It was late. The others had retired — with the exception of Corey and Trossler, who were putting the place in order for the night. The Condor bade his harsh good night. Cliff went upstairs to his room.
He stood by the window, speculating on the facts that he had learned. The good news concerning Harry Vincent had restored Cliff’s courage. His visit to the strong room had given him valuable material for a report.
Cliff realized that it would take formidable force to smash through to The Condor’s underground grotto.
He wondered, though, just how Treft would handle matters if the place were besieged. Despite the massive doors and the huge Singhalese guards, the cavern had objections.
Prompt removal of the swag, for instance, would be difficult if invaders managed to enter the lodge. Cliff speculated on that fact as he extinguished the light. As on a previous night, he stared out into darkness.
Again, Cliff Marsland became suddenly alert. Something was blinking from the night. Not from beyond the fence, but from a spot close by, inside the grounds.
It was The Shadow’s signal. Cliff’s real chief had passed the wired fence. Cliff realized now that on the other night, Harry Vincent could have been the man to whom he had flashed the names of Zegler and Spadling.
This time it was The Shadow. He alone could have contrived secret entrance past the barring gate.
Quickly, Cliff found his flashlight, to blink his response to The Shadow’s call.
CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW DEPARTS
BLINK — BLINK — BLINK
New flashes from the night. Cliff spelled brief, coded words. He understood their meaning. The Shadow was calling for a written report.
Cliff turned on the light and sat down at a little table. Producing a fountain pen, he began to write in code; swiftly, but in comprehensive fashion. Brief as he told of the report from Zegler through Corey, he became more fluent when he described The Condor’s strong room.
Cliff penned every detail of the grotto. The iron doors — the Singhalese servants — the teakwood boxes — the metal carrying tubes — the underground lake — the dam that formed the outlet to the pool — on all points Cliff was explicit.
These were facts that The Shadow might require later. Cliff spared no details. His description finished, he folded the message and placed it in an envelope. Turning out the light, he blinked that he was ready.
A short reply ordered him to let the envelope drop from the window. Hard upon that message, The Shadow blinked the signoff signal. Cliff thrust the envelope between two bars and let it flutter to the ground below.
He blinked that the message was on its way. In response came the same signal as before. To sign off.
Thinking that The Shadow had failed to get his final statement, Cliff repeated it. There was no answer.
Puzzled, Cliff blinked a query. Still no response. The Shadow had ended contact. Cliff was about to send another call, when he realized his stupidity. He knew that he should have stopped at once, when he saw that first signoff signal.
Cliff was to learn the fruits of his mistake. A bright light suddenly glared from beyond the opened window. It was from the front of the garage. Cliff saw Corey at the door of the building, the coupe on the foreground.
Coming to his senses, Cliff sprang over and turned on the room light. His act was a wise one. A moment afterward, someone began to rap upon his door. Cliff turned the knob and opened the unlocked door.
Trossler was there, still clad in livery. Beside him, The Condor, fully dressed.
“COME, Marsland,” rasped the gray-haired man. “Come to the study. Trossler, join Corey. The others will follow.”
Fiercely, Treft pointed to the stairs. Cliff said nothing. He took the course that Treft ordered. There was commotion in the hallway as they passed. Members of The Condor’s band had been aroused. They were starting out, half clad, to search the grounds.
Delland was in the study. The pale-faced secretary was wearing a dressing gown. The handle of a revolver projected from his pocket. Treft motioned toward the door. He ordered Delland to summon Corey while the others took up the search.
Cliff sat in the chair opposite Treft. He met The Condor’s gaze squarely. Unflinchingly, he said nothing; he did not intend to speak until Treft so commanded. The Condor, in turn, maintained a vicious silence. He was awaiting Corey.
Three minutes later, the chauffeur entered. The Condor motioned him to a chair, then ordered Corey to speak. The chauffeur nodded.
“I was going out to the garage,” he stated, “when I thought I saw something blink from Marsland’s room. Right after that I saw a flash on the ground near the house, as if somebody was signaling with a torch.
“Then there were blinks from Marsland’s window. I knew he was using a flashlight. I waited until he was finished. Then I started back to the house. Trossler was on the porch. He came in to give the alarm. I went to the garage.”
“Did you see any one on the premises?” demanded The Condor, savagely.
“Nobody,” returned the chauffeur. “But I’d say for sure the lights were inside the fence.”
“So would I,” inserted Cliff, steadily.
Corey gaped. The Condor stared.
“The fellow wasn’t close to the house to begin with,” asserted Cliff. “I saw his flashlight off across the lawn. He was signaling, all right. My room was dark; I had just opened the window for the night.
“The idea hit me that some prowler was trying to stir up trouble. As luck had it, my flashlight was on the bureau. I picked it up and blinked back. The fellow answered. What was more, he came closer.”
“What did you signal to him?” rasped The Condor, sharply.
“Nothing,” returned Cliff, promptly. “Just intermittent flashes. When I saw he was approaching, I drew him on. Then the other light quit. I was coming from my room to spread the news, when you arrived with Trossler.”
“And that is all?”
“That’s all, chief.”
THE CONDOR’S eyes were cold; yet Cliff did not flinch. After a few moments, Treft turned to Corey.
“You know Morse code,” he said to the chauffeur. “Tell me — could you read Marsland’s flashes?”
“No, I couldn’t,” admitted Corey. “What’s more, chief, they didn’t blink like code. I couldn’t even make Morse letters out of half of them.”
Cliff curbed an expression of satisfaction. The Shadow’s code was an intricate one; Cliff had always wondered why it required letters with an abundance of dots and dashes, with double dashes in some letters. The Shadow’s purpose in complicating the code was now apparent. Eyeing The Condor, Cliff saw the master crook’s glare relax.
“Very well, Marsland,” decided Treft. “Our suspicion was natural, since you were the last person to arrive here. However, we shall learn all we require when we have captured that fool who is inside the grounds.”
“It might be some pal of Spadling’s,” suggested Corey, in a troubled tone. “Clint was a wise bird, chief. If he’d tipped somebody he was coming here, maybe”
“Enough, Corey,” inserted Treft. “I have already considered that possibility. Marsland, you are a valuable man. You brought your swag and showed the proper token. I shall give you the benefit of the doubt.
“But until that stupid prowler is captured, I shall keep you under surveillance. There is a room on the ground floor which has no window. Its only opening is a transom to the hall.
“That will be your new quarters. The door will be locked while you are inside. In a sense, you will be a prisoner; actually, your status will be that of probation. You will be allowed to associate with your companions at certain intervals.”
The Condor paused to watch Cliff’s reaction. The Shadow’s agent remained stolid.