.”

“Then,” decided Cranston, “if the news has leaked out, it must have been through the indiscretion of either Okum or Harlow.”

“Or myself,” interposed Tobias McEwen.

“Hardly through you, McEwen,” laughed Satruff. “You, as a lawyer, make it a business to keep the affairs of your clients to yourself.”

“There are crooked lawyers,” declared McEwen.

“But you are not one,” responded Satruff. “We can count you out, McEwen. At the same time” — Satruff’s voice was kindly — “I do not feel that I should mistrust either Okum or Harlow. I have discussed my work as Dorand with both of them. There is every possibility that one of my conversations might have been overheard.

“In fact, I cannot say with positive surety that Pug Hoffler knew I was Dorand. I merely suppose that; and I can also add that somehow, certain of my benefactions may have been traced back to me, although I have used every possible method to prevent such an occurrence.

“What I want to know is how I can keep on with my beneficent work without running the risk of further gang raids. I should like to preserve the secrecy which surrounds Dorand as long as possible.”

“Inform the police.” The suggestion came from Tobias McEwen. “Tell Detective Cardona that you are Dorand. Let him protect this house from raiders.”

“If I were convinced,” returned Satruff, “that a real threat hung over me, I should follow your advice, McEwen. But that would be the beginning of the end so far as the philanthropic work of Dorand is concerned. The police serve the law. If emergencies arise, they are forced to show their hand.

“Detective Cardona might find it essential to let the public know that I was Dorand. My desire in the matter would be of no consequence.”

“Put some Pinkerton men on the job,” suggested McEwen.

“Worse,” decided Satruff. “Hired detectives would not be satisfactory in a case such as this. What I need” — Satruff was appealing to Cranston — “is a man in whom I can rely; one who has a fresh viewpoint on this situation.

“Okum is getting old and useless. You saw how easily he was trapped by last night’s raiders. He can still take care of the methodical details which pertain to my philanthropies.”

“What about Riggs?” queried McEwen.

“A dullard,” responded Satruff. “I need a man of capability; one who could appear to be a private secretary relieving Okum of his heavy duties. At the same time, he must be a man who would prove quick in an emergency. Such a man as you, Cranston.”

A soft laugh came from Cranston’s lips. It bore no resemblance to the strange laugh of The Shadow.

“I should like to take the job myself,” stated Cranston. “However, that is impossible.”

“But perhaps you know of some one who—”

“I do.” Cranston’s tone was thoughtful. “When I have set forth on unusual expeditions, I have sometimes chosen men to accompany me. They frequently communicate with me when they learn that I am setting out again.

“I am planning, at present, to visit Easter Island, that odd volcanic patch of land west of the coast of Chile. I intend to make a study of the huge stone prehistoric monuments known as megaliths.

“I require no companion, as my Chilean friend, Pascual Cordillez, is providing his yacht and expects me to join him, alone, at the port of Antofagasta. That means that I must turn down a very deserving applicant who wished to accompany me on this trip. He is a young man from Michigan who possesses marked capabilities and who is at present in New York.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Satruff. “You would recommend him for this work that I require?”

“Absolutely,” stated Cranston. “He is most trustworthy and thoroughly reliable.”

“Is it necessary,” objected McEwen, “to bring in another person on this Dorand business?”

“The man would not have to know that I am Dorand,” declared Satruff. “Okum will still attend to my affairs. I want some one whom I can count upon in case of an emergency like last night’s. This man that you suggest, Cranston — can he handle a gun?”

“That,” smiled Cranston, “is the first requirement of any who accompany me on my travels.”

“And his name?”

“Harry Vincent.”

“Where can I reach him?”

“At the Metrolite Hotel.”

FOLSOM SATRUFF smiled and rubbed his hands together. He paid no attention to Tobias McEwen’s disgruntled expression. It was evident that the lawyer felt himself overruled, yet was afraid to make new expression through fear of his wealthy client’s displeasure.

“That clears my dilemma,” announced Satruff warmly. “Clears it for the time, at least. I shall call Vincent to-morrow, Cranston, and state that you recommended him for the post. I can give him active duties during the day— ones which will suit his nature. I have a speed boat in the Sound. I can place him in charge of it.

“At night, however, the outer door of the strong-room will be under my own supervision, and I shall have Vincent to back me in case of emergency. You have helped me greatly, Cranston, and I appreciate your aid.”

That ended the discussion. Tobias McEwen departed, in somewhat surly fashion, a half hour later. After that, Lamont Cranston made his exit. Within the low-built coupe, Folsom Satruff’s guest merged strangely with the darkness.

As the trim car crunched its way along the gravel drive, a whispered laugh emerged from its interior. It was a presaging laugh— a tone of mockery that showed token of the future.

The Shadow knew why Pug Hoffler had raided Folsom Satruff’s strong-room. He realized that the vault, with its hoard of wealth, would remain a lure to men of crime.

The identity of Dorand was known in the underworld. That meant that further events were due to happen at the home of Folsom Satruff.

From to-morrow on, The Shadow would be prepared to deal with such occurrences. Through subtle conversation with the man who called himself Dorand, The Shadow, as Lamont Cranston, had made the necessary arrangements.

To-morrow, Harry Vincent, a trusted agent of The Shadow, would begin his stay within the walls of Satruff’s huge mansion.