"You have done wisely," said the physician quietly. "You need a great deal of rest. Your strength has merely begun to return. I shall count on Richards to see that you do not overexert yourself during the next few days."
The doctor pulled down the shades at the windows. He motioned Richards and Burbank from the room.
At the door he glanced toward the man in the bed. His patient was quiet — possibly asleep, thought the doctor.
One minute after the door had closed, Lamont Cranston sat upright. His body shook with silent laughter.
He slipped silently from his bed and made his way to a closet in the corner. He took clothes from their hooks and dressed with amazing rapidity.
Unlocking a table drawer, he removed various articles a small rolled bag of tools; an automatic revolver, a flashlight, and a bulging wallet. He moved silently toward a window. The sash moved upward without noise.
About ten minutes after Doctor Wells had left his patient apparently asleep, Burbank came down from the wireless room. He went to the garage for his car. The physician joined him at the door of the house.
The quiet wireless operator drove Doctor Wells to his home, which stood on a curving lane in the town of Merwyn.
The physician congratulated himself as he walked up the steps of his residence. He had handled a rather difficult patient in a most satisfactory way.
"He must have rest," murmured the practitioner. "I am glad he finally accepted my verdict. He went to sleep like a child. He thinks he has recovered his strength, yet the least effort tires him. I actually don't believe he is capable of walking downstairs alone, at this very minute."
It never occurred to Doctor Wells that he might have watched Burbank's coupe as it rolled up the lane toward the wide boulevard a block away. Had he done so, he would have been amazed.
For when the car halted at the stop street and waited for the flow of traffic to cease, a surprising occurrence took place. The cover of the rumble seat opened slightly as though some one was peering from within, to make sure that no one was near by.
Then the back of the car opened wider still, and just as Burbank was shifting into low gear, a figure emerged. A man dressed in a dark suit dropped into the street just as the car started forward. Then with quick steps the figure reached the sidewalk and moved toward the boulevard.
If Doctor Wells had observed this incident, he would hardly have recognized the agile man as Lamont Cranston, for he would not have believed it possible that the millionaire could have acted with so much nimbleness.
In fact, the physician could scarcely believe that his ears did not deceive him when he answered the telephone at eight o'clock that evening, and heard the voice of Richards.
"Mr. Cranston has gone!" was the valet's amazing statement. "His door has not been opened, and his windows are still shut. No one has seen him go! No one has heard him go! But he was not there when we brought his dinner this evening. I can't imagine what has happened, sir. Yet I am sure that Mr. Cranston has disappeared!"
CHAPTER XXX. SINISTER SHADOWS
Rain was dripping from the branches of the trees above the abandoned lane that led from Ridge Road.
A downpour had begun at dusk; now, early in the evening, it had settled into a steady drizzle.
The old roadway was pitch black as a man sloshed through the puddles, his heavy boots spattering water in all directions. He appeared to be familiar with the road and indifferent to its condition. His splashing footsteps seemed to echo behind him.
He felt his way along the iron fence until he reached the gates which were open. Still in darkness, he sloshed along the mud of a long-forgotten driveway until he reached the ruin which had once been the home of Harper Marsden.
Even in the darkness, the old gray walls were slightly visible. They seemed silent and forlorn as they loomed toward the falling rain. The nearest corner of the old building was higher than the rest; it had evidently been a tower extending the full height of the building — a tower of stone that had alone survived the devastating flames.
The man passed by the front of the building and reached a flight of stone steps near the further side. The steps had been an entrance to the cellar. Slowly and cautiously the man walked down these steps.
He turned quickly when he reached the bottom as though surprised by a noise behind him. He listened intently, then noticed that the patter of the raindrops made a perceptible sound upon the flat steps.
He knocked on the door three times. Faint taps seemed to be repeated from within. He knocked once.
A single tap echoed. The man knocked twice. The door was opened inward, revealing a dim light.
The man moved along the stone floor of the basement. There were cracks above, through which rain dripped, but he continued on to a spot where other steps went down. At the bottom he reached a dry cement floor.
Turning to the right, he entered an underground apartment. A man was seated at a crude table on which rested a lighted lantern.
Other footsteps came along the passageway. The newcomer turned. Into the lighted room came a stooped, longstriding creature whose face was more apish than human.
"Did you close the door, Jupe?" asked the man at the table.
"Ehhh!" answered the ape-faced being.
The man who had just arrived laughed as he removed his black rubber hat and coat.
"When did you teach Jupe to answer the door?" he asked.
"He learned it the last time you came," was the reply from the man at the table. "He's been following me every time; to-night when I walked to the door to wait for you, he grunted and pushed me aside. So I let him try it."
The man at the table was seated on a box. The newcomer picked up a similar stool and joined him. The stooped figure with the ugly face did the same.
"Jupe has to get in on the conference," said the man who had come through the rain.
The ape-faced man leaned sideways with a snarl. His eyes turned toward the passageway.
"He hears something," said the newcomer.
"Only the rain," replied the other man. "He's always listening for something. The other night a loose stone fell from that high corner of the building, and he was bothered about it for half an hour."
The speaker rose and raised the lantern, hooking it to a wire that was suspended from the low ceiling.
The range of the light increased. Under its glow the shadows of the three men became grotesque. They were long, ugly shadows. The profile of the ape-faced man was plainly visible upon the floor. Beyond those dark, moving silhouettes, a black blot projected from the corner of the room. It, too, seemed like a human shadow, except that it was motionless.
The visitor's eyes fell on the shadow; they moved toward the corner, where two long white-pine boxes seemed to account for the extending blackness.
"Only two of the coffins left," he said. "One ought to do, though, Chefano."
"I didn't know that at first, Frenchy," said the other man. "Still we may need the other after all. We may have trouble on the last night."
"You have the credentials."
"Yes, but we can never tell what may happen."
The newcomer laughed. His face was not unpleasant. His teeth were perfect, and his eyes, though crafty, were well set. His nose alone marred his features. It was rather flat, with a noticeable bulge at the bridge.
His laugh was contagious. It brought a sinister smile from Chefano. The dark-faced man's lips began to twist.
"If anything happens," "Frenchy" said, "it will be to our advantage. The game has gone well so far, Chefano. The only trouble is that it has been too long."
"Not for you," was the reply. "Your part is easy. One night a week is all you work, while I've been here on the job all along."