IT was plain that Brock meant what he said. Marquette looked pleased. He glanced at a calendar, then remarked:
“Today is the tenth, sheriff. How soon can you have that warrant ready?”
“I’ll catch Judge Foxcroft tomorrow,” returned Brock. “I’ll have the warrant dated for the twelfth. Does that suit?”
“It does,” agreed Marquette. “Maybe we will use it; maybe we won’t. I’ll think it over, sheriff. Right now” — Vic was rising — “I’m going out to scare away the reporters.
“You’re coming with me, Vincent. You can stay at the hotel. After you’ve shaved, we’ll go out and get a real meal. You ought to be hungry by now.”
“I was lucky enough to have a pound bar of chocolate in my bag,” stated Harry. “I grabbed some ham and eggs along with coffee when I reached town tonight.”
“It won’t hurt to eat again,” decided Marquette. “Come along. I’ll send the reporters in, burgess, after I’ve talked with them. You and the sheriff can do the rest.”
Dowden and Brock nodded. Vic and Harry went out of the office. Downstairs they encountered the reporters. Vic introduced Harry, who duplicated the statement that he had made in Dowden’s office.
Vic Marquette started for the hotel, while two reporters went into the office building. Clyde Burke lingered long enough to grip Harry Vincent’s hand. The warmth of the clasp told the joy that Clyde had experienced over his fellow agent’s return.
“I’ll slip you a report,” confided Harry in a low tone. “At the lunch wagon. Your car’s just outside of town. You’ll find a note in it, where to go for contact.”
Harry followed Marquette. He registered at the hotel. Alone in his room, he took time before shaving to inscribe a report to The Shadow. This told of Vic Marquette’s decision to investigate Mountview Lodge.
Vic had listened to Harry’s story. It had registered. But the brief tale had produced a cross-development.
The Shadow had ordered Harry to make no statement regarding the death of Clint Spadling, the actual victim of the cabin explosion.
The Shadow’s purpose had been to minimize the importance of the blast. For once, The Shadow’s plans had met with a reverse twist. Chance discourse in the office of Burgess Dowden had brought suspicion upon Mountview Lodge.
Vic Marquette believed that crooks might be there. Dangerous men, headed by Clint Spadling. Crooks were there indeed; but of a stripe more menacing than any Marquette had ever encountered.
A battle was impending between the law and The Condor. The odds would lie against the law. Yet Harry had a hunch that The Shadow would not prevent it. For The Shadow, himself, would be close at hand to weigh the balance in the favor of justice.
CHAPTER XVI. THE STRONG ROOM
TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since Harry Vincent’s return to Paulington. Reporters, satisfied that there was no further story, had made their departure. One, however, had not gone to New York.
Clyde Burke was the exception. He had contacted with The Shadow, near the path on the abandoned road. After that, Clyde had driven to the little city of Southbridge, some five miles distant. He had called Harry from there; through Clyde, Harry could communicate with The Shadow.
There had been no need for contact, however. Nothing had happened in Paulington on this first day of Harry’s return. Sheriff Brock had gone to the county seat and had not returned. Vic Marquette, strolling about with Harry, had made no comment whatever upon his coming plans. He had not even mentioned the search warrant that the sheriff was to have obtained.
Clouded evening had brought a somberness to the entire countryside. The pall of quiet that lay over Paulington was existent also at Mountview Lodge. Cliff Marsland, strolling on the veranda, felt a sense of melancholy.
He was still brooding because he believed Harry Vincent dead. He was troubled, also, because he had learned nothing new from Griscom Treft. The Condor had promised to show Cliff the strong room beneath the lodge; then had neglected to mention the subject again.
Corey had gone out in the coupe this evening. Cliff had seen the chauffeur leave, half an hour ago.
Jengley had been present at the time; he had gone in shortly afterward. At present, Thuler was on the piazza, at the end away from Cliff.
The opening of the front door awoke Cliff from reverie. Delland came out; the secretary beckoned. Cliff approached him; Delland stated that the chief wanted to see him in the study. Cliff entered the house.
Scarcely had Cliff gone in before lights showed at the lower end of the drive. Corey was back, unlocking the massive gates. Delland and Jengley watched the car pull forward and stop while Corey locked up again. Then the coupe rolled up and stopped outside of a garage at the rear of the lodge.
Corey alighted in darkness. He saw the light in The Condor’s study, a gleam that showed hazily through frosted window and grilled framework. Corey’s footsteps crunched the gravel as the chauffeur walked hastily toward the front door.
Immediately, the top of the rumble seat moved up at the back of the coupe. Keen eyes peered from the interior. Corey had brought along a rider whose presence he did not suspect. A figure emerged in darkness. The Shadow stepped noiselessly to the drive.
The Shadow had found a way of entering the Mountview Lodge grounds without giving an alarm. But he had no intention of invading the lodge itself. Instead, he took to the grass beside the drive and merged with darkness on the blackened lawn.
CLIFF was seated in The Condor’s study, listening to Treft as the master crook developed a forgotten theme. The Condor had recalled his promise to show Cliff the strong room. He was chuckling over the surprise that his new henchman soon would gain.
“I spoke of a natural stronghold,” Treft was saying. “It is all that, Marsland. All that and more. But words can not picture the sight that you will see. Come. Let us go—”
Treft broke off as the door of the study opened. Corey stalked in, his face sour. He approached the desk and handed Treft an envelope.
“From Zegler,” stated the chauffeur. “He started to talk to me, when I met him at the fork. I asked him if everything was in the note. He said yes, so I—”
“Never mind, Corey,” interposed Treft, harshly. “We shall discuss the matter after I read the note. Sit down; curb your impatience.”
The Condor perused the message. Cliff watched his expression; Treft registered no concern. Finished with his perusal, he laid the note aside.
“A trifling complication,” was The Condor’s verdict. “Zegler was in town last night and this evening. He has learned facts that are interesting, but not important.”
“He seemed worried, chief,” protested Corey. “Of course, I know what Zegler’s like. Just a countryman that owns a mill, even though he is smart, considering what he is.”
“Zegler is useful,” declared The Condor, wisely. “He belongs to me completely. He is bought and paid for; and he excites no suspicion about Paulington. No one would dream that he had connection here.
“He is troubled chiefly because some stranger is in town. The man’s name is Marquette; Zegler thinks that he is a secret service operative, attempting to trace Clint Spadling. I believe that Zegler is right.”
“I knew of a Fed named Marquette,” stated Corey. “I never saw him, though. But what about this other fellow on the hill? Zegler started to tell me about him, chief.”
“His name is Harry Vincent.” Cliff started as he heard The Condor speak; fortunately, Treft was eyeing Corey and did not note Cliff’s face. “It was he, not Spadling, who hired the car in Paulington.”