A few minutes after Tracy and Carter Boswick had left the pier, Lamont Cranston followed. He stopped in a telephone booth and made a brief call. After that, he hailed a taxi and ordered the driver to take him to the Law Club.

There was a thin smile on Cranston's lips as he alighted at the portals of the Law Club. He entered the building, and spoke to the attendant who inquired his business there.

"I am Mr. Cranston," he said in a quiet tone.

"Yes, Mr. Cranston," responded the attendant. "You may enter, sir. Judge Lamark just called, sir. He said that you were to he admitted."

Cranston still smiled as he walked through the lobby of the exclusive club. His phone call from the pier had brought quick results. Judge Vanniman Lamark was a friend of Lamont Cranston. He had been pleased to hear from him. He had promised to arrange Cranston's admittance to the club, and would try to meet his friend there at three o'clock.In the grillroom of the club, Cranston discovered Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick ordering lunch in a booth at the side of the room. Unnoticed, Cranston slipped into the adjoining booth. He gave a quiet order to a waiter; then listened intently. His keen ears caught every word that pa.s.sed between Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick.

"As I have stated," Tracy was saying, "your father made you his sole heir-except for a moderate but ample income that he left to your cousin, Drew Westling."

"Why wasn't Drew at the boat to meet me?" questioned Carter.

"I don't believe that he knew when you were coming in," answered Tracy. "Your father told him that you were on your way from Montevideo; but I don't think that Drew inquired the day of your arrival. Your father's death was a blow to Drew."

"Of course," agreed Carter. His tone, however, showed a tinge of disappointment. Drew Westling was his only relation, now that Houston Boswick was dead.

"You will probably find Drew at the house," declared Tracy. "He is living there; and Headley, your father's servant, has remained. There are other domestics-Headley is the only one of consequence. He is something of a supervisor, or caretaker."

Farland Tracy paused after this explanation. Then, in a new train of thought, he came to a matter that proved to be of special consequence.

"There is a certain factor regarding your father's estate," resumed the lawyer, "that I cannot mention just at present. I discussed it with your father shortly before his death. My instructions were to wait until you had reached the home, and had established a residence there.

"Technically, such residence will begin as soon as you have stepped across the threshold, providing you announce your intention of keeping the old house. You will a.s.sume your father's place as master there.

So I shall come to visit you this evening. We can discuss affairs in the rooms that used to be your father's study."

There was a seriousness in the lawyer's tone that impressed Carter Boswick.

"TELL me," questioned the young man. "Was all well at the time of my father's death?"

"Yes and no," responded the lawyer thoughtfully. "Your father, Carter, had been living under certain apprehension. He had hoped for your return. If you had not come back, Drew Westling would have been his heir. Therefore, he took rather extraordinary methods to protect his estate.

"At the time he died, he believed that certain efforts were being made to interfere with his plans. He did not seem to fear that his life was in danger; but he did think that his property might be in jeopardy.

"He was positive that unknown persons had entered his home during his absence, in an effort to frustrate his plans. There was, however, no trace of an actual plot. He might have been mistaken-"

Carter Boswick interrupted. In a low, tense voice, he recounted his adventure in Havana, and the episode that had taken place aboard the Southern Star. Farland Tracy listened intently to the story.

When Carter had concluded, the lawyer rubbed his chin in deep thought.

"Those events may be of a serious nature, Carter," he declared. "It seems amazing that two attempts should have been made upon your life, at a time when you were coming home to gain a heritage. On the contrary, they may have been chance episodes. They may have no bearing upon your present situation.That, I sincerely hope, is the case."

"Why?" questioned Carter, as the lawyer paused.

"Because," continued Tracy, in a regretful tone, "there is only one person who could profit by your death."

"Drew Westling?"

"Yes."

Carter Boswick chewed his lips. He knew that Farland Tracy had spoken an apparent truth.

Nevertheless, he was loath to believe that his cousin could be planning perfidy.

That, too, appeared to be Tracy's thought. The lawyer expressed it in definite terms.

"Drew Westling is a spendthrift," he declared. "Shortly before your father's death, Drew lost heavily at the gaming table. I did my utmost to disentangle him from the snare. I succeeded only partially-enough to protect Drew for the time.

"I said nothing to your father regarding the matter. Had I mentioned it, Drew would probably have lost his income, and all claim to the estate, had you failed to arrive home."

While Carter was still nodding his understanding, Tracy continued in a milder, more tolerant tone.

"Nevertheless," he resumed, "Drew is a likable young man, with all his faults. I would hesitate to cla.s.s him as a plotter. I feel that he should be given the benefit of all doubt. At the same time, you should use discretion, Carter. My visit tonight will be important. It must be between ourselves. It concerns your affairs only.

"Drew Westling is ent.i.tled to his provision in the terms of the will. He is your cousin. He has a right to live with you at the old mansion. I know that you will treat him generously. Still, you must remember the existing facts. Give affairs a chance to adjust themselves. Be cordial to Drew, but make your renewed friendship one of slow culmination."

"I appreciate the advice," responded Carter. "It is well given, Mr. Tracy. Drew Westling's lack of interest in my arrival gives me an excellent starting point. I shall be cordial and glad to see my cousin. But my experiences in foreign lands have shown me the folly of becoming too friendly all at once-even when a relative and boyhood chum is concerned."

The men finished their lunch. Farland Tracy glanced at his watch and noticed that it was half past three.

"Holland must be here with the car," said the attorney. "He will drive you to your home, Carter. I shall call tonight shortly before nine. It will apparently be no more than a chance visit; actually it will be a matter of greatest consequence. You understand?"

"Absolutely," replied Carter Boswick. "You may rely upon me."

The two men left the grillroom. Lamont Cranston remained. A few minutes later, an entering man stopped at Cranston's table. It was Judge Vanniman Lamark, pleased to greet an old friend whom he had not seen for nine months.

As he chatted idly with the judge, Lamont Cranston still wore his thin smile. He was thinking of that appointment between Farland Tracy and Carter Boswick. He, too, would be there at nine o'clock.But he would not visit the Boswick mansion as Lamont Cranston. Tonight, The Shadow would reappear to again play a hidden part in the destinies of Carter Boswick!

CHAPTER VIII. THE SECRET MESSAGE.

IT was eight o'clock that evening. Carter Boswick, back in his father's old mansion, was pacing the floor of the gloomy hall. He spied Headley walking morosely toward the dining room. The servant turned as Carter spoke.

"Has Mr. Westling called?" inquired Carter.

"No, sir," answered Headley.

"Very well, then," said Carter, with a tone of impatience. "I shall go ahead with dinner."

"It is ready, sir. Mr. Westling is usually quite late-"

The front door opened by way of interruption. Carter Boswick turned. His keen eyes studied a man who was entering. He saw a young fellow of slight build, whose carriage and pale features marked him of the lounging type. The arrival was holding a long cigarette holder in one hand. This added to his listless appearance.

For a moment the two faced each other. Then a light crept over the features of the man who had just entered. His eyes showed an unexpected sparkle. He sprang forward with hand extended.

"Carter!" he cried. "Carter!"

The enthusiastic greeting seemed genuine. Carter Boswick caught Drew Westling's hand, and grinned at the cousin whom he had not seen for years.

They had been boys together-these two-and the physical superiority of Carter Boswick was even more marked than before. Drew Westling seemed pitifully frail beside the stalwart form of his newly returned cousin.

A few minutes later, the pair was seated at the dining-room table. The spontaneous meeting had brought a quick bond of unrestrained cordiality. They were talking over boyhood events with real enthusiasm. To Carter Boswick, this get-together had taken an unexpected turn.

"Do you remember that game we used to play so often"-Drew Westling's voice had a.s.sumed a reminiscent tone-"and how exact we were in every detail?"

"You mean the duel between D'Artagnan and De Guise?" smiled Carter.

"Yes," nodded Drew. "We used those short billiard cues for swords, and chalked the ends of them so we could count the thrusts."

"We must have played that battle a hundred times."

"Right out of the pages of 'The Three Musketeers'. We used to read the old volume of Dumas for inspiration-then change them into action. We pa.s.sed that stage of life, though. Funny thing, Carter"-Drew paused wistfully-"I never could think of reading a Dumas story again, after you went away."

Carter made no reply. His cousin was thoughtful then returned to his reminiscences."The old duel," he recalled. "The one game that Uncle Houston would tolerate about the house. Perhaps that's why we played it so often. Remember how he used to watch us, Carter? How he used to criticize each thrust?"

Carter Boswick nodded. Drew Westling had brought back the one boyhood memory that was indelibly, impressed upon his mind. Only when he and Drew had fought their duel had Houston Boswick shown the real interest of a proud father and an indulgent uncle.

"Say, Carter"-Drew was on a more immediate subject-"it was pretty small of me not to meet you at the boat today. I knew you were coming in, and I should have called up Farland Tracy about it. But somehow, I've been pretty blue since my uncle-since your father-died. I was afraid you wouldn't know, and I didn't see just how-just how I could tell you. I thought if Tracy was there alone-"

"That's all right, Drew," interrupted Carter quietly. "I understand. I did feel mighty broken up. I'm glad I didn't see you until now."

DESPITE a resentful antagonism that he had held earlier in the evening, Carter Boswick now felt a warmth of kindliness toward Drew Westling. He recognized that his cousin was a weakling, but the sentiment in Drew's nature did much to excuse that fault.

Just as dinner was ending, the doorbell rang. Headley answered it, and returned a few minutes later to announce that Farland Tracy was calling to see Mr. Boswick.

"Finish your dinner, old top," Carter said to Drew. "I'll see what Tracy wants. Probably a friendly call.

You can join us later."

Reaching the hall, Carter found Tracy standing with a warning hand uplifted. Carter nodded, and led the lawyer upstairs to the study. The room was lighted; the shade was drawn. Carter closed the door. Tracy motioned for him to turn the key. Carter complied, and the lawyer brought out a bundle of papers.

"We must go through these," he stated.

The inspection began. Most of the papers were of purely legal nature. But at the bottom lay two envelopes. One was addressed to Carter Boswick; the other to Drew Westling; each envelope bore the statement that it was to be destroyed intact, should the other be the heir.

"These are letters which your father wrote," explained Tracy. "Their contents are practically identical. He showed them to me before he sealed them. One for you-one for Drew-whichever might inherit the estate."

Carter nodded and opened his envelope. He drew out the letter, and read it slowly, holding it so that the lawyer could also see the careful handwriting.

The letter read as follows: My Dear Son Carter: When you read this letter, I shall be dead. You will be my sole heir. You will be the recipient of a considerable estate. Nevertheless, if you are at all familiar with my reputed wealth, you may be somewhat disappointed.

During the past few years, I have made a constant effort to minimize the extent of my possessions. In this I have been fairly successful. I have had a definite purpose in such action. Men of great wealth are subject to preying enemies.Their estates often are in jeopardy because the expectant heirs show jealousy or cross purposes.

In accordance with my policy, I have actually minimized my known estate. I have left it ample for your needs. You may be satisfied with its present size. At the same time, I must inform you that I have deposited, in a place of absolute safety, a sum nearly ten times as great as my announced estate.

If you wish that wealth, you may seek it. You can learn, if you will, where I have placed it. If you are a true son-as I feel sure you are-your thoughts of your dead father will prove a helpful guide.

It is my one regret, Carter, that we never understood each other as many fathers and sons have done.

That lack of understanding was my fault-not yours.

When you and Drew Westling were boys together, I seldom showed interest in your activities. Only when you played your game of duel did I respond to your natural, boyish yearnings for the fatherly interest of an older man.

Perhaps you will be able to picture those exact scenes when we were together. I trust that you will go over them in detail, recalling all incidents, planning your game, and remembering me as I was then.

Perhaps the long-forgotten thrill of the battle between D'Artagnan and De Guise will enable you to understand your father as he really was -to help you know how much you mean to him today.

I possess wealth and I possess memories. To me, those memories are wealth itself. I trust that you will feel the same, Carter. This is the message that I give you. I feel sure that the future will hold in store the wealth that has been established for you by Your father, Houston Boswick.

Carter Boswick studied the written lines. He checked each paragraph as he reviewed it. Finally, he laid the letter on the table, and turned to Farland Tracy.

"Is this the only communication that my father left for me?"

"Yes."

"He speaks of a great sum of hidden wealth."

"Yes," declared Tracy. "Something in the neighborhood of ten million dollars, if his statement is correct.

But the clew to its hiding place is one that you must find."

"Have you any inkling of it?" questioned Carter.

"None at all," admitted Tracy. "Your father was convinced that you would learn it after his death. How he arranged to lead you to it is beyond my comprehension. This letter is very vague; it turns from business to sentiment at a most unfortunate point. My only theory is that your father may have arranged for some communication to reach you from another source."

"Perhaps." agreed Carter.

"Should you learn more," stated Tracy, "I advise you to be very careful. This letter is a private one.

Another communication, if received, should be guarded. I am speaking now as your father's attorney-also as your attorney pro tem.""You will continue to be my lawyer," said Carter.

"I appreciate that," responded Tracy. "But now that my mission is completed, I shall leave you. It is most advisable that no one should know of any purpose in this visit."

"I understand."

Carter Boswick folded his letter, and placed it in his pocket. He took up the envelope addressed to Drew Westling, and tore it into four pieces, letter and all. He dropped the fragments in the wastebasket.

Farland Tracy was ready to leave. Carter Boswick accompanied him from the study. The door closed, and the room was empty.

That condition did not long exist.

THE window shade slowly arose, guided by a black-gloved hand from without. A tall form slid through the opening. The Shadow stood in the study. Softly, he lowered sash and shade. With quick stride, he moved toward the desk. Stooping, he plucked the torn letter from the wastebasket.