THE building was in a large clearing. Black against the side wall, The Shadow watched Zegler and his nephew as they stalked to a tumble-down structure that served as their garage. Lights flashed; a sedan swung out into a rutted drive. Then the car rolled to the road and jounced off in the direction of the Paulington road.
The Shadow pressed the window upward. The sash was unlocked. He made a silent entry in the darkness. His flashlight blinked, guarded by the folds of his cloak. He approached the desk and raised its roll top.
Papers lay in disarray. None of them were important; they were chiefly bills from Paulington merchants, all stamped “Paid.” The Shadow opened small compartments. In one he found an old .32 revolver, unloaded. In another, he discovered a few silver coins.
A bank book promised information; but the stubs bore no reference to the amount of Hiram Zegler’s funds. A tin box contained an assortment of fishhooks.
In the back of the desk, The Shadow uncovered two metal tubes, each about six inches in length and two in diameter. These had tight-fitting screw covers. The Shadow opened each in turn. One held more fishhooks; the other was empty.
Odd bottles of pills were the only other items on view. Apparently Zegler kept nothing of value in the desk. That was not surprising, because the ease of entry to the mill would have made theft simple during Zegler’s absence.
The Shadow’s flashlight glimmered on a stairway that led upward. This indicated sleeping quarters above.
More important to The Shadow was the door that Elisha had indicated. This barrier must lead below the mill. The door was a strong one, fitted with a good lock.
The tiny light glimmered on the lock, while a gloved hand worked with probing pick. A click sounded.
The Shadow opened the door and flashed his light upon a rickety stairway that curved as it descended.
The Shadow closed the door behind him. He followed the curved stairway; as he did, he heard the surge of water. He came to the bottom and found a crude cellar. The center of the floor was open; through it poured the entire bulk of the swift stream that had once provided power to the mill.
There were no openings in these lower walls. The only mode of entrance was from the room above, unless one had chosen to swim under water and come in by the stream itself. As The Shadow moved toward the rear of the mill, he shone his light into the water and discovered the net of which Elisha had spoken.
A thick, curved mesh that blocked the entire stream, the net offered an excellent trap for fish. The strength of the current would tend to bring fish through the channel beneath the mill. Once in the net, they would be apt to stay there.
Moving further back, The Shadow encountered a solid wall that stopped just above the surface of the water. He could feel the rumble of surging current underneath the planks on which he stood. This indicated that the main inlet was but one feeder through which water came.
In fact, there was something placid about the flow of the central channel. The water seemed to increase in power and volume as it reached the net. As The Shadow studied this fact, he caught a sound from above. It sounded like the closing of a door.
Placing his hand against the low ceiling, The Shadow sensed a creaking. Moving forward, he followed it for half a dozen paces. His light was no longer blinking. Someone had entered the mill from the door which Zegler and Elisha had used as exit.
PICKING his way through darkness, The Shadow gained the stairway. He ascended and stopped when he arrived at the closed door. Carefully, he turned the latch. He opened the door a fraction of an inch.
Light gleamed through the opening. The Shadow saw a man moving away from a table upon which stood a lighted lamp.
The newcomer was going toward the desk. He was neither Zegler nor Elisha; The Shadow could tell that, despite the fact that the man had moved into gloom. The intruder reached the desk; there he blinked a flashlight and began to rummage through the papers.
The fellow’s face was away from The Shadow’s view. Slowly, The Shadow opened the door and crept from the stairway. He closed the door noiselessly behind him. Spectral beyond the fringe of light, he looked like a figure from another world.
The Shadow could easily have gained the window by which he had entered. Or, as second choice, he could have glided along the wall to make sure progress to the outer door. Strangely, he took neither course.
Instead, he moved softly to the center of the room. His gloved hands weaponless in front of his black cloak, he took a position a dozen feet behind the man who was inspecting Zegler’s desk.
At no point did he block the lamplight. So careful was his advance that the intruder caught no indication of it. Motionless, The Shadow waited until he saw the intruder pocket the flashlight.
Then The Shadow delivered a hissed laugh. Like a ghost mysteriously materialized in the very center of the room, he spoke his sibilant mirth. Toned to a weird whisper, the laugh shivered its echoes from the walls of this old room.
Then man at the desk wheeled about. As he swung, he shot his right hand to his hip and snapped it upward, to display a gun. Automatically, his quick aim was directed straight toward the figure of The Shadow.
A strained, hunted face showed pale in the gloom. Lips gasped; the right hand dropped weakly.
Mechanically, the intruder stepped forward; then halted. He had reached a spot where his face was within the lamplight’s range.
The Shadow’s laugh had ended. Burning eyes from beneath the slouch hat were fixed upon the countenance before them. No longer did the startled intruder show anxiety; instead, his expression was one of vast relief.
Small wonder. The Shadow had recognized this intruder. That was why he had revealed himself. The man who had turned about from the desk was Harry Vincent.
CHAPTER XIV. THE TRUE STORY
THE SHADOW’S right hand was pointing toward a chair beside the table. Harry Vincent nodded. He walked to the chair and seated himself. Then he gazed toward The Shadow.
In following The Shadow’s order, Harry had blocked the lamplight. No longer did The Shadow’s shape stand in clear outline. It had become a spectral form, shrouded by the darkness that closed in from the walls. Still, Harry could see the flash of burning eyes.
“You came to Paulington,” stated The Shadow, his voice an intonation. “You purchased a car and left the garage shortly after seven o’clock. You should have reached the cabin before eight.”
Harry nodded.
“You were delayed,” resumed The Shadow. “A tire went flat on the abandoned road. You stopped to change it. You were late when you started up the path.”
Another nod from Harry. He did not have to tell the story. The Shadow had traced events himself.
Listening, Harry could guess the clues. He knew that The Shadow must have viewed the car.
The flat spare tire; mud on the base of a brand new jack. These were indications of importance. Then Harry thought of the old road and remembered the muddy spot where he had shifted tires. The Shadow must have viewed that telltale location.
“You heard the explosion,” declared The Shadow, his tone solemn and level. “You saw men there afterward. Your duty was to remain on the slope. You kept out of sight in the darkness. Later, you chose Table Rock as your base.
“The ledge was too conspicuous a location. You went further up the hill and camped. You thought it best to keep way from Paulington and other towns until the explosion was forgotten.”
The Shadow paused. Harry was about to speak, when his chief raised a silencing hand. The Shadow delivered a question; but his tone was a command rather than a query.
“A man went into that cabin,” intoned The Shadow. “State if you were close enough to know that he had entered.”