“You mean” — Cordes was speaking slowly now — “that you thought Woodruff had entered here—”
“Exactly,” said Harry. “I thought that some harm had befallen him — and I was ready to blame you for it.”
THERE was an unfeigned note of anxiety in Harry’s voice. Since Cordes had begun to parley, Harry had been studying his surroundings, and his first opinion had begun to change. He was wondering if Elbert Cordes or Downs could have attacked Malbray Woodruff so quickly and effectively. Where, then, could the artist be?
A sudden cry of understanding came from Elbert Cordes. The old man turned to his servant, and Downs seemed to share the inspiration.
“If Woodruff is not to blame” — Cordes spoke excitedly — “then we know the truth, Downs. We know now—”
In his excitement, Cordes had lowered the automatic. Harry made no effort to take advantage of the action. He wanted to gain the confidence of Cordes — for a peculiar understanding was dawning in his mind.
In that momentary burst of excitement, Elbert Cordes behaved with an impetuosity similar to Malbray Woodruff’s. Forgetful of all else, he swung toward the door and yanked it open. As he did, a shot rang out from the dark. The single oil lamp upon the table was shattered.
With a wild cry, Cordes leaped toward the spot where the shot had occurred, swinging Harry’s automatic into firing position.
Another shot was the answer. A scream came from Cordes as he plunged headlong into the outer darkness.
Harry, unguarded, made a dive for the side of the room. He saw two flashes of a revolver as Downs fired toward the door. The servant must have drawn a revolver from his pocket. Neither of these shots could have been effective, for a new shot answered them, and Harry heard a groan as Downs toppled to the floor.
Unarmed, Harry crouched in the darkness. What did these shots mean? Who could have fired them?
Malbray Woodruff!
That was Harry’s first conjecture; then he decided that the artist could not have been capable of such quick, effective action.
The Shadow?
That was possible, Harry, thought. Nevertheless, there could scarcely have been occasion for The Shadow to have opened fire so quickly. Cordes, dashing out into the night, would have been no danger to The Shadow.
It suddenly struck Harry that there must be others in this vicinity — men whom he had not yet encountered — who were the ones actually engaged in some unlawful surprise. One of them had struck down Malbray Woodruff. One of them — perhaps more than one — had just now shot Elbert Cordes and Downs.
Cautiously, Harry crept toward the door. He encountered the silent body of Downs. He found the man’s revolver, and gripped it as he kept along. Outside the cottage he discovered the dead body of Elbert Cordes.
Two men were dead here. Malbray Woodruff had disappeared. Professor Sheldon was in New York.
Harry Vincent scarcely knew which way to move in the face of hidden and unknown danger. Long minutes ticked by, while Harry waited. Then, far down the road, he saw an approaching gleam of light. It was the professor’s car, arriving from New York.
Plunging desperately through the dark, Harry hurried toward Sheldon’s cottage. He knew that if men of crime were abroad, the old professor lay in danger.
With risk of death to himself, Harry rushed into the focused rays of the headlamps, spreading his arms as a sign of warning. Another man suddenly appeared before him, doing the same. Harry recognized Lester, the professor’s servant.
The car came to a stop. Shoyer, the chauffeur, leaped to the ground, and the professor followed with surprising agility. Lester was beckoning them all into the cottage. Harry realized that Lester must have been home in the professor’s house — and therefore in a position to hear the firing.
This thought was promptly justified. Switching on a floor lamp in the professor’s living room, Lester, a revolver in his trembling hand, blurted forth that he had heard firing from outside. Harry Vincent stepped forward, also carrying a revolver.
“Bad news, professor,” he explained. “Cordes and his man, Downs, have been killed. Malbray Woodruff has disappeared. We must act promptly! There is great danger here at East Point!”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE SHADOW’S CLEW
“YOU are right, Vincent,” declared Professor Kirby Sheldon. “We must begin a careful search for Malbray Woodruff. I trust that our friend has not suffered the same fate as Elbert Cordes and Downs.”
Standing in the center of his living room, wearing his gray hat, and holding his gold-headed cane, Professor Sheldon made a commanding figure. His response to this emergency had impressed Harry Vincent. The professor had listened very carefully to the quick details that Harry had given him.
“There is one point, Vincent,” added the professor, “that may be purely accidental — at the same time it may be vital. Why was your life spared when Cordes and Downs were killed?”
“I don’t know,” responded Harry. Then, his mind reverting to his first theory, he added: “Unless it was Malbray Woodruff who did the shooting.”
“We must look for Woodruff,” said Sheldon. “Perhaps the man has gone insane. Shoyer — you go right down to Woodruff’s cottage.”
Shoyer hesitated.
“I’ll go,” suggested Harry. “Let Shoyer and Lester watch to see that all is well. Woodruff will be expecting me if he is there.”
All this while Harry had been swinging the revolver that he carried. Raising it in readiness, he crept from the professor’s house, and made his way to Woodruff’s cottage. Harry opened the front door cautiously. There was a light still burning — but no sign of Malbray Woodruff.
Harry called the artist; there was no response. Turning, to go back to the professor’s, Harry had a sudden realization of duty. There was danger abroad tonight. He might encounter new trouble. The Shadow must know what had happened.
Seizing a sheet of paper, Harry reached in his inside pocket, and drew out a red fountain pen. He carried this for special emergencies; this was the first time he had used it. With the pen, Harry wrote a short, concise report of what had happened. Not a word of ink appeared upon the paper. Harry crumpled the sheet, and tossed it in a corner of the room.
He had consumed about five minutes in the operation. It was time to be getting back to Sheldon’s. Harry pocketed the pen. He turned as some one knocked at the door. It proved to be Lester.
“Wondered what had happened to you,” said the man. “See anything of Woodruff?”
“Nothing,” responded Harry.
Together, they went back to Sheldon’s, to find the old sociologist alone. Shoyer was out making a search, the professor said. Lester started out to find him. The professor went into his study. Alone, Harry suddenly noticed the professor’s hat.
Quickly, Harry pulled a folded slip of paper from the hatband. A message from The Shadow! It was important, at this moment.
Pocketing his revolver, Harry unfolded the sheet of paper and read the coded lines. The writing faded, and Harry’s stare was as blank as the paper in his hands.
Amazement had gripped Harry Vincent. He stood like a man in a dream.
All was clear to him now. In that message, The Shadow had revealed the truth — had given Harry work to do — work that could not now be done because of the chaos that had arisen at East Point!
Malbray Woodruff — Elbert Cordes — Downs — all of these were innocent. The facts which The Shadow had discovered through his keen observation and amazing intuition had passed entirely over Harry Vincent’s head.
Harry’s next thought was one of danger. He realized that he was in a terrible predicament. The incredible truth had shown him his mistakes.