SHADOWS
It required some little time for me to determine that my shadow was one
of the "Japanese"; for it was a most intangible and elusive shadow.
Whatever else I might think of these worthies, I could not deny that
their ability to hang on a man's trail, and at the same time keep
themselves well-nigh invisible, amounted positively to genius. With
all my doubling back and lurking in doorways around corners, the fellow
never came up to where I could get a good view of him.
Of course it occurred to me that here was a chance to attempt a
capture. But was it? The fellow was so slippery and artful that I
risked a greater chance of losing him altogether. And then, to capture
one of the quintet--or whatever their number might be--would more
likely than not merely serve as a warning for the ring-leader of the
crowd. Doubtless I could drag nothing at all from the fellow, even
though I did succeed in laying hands upon him. If he had been set to
watch me he would continue to do so unless I scared him away. I
resolved to let him alone for the time being; but the first thing I did
after reaching Dr. De Breen's offices was to ring up headquarters and
request the Captain to send a man to get on my shadow's trail.
The doctor gave me a bad half-hour. The instant he was through I
hurried to a window to learn how events were progressing in the street.
Before I had time to ascertain whether my shadow was still on duty, or
whether the Central Office man had showed up, my whole attention was
absorbed by the appearance of two familiar figures on the opposite
side. They were Mr. Fluette and Alexander Burke, walking along
together in the most intimate manner imaginable.
I glanced at my watch; it still lacked a minute or two of ten, the hour
Mr. Fluette had jotted on his calendar along with the extraordinary
memorandum. Inasmuch as he and his strangely chosen companion were
moving rapidly, it was a reasonable assumption that he was even then on
his way to keep his engagement.
For a moment I stood irresolute. I was very anxious to follow the
twain to the rendezvous, while at the same time I did not want to lose
my shadow. I glanced eagerly up and down the street, studying the
hurrying crowd on the walk, but could not see him anywhere. Then I
hurried out to the elevator, and within the next minute was dropped to
the ground floor.
I was obliged to walk fast to get within range of Fluette and Burke
again--not an easy thing to do among the crowd--but still I could see
nothing of my headquarters man, nor of the Jap. And right then I
perceived the last mentioned. He had manifestly only at that instant
caught up with the speculator and his companion--though why I had
failed to see him before I can't imagine--and he was evidently
addressing one or the other, or both of them.
It seemed to me that the fellow was trying to make his presence as
inconspicuous as possible. He strode stolidly along, close behind
them, looking into the shop windows and apparently not noticing the two
men at all. Yet I knew that he was talking to them. I could tell by
the surprised way with which both Fluette and Burke swung round and
stared at him.
I quickened my steps. Yes, the Oriental was talking, and talking
volubly. And, if I might judge by the consternation and anger
reflected in the faces of his two auditors, his message was anything
but welcome. That is to say, Alfred Fluette's strong features showed
these emotions, while, as always, it was difficult to read what was
going on behind Burke's impassive mask. Still it was pretty plain that
the secretary was utterly at his wits'-end.
At last the three stopped at a corner, where they moved up close to the
building to avoid the rush of pedestrians. I dared not draw near
enough to hope to hear any of their conversation; I could do no more
than watch from a distance, trusting to their absorption to keep them
oblivious of my proximity.
Both were now excitedly questioning the Jap, who seemed to be wholly
unmoved by their agitation. Presently Fluette turned angrily upon
Burke. From his manner it was not difficult to imagine that he was
soundly berating the secretary, who, whenever he could make himself
heard, was just as plainly attempting to present some extenuating
argument.
The entire episode was perplexing enough, but what immediately ensued
caught me unawares. Without the least warning the trio separated, each
hurrying away in a different direction. At this critical juncture a
voice said, right at my ear:
"Shall I stick to Burke?--or follow one of the others?"
I jerked my head round to confront Fanshawe, the man detailed to keep
Burke under surveillance. I had not observed him before--not
surprising, since he had just caught up with me--but I welcomed his
presence now.
"Stay with your own man," I shot at him, and turned to look for the
Jap. He was gone.
To make the account of this discomfiting episode as brief as possible,
I shall say, merely, that out of the three men whom we were watching,
two of them walked away from under our very noses without our having
the slightest idea in which direction they went. How did they do it?
The momentary diversion occasioned by Fanshawe's arrival, the brief
distraction of our attention, had been sufficient. He lost track of
Burke, and I never had so much as another glimpse of the Jap.
We had the assistance of another headquarters man, too. The one for
which I had telephoned showed up immediately after Fanshawe addressed
me. The last-named skurried away to find Burke, while Pennington, my
other colleague, and I devoted our efforts to catching the Jap.
"One of those Japs has been shadowing me all morning, Pennington," I
advised him. "He 's as shifty and evasive as a fox. Fall half a block
behind me, and if he shows up again give me a signal and close in. I
want him."
But he did n't show up.
It was humiliating to be outwitted by the Oriental--it was the second
time for me, too; it would be calamitous to lose Burke. The day
dragged along, and when each succeeding minute brought no news of him
my anxiety increased by leaps and bounds. Before nightfall, every
available man in the department was scouring the city for the
ex-secretary.
Subsequent events, however, showed that we might have spared ourselves
all the trouble and worry; for one more pertinacious even than Fanshawe
clung to Alexander Burke's heels all that day and night.
I found time during my purposeless running to and fro to learn that
Alfred Fluette had arrived at his brokers' offices in Quincy Street
shortly after ten, where he remained until the Board of Trade closed,
and that Genevieve had left on an afternoon train for a brief visit
with relatives in Merton, Ohio. Fluette had failed in his engagement;
Genevieve had kept hers.
Some time after dark I boarded a Sheridan Park car, and rode out to the
Page place; I don't now know why, unless it was because of the
disastrous turn affairs had taken, and that I hoped, in this dismal,
dispiriting environment, to find a balm for my depressed feelings.
It was only that morning, in the midst of a blinding snow-storm,
thoroughly disheartened by the loss of the ruby, that Stodger and I had
left the old house; but as I approached it that night, it bore every
appearance of having been abandoned for years instead of only a few
hours. No smoke curled from the chimneys; no light gleamed at any of
the windows. In its white setting of snow, it loomed silent and
spectral.
In the afternoon I had turned the keys over to Mr. Page's lawyer, and
how I hoped to effect an entrance--if I had any such intention at
all--I have long since forgotten. It may have been because it was here
that I first met Genevieve, that I came mooning through the cold and
snow. She was gone upon a journey; I knew that I could not see her for
days; and perhaps I thought to find some companionship in the more
intimate associations clustered about the dreary spot. At any rate,
here I was. And I saw nothing else for me to do than to turn round and
go back to town again.
However, I started to enter the gate. Next instant I stopped short.
The snow bore other tracks besides Stodger's and mine--tracks pointing
toward the house instead of away from it. They were fresh, made since
the snow ceased.
I advanced a little farther into the yard, where the tracks had not
been obliterated by pedestrians on the sidewalk, and soon comprehended
that they had been made by two men. Were they in the house now? And
if so, who were they? What errand could be so pressing that it would
bring anybody here on such a night?
My indifference and discouragement fell away from me in a flash.
Cautiously I followed the trail up to the front steps, where at first I
fancied it disappeared upon the porch. Still I could not see a glint
of light, nor did the most attentive harkening favor me with the
slightest sound.
It occurred to me while I stood pondering on the porch that, after all,
Mr. White--Felix Page's lawyer--might have been responsible for the
tracks in the snow. It was possible that he had sent somebody to look
after the place; a caretaker, perhaps, who would stay here until a
disposition could be made of the property.
But this idea no sooner occurred than it was dismissed. All at once I
noticed that one pair of foot-prints, instead of mounting the porch
steps, had turned to one side. They led off to the east, and
disappeared round the wing in that direction. The two persons had not
come in company; the first, I presently concluded, had carried a key,
and the second had been following him. There were no retreating
impresses to indicate that either had departed.
I tiptoed to the front door and turned the knob. The door did not
yield. Then for the first time I recalled the window which our
housebreakers had forced the night before; unless the latch had been
repaired during the day, it would be an easy matter to gain access to
the dining-room, which was located in the western wing.
Now it was the eastern wing or gable which sheltered the library, the
conservatory, and Mr. Page's bedroom, and it was thither the second
man's foot-prints led. I followed them round the corner of the house.
From their appearance it was easy to trace all the mysterious
intruder's movements. Evidently after the door had closed behind the
first arrival, Number Two had stood for some time at the east end of
the porch. Then he had moved toward the same end of the house, pausing
at every window and trying the sash to ascertain whether it was
fastened. Turning at the corner, he had proceeded along the side of
the house, still testing the windows and bestowing particular attention
upon the glass conservatory. This was true of every window as far as
the bedroom, at least; beyond that I did not explore. Just as I drew
opposite the first of the bedroom windows I came to an abrupt halt.
There was a light in the room.
Nor was this all. Some person was in the room, too, and by the
silhouette on the blind I could see that he was industriously applying
himself to some task, the nature of which I could not determine. The
longer I watched the shadow on the blind, the more puzzled I grew. I
could imagine no occupation that would account for such singular
actions.
The shadow was a man's; I could distinguish that much. He appeared to
be bending over something, while his hands flew hither and thither, as
if they were performing a quick-step upon a piano. But no sound of
music came from the lighted room.
It would be impossible to say how long I stood there, the snow nearly
to my knees, fascinated by the remarkable antics of that shadow. Then
of a sudden the hands ceased flying. The man straightened and became
motionless, as if startled by some unexpected sound.
Well, perhaps within the next second he knew what had alarmed him; I 'm
sure that I did not. The shadow flashed away from the blind. Then my
scalp tingled and the blood seemed to freeze in my veins.
From within the room there came a most unearthly cry. It was weird,
terrifying, utterly unlike anything I had ever heard--save once. For
it was a repetition of the wild, inhuman note that had thrilled me when
I first dashed open the bath room door the previous night.
The terrible cry was not immediately repeated, but for a while the
utmost confusion prevailed within. I could hear furniture knocked and
slammed about, a tumult of stamping, scraping feet, and once--for the
briefest moment--another shadow was projected upon the blind.
It was a hideous, squat, dwarfish shadow. Two long gorilla-like arms
were upraised in an abandonment of fury. Then came that awful,
blood-curdling scream again, and the shadow's owner seemed to plunge
headlong forward.
Another crash followed. The light was suddenly blotted out. The
silence was once more absolute.