Satisfied that no other servants were about, Randham returned. He opened a door at the back of the living room. It led into a short hall. Randham followed the corridor to an entry. He unlocked a door that led to a walk. Beyond was a rear driveway — a service entrance.
Randham peered into darkness; then shut the door but left it unlocked. He returned to the living room, leaving the door from the corridor ajar. Restlessly, he paced back and forth. He studied the shades to make sure that all were drawn. Then, his breath coming in nervous hisses, Randham went to the corner bookcase.
The bottom shelf looked solid; but as Randham pressed the woodwork, a portion opened in hinged fashion. Two sections came upward, leaving a space beneath. Satisfied, Randham closed the opening.
Among the boxes on the floor were a few that had been unpacked. Randham stacked these; placed them in the corner; then began to unpack more books. Suddenly he stopped. He stared toward the side of the room. He fancied that he had heard the crackle of a window shade.
A minute passed. Randham laughed, in nervous fashion. Almost involuntarily, he returned to the bookcase. Worried, he placed his hands upon the special shelf, but did not open it. He waited there, chewing his lips.
The window toward which Randham had peered was no longer visible because of the projecting end of a bookcase. The shade moved upward; keen eyes, peering from the bottom, had seen that Randham was not in view.
A figure emerged from outer darkness. Like a spectral shape it edged into the mellow light of the living room. It blended with the darkness at the end of the bookcase, near the window.
The Shadow was here.
The brim of the slouch hat showed at the end of the bookcase. A keen gaze spotted Randham, stooping in the corner. As the servant looked up suddenly, the projecting hat brim disappeared.
RANDHAM’S nervous eyes went to the floor. There they stopped, transfixed, upon a streak of blackness. Before him, the nervous servant saw a fattened shade that ended in a strange silhouette. The brim of a hat; the profile of a hawklike visage; these were plain upon the floor.
A frightened gasp came from Randham’s lips. The servant tried to suppress the scream which he uttered afterward. He clambered to his feet, too late. Though he had spied The Shadow’s presence, Randham had lost the benefit of the discovery by uttering his startled cry.
Swinging into view, The Shadow looked like a specter conjured up from nothingness. His keen eyes flashed upon the cowering servant. An automatic, gripped in a black-gloved hand, was aimed straight for Randham’s forehead. Backing from the bookcase, the servant raised his hands in token of submission.
With gun leveled; with burning eyes above the barrel, The Shadow advanced until he reached the corner.
He had seen Randham at work there. He remembered the servant’s statement to Herbert Whilton regarding the placement of the books. The Shadow knew that the corner was the spot set for a murderous trap.
While Randham trembled, hopelessly at bay, The Shadow’s free hand probed the shelf in the corner. It found the cunningly designed trap. Up came the portions of the shelf, while The Shadow’s form swung from the corner. Not for an instant did the automatic fail to cover Randham.
In his motion, The Shadow had found the trap; he was ready for what might lie within. His searching eyes, glancing quickly toward the opened shelf, saw emptiness. A space had been provided; it was unoccupied.
The Shadow laughed. His sibilant mockery made Randham quake. It was a grim laugh; one that bespoke an upset in The Shadow’s plans, yet one that was foreboding.
The Shadow had arrived too soon. Randham’s nervousness had given him the inference that the trap was set. But, though he had found no ready evidence of coming murder, The Shadow had uncovered treachery. Randham, cowering before the figure in black, could speak and tell.
Eyes burned upon the cringing servant. The Shadow saw that this man who had betrayed his master would willingly squeal all that he knew. Through Randham, The Shadow could learn when the real minions of crime were due. He could gain a further knowledge of the death plot.
“Speak!” The Shadow’s order came in a weird hiss. “Tell me the meaning of your treachery. Confess!”
THERE was a sibilant horror in the tone. Randham quailed. His fingers trembled; his lips twitched as he yielded to The Shadow’s will.
“I–I’ll talk,” gasped the false servant. “I–I’ll tell all that I know. I was afraid — afraid — that’s why I promised — why I said that I would work for — for—”
“For whom.”
The Shadow’s words were a command; not a question. The muzzle of the automatic loomed before Randham like a tunnel that led to death. In face of this terror — unreal in its swift arrival, real in its present menace Randham sought to save his cowardly hide.
“For Charg!” blurted Randham. “For Charg — the one who must be obeyed.”
“Who is Charg.”
Again the words were an order rather than a question. The hiss of The Shadow’s voice; a menacing thrust of the automatic; the glare of the blazing eyes — all were timed in unison. Randham dropped almost to his knees. His words were pleading.
“I don’t know,” confessed the servant. “I was told of Charg — told of him by a man who made me fear. I–I was false to Mr. Whilton. I–I stole without his knowledge. This man knew what I had done.”
“Name the man.”
“His name is Quinton. He came to me. He told me that unless I served Charg, all would be exposed. He said that I had stolen from Mr. Whilton. He said that if I would steal, I would do more. He swore that I would suffer if I did not obey Charg. He said that if I did obey, I would gain a great reward.”
“This trap. Tell me who planned it.”
“Charg. But it was Quinton who came here — with the workmen. He fixed the bookcase. It is ready for the box. He is bringing it tonight — he and other men. I am to help them place it here.”
“And after that—”
“I am to go to Charg. I am to meet him. He will give me my reward.”
A whispered laugh shuddered through the room. It carried no mirth; only a hollow token of foreboding.
Well did The Shadow understand the reward that Randham could expect. Talbot, false servant of Loring Dyke, had been rewarded by death. Such was the prize that Randham, false servant of Herbert Whilton, was slated to receive.
The Shadow’s laugh made Randham shudder. The servant did not understand its meaning. Fearing some stroke upon The Shadow’s part, Randham hastened to explain his own position. He was fearful of The Shadow’s wrath.
“I have never seen Charg,” gasped Randham. “I have told the truth. I do not know where he is — or who he is. I am to learn tonight. Quinton will bring me a message. Through it, I can flee to Charge. I shall never return here. Charg will send me — send me where I can be free of pursuit.”
Again the laugh. The Shadow could see the truth of Charg’s promise, which Randham had evidently received through Quinton. Death. Such was the way in which Charg would free Randham from pursuit.
As he studied the quailing servant, The Shadow had gained a complete structure of Charg’s methods.
From some hidden lair, this unknown master must be sending forth trusted men, of Quinton’s ilk. They, in turn, were making tools of such cowards as Talbot and Randham.
Opportunity lay before The Shadow. By filling Randham’s heart with fear, he could make this traitorous servant go through with his scheduled part. Quinton could come; with him, Randham could place the trap. The Shadow could deal with Charg’s planted killer.