Treasures of Death

CHAPTER XIX IN THE OLD HOUSE

HARRY VINCENT opened his eyes. He was lying upon his back, staring straight upward at the ceiling. He could see fantastic flickers there. He realized that he was in a room where a fire must be burning in the grate.

Yet Harry did not move. He was trying dimly to recall what had happened since the time when he had been attacked outside of Eli Galban’s house. He remembered the glaring, evil face of Fawkes. He recalled a dull return to consciousness; the sensation that he was being carried helpless, like a sack of wheat.

After that, delirium. Short stages of sane moments, then he had seen faces which seemed strange but familiar. Long stretches of burning fever, when his body had ached. Then had come sleep and finally this awakening.

Some one was approaching the couch. Wearily, Harry turned his head. He stared into the face of Sanyata, Eli Galban’s valet. The Japanese turned and spoke quietly. Another man approached. It was Lycurgus Mercher.

Neither the valet nor the secretary showed signs of animosity. Sanyata was placid; Mercher was almost servile. The tall, bent secretary was rubbing his hands together as he gazed at Harry Vincent with a solicitous air.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, in his whimpering tone.

“Yes,” replied Harry, as he reached up to rub his forehead. “A little weak but—”

“That is natural,” nodded Mercher. “Let me help you rise.”

Mercher showed considerable strength as he brought Harry to a sitting position. The Shadow’s agent blinked his eyes as he realized where he was. He had been brought to Eli Galban’s sitting room. Directly in front of him, old Galban was seated in his chair beside the fire.

This was a pleasant aftermath to Harry’s fierce experience with Fawkes. All was cheery here, even more than it had been before, when Harry had first visited Eli Galban with Terry Barliss.

Sanyata was wheeling a table over to the couch. Eli Galban extended his hand to indicate the objects there. Harry saw a goblet of orange juice, a glass of water and a cup of coffee.

“It is time for breakfast,” announced Galban, with a chuckle. “Sanyata will bring you toast. We have been waiting for your awakening.”

Harry began with a drink of water. Mercher was speaking to Galban. The old man nodded seriously and the secretary went into the elevator. Sanyata was busy making toast on a small electric grill.

A SENSE of blankness impressed Harry Vincent. The Shadow’s agent realized that considerable time must have elapsed since the episode outside the house. He caught a slight twinkle in Eli Galban’s eye.

“How long have I been out?” questioned Harry.

“Forty-eight hours,” responded Galban, with a smile.

“What!” exclaimed Harry. “You mean—”

“That it has been two nights since you had your unfortunate encounter with my man Fawkes. That affair was most regrettable — at the same time, you have much to be thankful for.”

Harry looked puzzled. Galban explained.

“Fawkes is uncontrollable at times,” said the old man. “Only, however, when he is within certain rights. It is his task to keep intruders from these grounds.

“He has thrown trespassers over the fence; he has hurled trouble-makers from the front door; but only when he knew that they had no business here. When he saw you at the window, Fawkes decided that you must be trying to enter the house. It was his first experience with a burglar. When he saw you draw your gun, it was his life or yours.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t kill me,” admitted Harry soberly.

“He might have,” replied Galban quietly. “Fortunately, however he recognized your face. He remembered you as a visitor whom he had seen here. He had already choked you seriously, and had ground your head into the mud. It was lucky that you were not lying on concrete paving.”

Harry nodded.

“When he recognized you,” resumed Galban, “he brought you into the house. Mercher made him carry you up to this room. We worked to bring you to your senses. You were in a state of semiconsciousness. We managed to restore you, but the result was a stage of delirium that lasted all the night.

“I summoned no physician. That was for your own sake. Had questions been asked, I should have had to stand up for Fawkes. He had performed a duty that was within his rights. You were a trespasser; I would have had to turn you over to the police.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” said Harry, picking up a piece of buttered toast.

“I felt,” declared Galban, seriously, “that you would prefer to explain your unwarranted behavior to me rather than to a magistrate. When your delirium began to decline, I had Mercher give you an opiate. You slept after that. We kept you here for observation. You look well now that you have awakened.”

“I feel weak, though,” admitted Harry, “weak and dopey.”

“That is to be expected,” declared Galban.

There was an interval of pause. Eli Galban made no comment as Harry drank his coffee. The Shadow’s agent, however, sensed the situation. Galban was awaiting an explanation; yet he was too courteous to demand one. Harry fuddled with the coffee while he planned a story.

SO far as Galban was concerned, Harry decided that the truth would be the best resort. But circumstances made it unwise for The Shadow’s agent to discuss facts too fully. That was something which Harry seldom forgot, no matter how badly he might fare. He had pulled himself out of some real dilemmas in the past. Here, with a friendly man like Galban, the task was not particularly difficult.

It would be easy, Harry knew, to tell Galban that danger threatened. The old man, however, might demand specific details that Harry could not furnish.

It was essential, above all, to mention nothing that might indicate Harry to be the agent of a powerful investigator such as The Shadow.

“I owe you thanks, Mr. Galban,” declared Harry, in his frank manner, as he placed the coffee cup upon the table. “I must admit that my prowling here two nights ago was a most suspicious procedure. In fact, it was hardly justified at all; yet I am willing to explain the reasons in back of it.”

“I should be glad to hear them,” returned Galban.

“It goes back to my visit here with Terry Barliss,” explained Harry. “After we left you, we called on Wendel Hargate. He brought out his Villon manuscript; then declared that he, like my friend Terry Barliss, had been robbed.

“Later, a man named Compton Salwood was killed in his interior decorating shop. A detective — Joe Cardona — unearthed evidence to show that Salwood had been committing robberies on a wholesale scale — stealing books and manuscripts.”

“I have read the newspapers,” nodded Galban. “The name of Salwood was unfamiliar to me at first until I recalled that I had once received a letter from him in which he offered to make an estimate on redecorations for this mansion. I replied that I was not interested.”

“That was wise,” assured Harry. “Both Barliss and Hargate stated that Salwood had been present in their houses. He visited the Barliss home when Terry’s uncle, Shattuck Barliss, was alive. Naturally, Terry felt that he had been robbed by Salwood. He figured, too, that Wendel Hargate was in the same boat. So he decided to visit Hargate.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Galban. “When was that?”

“The night before I came here,” returned Harry. “Terry Barliss went alone to Hargate’s. He promised to inform me what happened there. He did not call me at my hotel. Terry is a friend of mine. I naturally worried when he did not return. I was much disturbed.”

“I see.”

“It occurred to me then that Terry might have decided to pay you another visit, since you were the one who had given him Hargate’s name. So I came here. I saw no signs of a visitor. I was worried. I did not like to call on you alone, because I had come here with Terry Barliss.

“My impulse was to leave; my worry over Terry compelled me to stay. Realizing that I had an ulterior motive in my visit, I decided to take a closer look at the house. It was a mistaken notion, I admit—”

“Apologies are unnecessary,” interposed Galban, with a pleasant smile. “I can appreciate your feelings. However, Mr. Vincent, much though I believe in your sincerity, I must be cautious. Therefore, I must insist upon one point.”

“What is that?”

“You must remain here as my guest, for a limited period. You must subject yourself to a certain amount of surveillance. I can assure you that such is necessary. I have so much at stake that I must be cautious at all cost.”

Galban paused; then delivered his explanation in a frank and serious tone.

“I have enemies,” asserted the old man. “I do not like to name the man whom I suspect; but I am afraid that he may attack me at any time. I can only tell you that the one I fear is the same man who was in back of the robberies committed by Compton Salwood.

“I do not know the fellow’s game. I know only that he is dangerous. He envies my possessions. He may attempt to gain them by desperate robbery. I do not care to inform the police. To do so would require charges against the man whom I suspect. He is too wealthy and too crafty to lay himself open to detection.

“Therefore, I am waiting. I have three faithful servants who will stand by me. The invasion may come at any time. Fawkes thought it had begun when he encountered you. After he saw your face, he was not sure whether you were friend or foe.

“I consider you to be a friend. Yet there is the possibility that I may be deceived. If — by some chance — you should actually be an enemy, it is my part to keep you a prisoner, as I have no desire to harm you.

“If, on the contrary, you are the friend that I believe you to be, it is my duty to see that you do not encounter danger. You can understand my predicament. If I let you leave here, I may be making a grave mistake. If I keep you, I must assure you proper treatment.”

“I think that you have done that already.”

“I have, while you were in a helpless state. Your recovery has changed the situation. Fortunately, it has occurred on what may be the eve of trouble. I want you to remain here only until the crisis is past.”

“I shall be glad to aid you.”

“No. I do not ask that, Vincent. I would be uneasy. If you should turn out to be an enemy, my cause might be lost. As the friend which I credit you with being, you would encounter danger that would make me feel even more at fault.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“I have a very simple plan. I shall ask you to remain as my guest, in a room on the second floor. The door will have to be locked. However, I shall send Sanyata there at intervals to see that you are all right. I can assure you that you will be quite comfortable.”

“How long will this last?”

“Until tomorrow. If nothing occurs tonight, we can discuss the future in the morning. However, I know that you require healthful sleep; hence I am not imposing a real hardship upon you.”

The sincerity of Galban’s tone was obvious. As Harry considered it, he realized that the old man had given him a very fair proposition. The only policy was to accept. Otherwise, Galban’s suspicions would be immediately aroused. Harry arose from the table.

“Very well,” he said. “I agree to your terms, Mr. Galban. What is more, I thank you for your fair consideration of my case.”

Galban beckoned to Sanyata. The Japanese approached. At Galban’s order, he opened the door of the elevator. Harry entered the lift; the servant followed. The door shut and they descended to the second floor.

THE opened door revealed a hallway. It was part of a square passage, formed by halls and stairs, that went around the elevator shaft.

Alone with the Japanese, Harry saw a possibility for a mad struggle and an escape down the stairway. Such a course, however, would not only be damaging to Harry’s cause; it would also lead to an encounter between Harry and Fawkes, who was probably below. Unarmed, Harry had no relish for a conflict with the huge brute who served as Galban’s watchdog.

Sanyata motioned along the hall. Harry, as he passed an opening, saw steps leading to the third floor. This was an unused way to the story on which Galban lived. Sanyata was close behind Harry.

There was something in the manner of the Japanese that made Harry cautious. Sanyata, despite his placid manner, possessed a crafty mode of motion that marked him as a dangerous man in a pinch.

Sanyata unlocked the door of a room. There were several such doors along this corridor that led from the stairway. Harry entered the apartment; he found it to be a comfortable bedroom, well provided with books. Cigarettes and ash tray were on a table in the corner.

Sanyata bowed; stepped back into the corridor and closed the door. Harry heard the key turn in the lock. Looking at the door, Harry saw that it was a heavy barrier — one that could not be easily broken.

The windows were not only barred, closed iron shutters lay beyond. These were fastened with heavy padlocks. There was no object in the room that might serve as a hammer with which to break them.

Harry lighted a cigarette and seated himself at the table. He began to look over the books; seeing none that interested him, he observed a table drawer and opened it. The only articles were papers that seemed of no importance. Harry lifted them; then prepared to replace them.

Something dropped and tinkled in the drawer. It was a key; it had evidently been mislaid among these papers. A sudden idea occurred to Harry. Could this be a duplicate key to the door that Sanyata had locked behind him?

Harry stole to the door and tried the key. It fitted. Softly, Harry turned the lock. He moved into the corridor, closing and locking the door behind him. Harry made for stairs. He crept down them until he reached a landing.

From behind a huge newel post, he had a view of the inner hall below. In a place of obscurity, Harry had a perfect watching spot.

THE waxwork figures made a ghostly tableau. A living form was moving stolidly among them. It was Fawkes; the huge-headed man looked like a monstrous murderer amid a cluster of petrified corpses.

Caution gripped Harry Vincent for the time. He crept back up the stairway and went into his room, locking the door behind him. He decided to wait at least an hour before making another trip to the lookout that he had chosen.

Something was impending, Harry Vincent knew. Though Eli Galban had mentioned no name, Harry suspected that Wendel Hargate was the old man’s enemy. Galban was prepared to meet a stern attack; somehow, Harry felt that the old man knew how it would probably be made.

Danger threatened. Soon it would strike. When the conflict began, Harry Vincent, though unarmed, intended to be there. The Shadow was concerned with the events that were to come; as an agent of The Shadow, it would be Harry Vincent’s task to join any battle in the cause of justice.

Minutes ticked while Harry maintained a calmness. A rap sounded at the door. The voice of Sanyata was inquiring if Harry desired anything.

Harry went to the door and called back that he was going to bed.

The doorknob turned as Sanyata made sure that the lock was set. Dimly, the footsteps of the Japanese faded along the corridor without. More minutes passed; Harry Vincent softly inserted his key and unlocked the door. He was ready now to go back to the lower landing and be on watch for whatever might occur.

Amid the patter of increasing raindrops, Eli Galban’s home was a weird place with its closed doors. Yet this second floor held no menace like the floor below, where Fawkes, the huge-chinned guardian stalked among the statues made of wax!