Craybaw explained the new arrangement. The Shadow entered the car with Cuthbert and they headed for High Brooms.
IN the dimness of the coupe, The Shadow observed Cuthbert’s face. The chauffeur was a methodical, honest-visaged fellow, who stared steadily along the road. They reached High Brooms with minutes to spare, thanks to Cuthbert’s capable and speedy handling of the car.
The Shadow alighted. Cuthbert backed the coupe. While he was doing so, The Shadow, pausing in a spot away from the station lights, was quick to open a light briefcase that he had brought along with him from the hotel.
Black cloth came from the case. A cloak slipped over The Shadow’s shoulders. A slouch hat settled on his head. His hands stuffed his own light overcoat partly into the briefcase, along with the hat that he had been wearing. With a toss, The Shadow skimmed the burden along the soft ground beneath a clump of hedgelike bushes.
Cuthbert was sliding into low gear, about to drive away from the station. A being in black, his figure obscured by darkness, The Shadow sprang across the gravel unheard by Cuthbert because of the grinding gears. With a quick leap, The Shadow gained the rear of the coupe.
Clinging there, he pressed flat against the cover of the rumble seat, riding unseen on the return journey, through hedge-flanked lanes where traffic was absent. The Shadow was making a prompt return to the home of Justin Craybaw.
Despite the fact that he had claimed an appointment in London, The Shadow had found a reason to remain a while in the vicinity of Tunbridge Wells!
CHAPTER X. PATHS IN THE DARK
WHEN the coupe arrived back at Craybaw’s, The Shadow dropped off as Cuthbert took the final curve. A black shape in the darkness, he paused beside a mass of shrubbery to observe proceedings at the lighted house front. Craybaw had come out, wearing hat and coat, accompanied by the others.
“I shall not be long,” assured Craybaw. He was carrying the parcel under his arm. “Make yourselves quite at home, gentlemen. Keep the wheel, Cuthbert. You can drive more rapidly than I. We must make a swift journey.”
The coupe pulled away. Sir Ernest went back into the house, accompanied by Lewsham and Delka. The Shadow saw Craybaw give a final wave from within the car. Half a minute later, the light went out in front of the house. Hervey had evidently extinguished it.
Across the driveway, Sir Ernest’s phaeton was standing in an isolated spot. The Shadow glided in that direction and slid aboard the trim car. Sir Ernest had not locked it; hence The Shadow saved considerable delay. Nevertheless, he took time to glide down a short slope, not putting the car into gear until he had coasted almost to the driveway entrance.
The Shadow knew Cuthbert for a rapid driver, and the chauffeur had gained a few minutes’ start.
Nevertheless, his speed could not have matched the rate at which The Shadow traveled, once he gained the road to Hayward’s Heath. The Shadow was determined to close the distance between himself and the car ahead.
The smooth motor was noiseless, even at high speed. The phaeton clipped the mileage, for road crossings were few and well apart. Nevertheless, the start that Cuthbert had gained proved a long one.
Guided by his memory of the road map, The Shadow arrived at Hayward’s Heath without overtaking the coupe.
Wheeling about, The Shadow began to retrace his course. He was working upon a definite conjecture; one that caused him to increase speed after he had ridden a short way. Rounding a curve in the return road, The Shadow gained the answer that he sought.
Right ahead was the coupe, coming back from Hayward’s Heath! Yet The Shadow had taken the one road that Craybaw would have chosen and he had not passed the light car on the way. The conclusion was obvious. The coupe had not continued to Hayward’s Heath. Somewhere along the road, it had swung off upon one of many side lanes, while on its original journey. That had occurred early in the pursuit.
After a brief pause at some unknown spot, the coupe had begun its return, only to have The Shadow catch its trail.
That much accomplished, The Shadow slackened speed. He let the coupe reach Craybaw’s well ahead of him. When The Shadow piloted the phaeton softly into the driveway, he saw the coupe standing by the entrance. Craybaw was going up the house steps with Hervey, who had put on the lights. A moment later, both were inside. The lights went out.
EASING the phaeton past the coupe, The Shadow parked it in the secluded corner of the driveway, confident that no one had detected its absence. Afoot, he circled the house and came to a door that led into the conservatory. The lights were out; apparently all had gone inside to escape the increasing chill.
Softly entering the conservatory, The Shadow found the house door ajar. From the darkness, he peered into the illuminated living room, where Hervey had lighted a fire in a huge grate. Craybaw was standing there, rubbing his hands for warmth.
A definite change had come over the managing director of Rudlow, Limited — one that The Shadow detected promptly, for he could see Craybaw’s face against the firelight. His stubbly hair was somewhat tousled; his skin lacked a trifle of its ruddiness. His eyes, moreover, showed an unnatural sparkle against the glow from the fireplace.
Craybaw was a man who appeared slightly shrunken. His manner was nervous and restless; his eyes were quick as they darted sharp looks at the other persons with him. The Shadow caught one puzzled look upon the face of Sir Ernest Jennup. Then Sidney Lewsham registered doubt. Craybaw curbed his restlessness.
“Come, Delka!” he exclaimed, his voice carrying a natural tone. “How is it in London? Any news concerning The Harvester?”
“None,” returned Delka, gruffly. “All I can report is a satisfactory check on Selbrock and the Rajah of Delapore.’”
“And Ranworthy?”
“All right, so far as the India Office knows. I inquired there. They know a few facts about him. All tally.”
Sir Ernest and Sidney Lewsham eased back in their chairs. Craybaw’s return to natural form had allayed their alarm. Then came an unexpected episode. It began when Hervey entered with a stack of papers.
“For you to sign, sir,” stated the house man. “So that Cuthbert can post them in time for the last mail.”
Craybaw wheeled angrily. His eyes flashed; almost with a glare.
“Why do you bring the letters here?” he stormed. “I can sign them in my study!”
“But it is customary, sir. You told me earlier that I should bring the letters to you.”
“I have changed my mind about it. Take them away.”
“You said that two of them were important, sir—”
“Take them away!”
Hervey hesitated; then turned and obeyed. Craybaw’s glare ended. He turned apologetically to his guests.
“Hervey’s idea of importance is ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Important letters! Bah! None of them are of consequence!”
Sir Ernest lifted his eyebrows.
“Not even, the letter to the Berlin shippers?” he inquired. “The one that you mentioned at dinner?”
Craybaw did not answer for a moment. His fists clenched; then opened.
“I had forgotten that one,” he remarked. “Perhaps I should have it posted. No — on second thought, it needs correction. I shall take it to the office in the morning.”
Hervey returned.
“Shall I have Cuthbert put the coupe away, sir?” he inquired. “He is still waiting at the front.”
“Cuthbert is not in the car,” put in Craybaw, bluntly. “I left him at Hayward’s Heath. He asked if he might go into London. I told him he could take the train from there.”
“When will he return, sir?”
“In a few days. He needed a short vacation, so I granted one to him.”