Harry nodded. The Shadow waited for a reply. Harry spoke huskily.
“YES,” he said. “I heard someone coming into the path. Up ahead of me. It sounded like he was going to the cabin. I wasn’t sure about it, though, until I saw a flashlight blink. I hadn’t been using my own light on the path, so I figured he didn’t know I was around.
“He was moving quick, though, and I had a hunch it might be somebody who had spotted me in town and footed it out from Paulington. Either to be ahead of me or walk in on me. So I waited down the path; then the whole side of the hill seemed to go up in a flash.
“I stayed where I was until I heard prowlers coming my direction. Then I cut off through the woods and watched their lights blink. Finally they went up toward Table Rock. I followed; I found a path and lost it; then found it again and came out at the ledge. The others were gone.”
Harry paused. He managed a smile as he rubbed his face. His cheeks and chin were scrubby. He had not shaved since the night of his disappearance.
“I cached my bag,” resumed Harry. “Up on the hill, away from the rock. Where I made camp. I was short on cigarettes; but I had papers and pipe tobacco, and I rolled my own. I guess the stumps left something of a trail.”
Harry stopped, realizing that he had more important word to give. Facts concerning Cliff Marsland.
“I made a trip to Mountview Lodge,” he stated. “On the second night, because of Cliff. I knew he wouldn’t be able to come to the cabin, since it had been blasted.
“I found contact. Flashlight signals. Cliff sent me two names; both important. Persons outside of the lodge, who apparently have something to do with it. One name was Spadling. I’d never heard it; but I know the other: Zegler.
“The old map showed the name of Zegler with this mill property. This morning I lugged my bag along with me to the knoll on the north slope. I sighted the mill and saw the road that led to it. I came down the hill and went in hiding.
“Zegler and another fellow drove out tonight. I was watching from down the road. When their car had gone by, I came in here to see what I could find. There’s nothing of importance in the desk.”
Harry sat silent, his story completed. It was he, not The Shadow, who had gained the news from Cliff.
Now that The Shadow had finally received the information, the name of Spadling had significance as well as that of Zegler.
“ALL the indications,” informed The Shadow, his eyes fixed upon Harry, “show that the murderers came from Mountview Lodge. They visited the cabin to slay a man whom they suspected to be an enemy.
“That man was Spadling. Sought by the law, he was a menace to those in Mountview Lodge. His name is known there; he was concerned with the affairs of someone in the criminal band.
“More must be learned of Spadling. Your task will be to gain that information. You shall go to Paulington, to meet the man who is on Spadling’s trail.”
Harry stared blankly. He could not understand The Shadow’s plan. To Harry, a return to the town meant that explanations would be necessary.
“In Paulington,” stated The Shadow, “you will find Vic Marquette.”
Understanding dawned on Harry’s face. The Shadow’s agent knew the secret service operative. They had worked together in the past. Vic Marquette was one who recognized the power of The Shadow.
Moreover, Vic knew that Harry took orders from the cloaked chief. On that account, Marquette would accept whatever Harry told him. The Shadow was taking good advantage of the operative’s presence in Paulington.
“Instructions—”
The Shadow’s voice had lowered to a sinister hiss. His words came steadily to Harry’s ears. Rising, the agent extinguished the light; he followed the blinks of The Shadow’s flashlight toward the rear door of the mill.
All the while, The Shadow’s words continued; brief, whispered phrases. Each intonation drilled itself into Harry’s brain. After each pause came an added statement. The light blinked toward the road; close by The Shadow, Harry kept on walking until he neared the spot where he had hidden his bag in the woods.
There Harry stopped. He heard The Shadow’s final whisper. In a low tone, Harry answered:
“Instructions received.”
The flashlight no longer blinked. Harry heard a swish in darkness. He caught a whispered laugh that faded in the night. The Shadow had struck off through the trees; his course was toward the slope.
Groping in the darkness, Harry found his bag and lifted it. He carried it along the road, using his own flashlight at intervals until he found a clear space on the right. Following The Shadow’s instructions, Harry entered the parked coupe.
He started the motor and drove out into the road. Heading for Paulington, he speculated on events to come. He knew that his arrival in the town would produce a sensational surprise. His course, however, would not be difficult, once he had talked with Vic Marquette.
Harry Vincent was coming back from the dead. With Clyde Burke, he would be ready when The Shadow needed him. Harry was taking The Shadow’s place in Paulington. The Shadow had become the watcher on the hill.
CHAPTER XV. MARQUETTE LISTENS
VIC MARQUETTE was glowering across the desk in Burgess Dowden’s office. Dowden, himself, looked uneasy. Sheriff Brock, also present, shared the concern that the burgess felt.
“I’ll grant you one point,” declared Marquette. “If it hadn’t been for those newspaper accounts, I wouldn’t have come here. I would be looking over around Southbridge, where Spadling mailed his letter.
“But now that I am here, I’m in a jam. These reporters know I’m somebody. I can’t move without them being on my neck. If I let them know I’m looking for Clint Spadling; if the word gets out that I’m a Federal man, the whole job will be queered. If—”
Marquette paused. Someone was pounding at the office door. Vic nodded to the sheriff; Brock bellowed to come in.
Hank, one of the countrymen who had helped the sheriff after the cabin blast, entered. He was wearing a deputy’s badge. Puffed with self-importance, he made an announcement to the sheriff.
“Jest picked up a suspicious character,” informed Hank. “Leastwise, some of the boys did. Looks like the fellow we’ve been a-hunting for. Hain’t shaved; clothes all covered with burrs. Ketched him a-walking down toward the railway depot—”
“What’s his name?” demanded the sheriff.
“Hadn’t found out,” returned Hank. “Says he hadn’t a-talking to nobody except you. They’re bringing him up here. A-coming in now.”
There were footsteps on the stairs. Brock went to the door. He saw two deputies marching an unshaven man with them. Brock beckoned. The deputies brought their charge into the room.
Brock waved reporters back; then told the deputies to follow. He closed the door to survey the prisoner.
Before Brock could say a word, Marquette was on his feet. The operative had been waiting for the door to close. Now he sprang forward, his hand extended.
“Vincent!”
HARRY grinned as he heard Vic’s welcome. He shook hands with Marquette while Dowden and Brock stared in astonishment. Then Marquette introduced the prisoner.
“An old friend of mine,” he explained. “Harry Vincent, from New York. He’s been a valuable aid in certain government cases. If he knows anything about this cabin business, you’ll hear it. Go ahead, Vincent.”
“Mighty odd, meeting you here, Vic,” laughed Harry. “It’s a break for me, I suppose. It seems as though coincidence has struck me ever since I came to this town.”
“Were you up at that cabin?” queried Brock.
“Let me tell my story,” returned Harry. “After all, there’s not much to it; but it’s been something of an ordeal. I came up here for a vacation. It turned into a camping trip.”