"Who is that?" asked Abdul.
"Pedro," replied Harry. "An enemy. We can leave him where he is."
It required two or three minutes to force Duncan's body through the opening in the side of the house.
When Harry and Abdul had brought him to safety, the young man came to a state of semiconsciousness.
This enabled them to help Duncan walk, one supporting him on each side.
Harry left Abdul with Duncan at the side alley and hurried to the corner where he found an empty taxicab.
He returned for the others. Duncan seemed fairly well roused. But he slumped in a corner of the cab.
Harry glanced from the window as they went by Isaac Coffran's house and he blinked for a moment as he noticed the front door. It seemed to be closing. On the steps was a shadowy form that seemed to flit toward the sidewalk as they rolled along.
Harry told the driver to take them to the Metrolite Hotel. Abdul offered no objection.
Bruce Duncan was conscious but bewildered when they reached their destination. Harry and Abdul took him upstairs and put him to bed, in Harry's room. Then Harry called the desk and arranged for an adjoining room. He slept there, leaving Abdul with his master. The Hindu sat in a chair and dozed comfortably.
When morning arrived, Harry went to interview the man whom he had rescued. He was admitted to the room by Abdul. Bruce Duncan was sitting up in bed. His face looked weary; but Bruce managed a smile as he extended his hand to Harry Vincent.
"Abdul has told me what you did to help us," he said. "I don't know how you came into the picture. But you were certainly a friend in need. How did you managed it?"
Harry Vincent smiled.
"I only managed a very little of it," he replied. "I may be able to tell you more later. I'm anxious to get your story. But let's have breakfast first."
While Harry was calling downstairs, Abdul spoke to his master.
"I shall leave you, burra sahib," he said in a knowing tone. "This other man — Vincent sahib — may have much to tell you. It is better I should go."
He gave a slip of paper to Bruce Duncan.
"This will be my address," Abdul explained. "I have a Hindu friend here in New York. You can reach me there."
He drew a second paper from his pocket.
"This, burra sahib," he added, "is why I came to you last night. It fell out of the pocket of the old man when he came to see you at your house."
Duncan read the paper and whistled. He turned to question Abdul, but the Hindu had departed.
Harry Vincent came over and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Duncan," he said, "I'm going to tell you a few facts. In return, I want you to be frank with me. Last night I made a phone call after we arrived. I called from my room, to a number from which I had received instructions to assist you. I am permitted to tell you certain things concerning my own operations. But in return I am to find out all you know. I suspect that you had some secret reason for your visit to that house last night. I think we can help each other. Does that seem fair?"
Bruce Duncan thought a moment. Then he decided. After all, it was Vincent's intervention that had saved his life. Without that, his secret would have perished with him.
"I agree," he said.
The waiter arrived with their breakfast. While they were eating Harry told his story briefly.
"I am the agent of a being called The Shadow," he said. "I can't tell you who he is or what he is, because I don't know. He saved me from suicide, and I've worked for him ever since. He saved your life last night. He expects your cooperation in return, and you are to keep secret what I tell you."
"Agreed," said Duncan. "Go on."
"I was watching Isaac Coffran's house," said The Shadow's agent. "We believe that the old man is mixed up in some shady business, involving the mysterious disappearance of three persons. I was told that you were coming.
"I tried to rescue you last night, but I would have been killed by Coffran's big Mexican except for the intervention of a man who I believe was The Shadow himself. Somehow, he freed you from the death chamber. I helped your Hindu servant bring you here.
"If you can shed any light on the affairs of Isaac Coffran, you may give us the clue that we need to explain the disappearances of three men — one from Trenton, one from Richmond, one from Cleveland. Each vanished on a Tuesday. One week apart. It is Friday now; the last one, Meyers of Cleveland, has been gone three days."
"A Tuesday night," murmured Bruce Duncan. He counted on his fingers. "Why, the first one must have gone just one week after—"
He paused.
"One week after what?" quizzed Harry Vincent.
"Vincent," blurted Duncan, "there's no use in trying to keep my secret any longer. I'm going to rely on you."
Duncan felt relieved as he poured forth his story. He began with the mysterious visitor who had robbed the hiding place in the hearth. He told of his uncle's letter. He described the visit of Isaac Coffran, and his journey to the home of the man he believed to be his uncle's friend. He described the accidental reading of the last letter, and the terror he had known in the gas-filled study. The escape by the elevator was news to Harry Vincent; from then on, the account was plain. "What do you think about it?" asked Duncan when he had concluded.
"Just one thing I want to know," said Harry. "You mentioned the letter that you were reading in Coffran's study. What did it say, besides the accusation?"
Duncan's mind was groping. His thoughts seemed far away as he repeated:
"An attack in Singapore — a plot in Russia — an attempted murder in France — a man who told and died.
There was something else. I have it! Bernardo Chefano — the twisted lips — they will identify him no matter what disguise or alias he may use."
"Ah!" exclaimed Harry. "There's something! We can connect some one else with Isaac Coffran. Did the ape-man have twisted lips?"
"No," said Duncan, "he was hardly a man at all, as I remember. Of course the hashish had me pretty well doped that night. I might have seen anything. Bernardo Chefano. He can't be Pedro, either. Wait! Some one had charge of that strange creature that came into my room. Some one whistled outside. That might have been Pedro, of course. It couldn't have been old Coffran. So it may not have been this fellow Chefano after all."
He happened to see the paper that lay on the foot of the bed. He had forgotten it.
"Look," he said. "Abdul gave me this. It fell out of Coffran's pocket the night he was at my house. Some one sent it to him. That indicates the extra man!"
" 'Find out what Duncan knows,' " read Harry. "He found out what you know, all right, but not all." Harry read again:
" 'Investigate personally.' " He did that. Came to the house; most unusual for him.
" 'Prevent all interference.' " That was Coffran's scheme all right. With you out of the way, there could be no interference — on your part at least, and the message deals with you.
" 'Plans are working perfectly.' "
"What can that mean?"
Harry Vincent looked toward Bruce Duncan.
"It's got me stumped," admitted Duncan. "If the man from Russia had arrived, Chefano — assuming he wrote the note — would have the jewels by this time. The plans would not be working. They would have worked completely."
"Yes," agreed Harry, "it means that something has been going on; that something will continue to go on. We must think in terms of these three men who have disappeared. Can there be a connection between them and you?"
"I never heard of any of them. What did you say their names were?"
"Arthur Hooper, J. Howard Longstreth, Elbridge Meyers. Three men from different cities. One disappeared each Tuesday, beginning exactly a week after you had your experience."