HAVING accounted for Timothy, The Shadow was looking for Bert. He knew that Bert couldn't have gone out by the front door, because the police would have spotted him from the driveway. So The Shadow was shifting around to the other side of the house, to have a look from near the sun porch.

Having slipped from the path of the patrol cat's searchlight, The Shadow was having no trouble at all. He simply left the front of the house to the police, knowing that they would take a long while to scour everywhere for someone who wasn't there.

From beside the inclosed porch, The Shadow peered toward a hedge and noted dim, moving lights beyond it. This was on the side of the house opposite Rayne's study, and The Shadow knew that a road lay beyond the distant hedge.

The lights he saw, and the accompanying throb of a motor, could simply denote a pa.s.sing car; but the road wasn't used much, and any automobile traveling it would be likely to have brighter lights.

To get a better view across the hedge, The Shadow scaled to the rail of the inclosed porch. Against thelight from the house, his cloaked head and shoulders were quite visible, but it didn't matter while the police were still searching about out front.

At least, it didn't matter so far as the police were concerned. Rayne's servants were another proposition.

They came just when The Shadow didn't want them.

Finding their chase a blank one, the servants had hurried back to the house when they heard the fire of police guns. Coming past the sun porch, they spied The Shadow against the interior lights. Four men in all, the servants were springing for the cloaked figure before The Shadow could even turn their way. So The Shadow compromised by dropping into the shrubbery that banked the edge of the porch.

The fray that followed was a wild one. The Shadow was beating off four frenzied, shouting men, who kept springing up to grab him as fast as he flung them away. They tramped all about the shrubbery, out to the lawn and back again, and always one man or another would manage to grab at The Shadow's cloak.

It lasted longer than The Shadow wanted, particularly when the police arrived with guns. Then The Shadow had to perform some surprising tactics.

Ripping away from the servants, he sprang up to the ledge that he had used before. That made him a target for the patrolmen, who blazed away before Cardona could stop them. Recognizing The Shadow against the light, Joe did his best to end the folly, but it was too late.

However, the shots didn't bother The Shadow. The bullets smashed some panes in the porch windows, nothing more. The Shadow had taken another jump while the patrolmen were aiming.

The servants saw where he landed and surged there in a body. This time, they had him, and they were pounding, pommeling, beating down a wiry figure that kept springing up despite their efforts, until Cardona flashed a light on the scene and put an end to the useless struggle.

What the servants were trying to overpower was a squatty, five-foot tree that The Shadow had noted from a corner of the porch. The tree was a semitropical variety that Rayne's gardener had covered with burlap, to protect it against the cold.

Vaguely, it resembled The Shadow in the dark, enough so for the cloaked fighter to divert the servants to it and leave them holding, not an empty bag but one that contained a tree. In its own style, the springy tree had put up a very good resistance while subst.i.tuting for The Shadow.

Circling the house, The Shadow paused. Something was happening below the window of Rayne's study.

The Shadow heard Timothy's voice, then sc.r.a.ping sounds. It was Bert who supplied the latter. He had taken over The Shadow's route and was coming down the wall from the study window.

REJOINED, the partners scurried across the lawn, and The Shadow started after them. Flashlights suddenly appeared from in front of the house, and The Shadow heard Bert give a quick order to Timothy.

"Get to the car!" snapped Bert. "Don't use your gun. I'll do the shooting. When I see you start, I'll join you."

Bert started shooting with the stubby gun that he had plucked from Rayne. His first two shots pinged the house wall, and finding that they weren't effective enough, Bert aimed the next two at the study window, producing a crash of gla.s.s. All the while, he was zigzagging toward the hedge, and the police were answering his shots, a thing that proved quite inconvenient to The Shadow.

With wild shots raking the whole lawn, The Shadow was cut off from his pursuit and had to head backtoward the house.

Bert fired a final shot from the hedge, then jumped in the car with Timothy and rode away. Picking the trail of lights, The Shadow fired some long-range shots amid the tumult of the police fire. Those well-aimed messages should have exploded the tires of Timothy's car, for The Shadow's calculation was perfect.

What The Shadow couldn't see was a low wall beyond the hedge, an old barrier that began at the rear of Rayne's property. It stopped the shots that would have halted the escape, had only the hedge been in the way.

While police were hurrying back to their cars, to commence a useless, roundabout chase, The Shadow went his way. When he returned to Rayne's, he came as Cranston, and found others there ahead of him.

Commissioner Weston was present, and he was greeting Horace Trelger, who had arrived in a coupe instead of his old-fashioned town car.

Trelger was wheezing in excited fashion: "I phoned the club, commissioner. They said you had left, so I fancied you came here. My chauffeur was off for the evening, so I drove out alone. Tell me: did you talk to Jared Rayne?"

"I did," replied Weston solemnly. "I called him on the telephone, and my conversation with Rayne was ended by the shot that killed him."

Trelger's eyes didn't narrow. They opened wide, and his lifted brows were indicative of horror. Turning from Trelger, Weston nodded to Cranston.

"I'm glad you're here," the commissioner told his friend. "There's been a murder. The sort where all suggestions, no matter how small, may be needed, before we can solve it."

Not for a moment did Commissioner Weston suppose that his friend Lamont Cranston could supply suggestions that were in no wise small.

That was something only The Shadow knew!

CHAPTER X. NUMBER THREE.

WHILE the police were investigating the death of Jared Rayne, two forgotten men were holding a conference of their own on the same subject. Those two were Bert Glendon and Timothy, back in the butler's secluded apartment.

On the table in front of them lay the funds from Rayne's safe, that Bert had brought away in his pockets.

But the glee that had prevailed after their robbery of Trelger was absent on this occasion.

"Murder is murder," declared Bert grimly. "All who have a share in it are equally to blame."

"I understand, sir," returned, Timothy. "We know that one man, of five, killed your uncle. The one might not have been Rayne. Again, he might have been. So it evens up, Mr. Bert."

Finding that Timothy's logic coincided with his own, Bert tried to dismiss the subject, but failed. The best that he could do was shift it to another phase.

"Should we be accused of murdering Rayne," declared Bert soberly, "I shall accept the full responsibility.I might plead self-defense, because Rayne fired before I could grab his gun. Of course, they would have to prove that I shot Rayne, which would be very difficult."

"It would be impossible!" a.s.sured Timothy. "After all, Mr. Bert, I was in the house, too-"

"You were in the house?" broke in Bert. "I thought I told you to stay outside."

"I couldn't, sir," confessed Timothy. "I felt that I was needed to support you. I was the only one who had a gun at the time we began our expedition. Remember, sir?"

Bert remembered, and nodded, but his forehead wrinkled into a frown.

"I thought there was someone else," he said slowly. "In fact, I am sure of it, Timothy! Rayne was struggling with a person in the dark."

Timothy brightened.

"Was he, sir? How excellent! That fits perfectly with my own a.s.sumption. Of course, I thought that the other person was yourself, Mr. Bert-"

"Just as I mistook him for you," interrupted Bert, clapping the butler's shoulder. "So we've straightened everything. Neither of us killed Rayne!"

Timothy's eyes took on a reflective gaze. He was thinking in terms of a cloaked fighter who had appeared, some nights earlier, at the Glendon mansion. Only The Shadow could have come and gone from Rayne's in that same surprising fashion. And Timothy, in his recollections of The Shadow, felt that it would be difficult to pin crime upon such an elusive character.

It would be hard, he thought, to even prove that The Shadow existed, let alone that the mysterious being had been at Rayne's tonight.

For once, Timothy seemed nervous, as he gathered the currency that Bert had brought from Rayne's and dumped it into the drawer along with Trelger's property.

"We must never let them find this," declared Timothy, referring to the money. "Should you ever be questioned, Mr. Bert, make your story simple. If need be, say that you went to Rayne's to warn him against me. I shall not wait here for them to arrest me."

"Good old Timothy!" said Bert, with a smile. "I'll agree, provided that you are willing to work the thing the other way, should the circ.u.mstances be reversed. If they find you, but don't catch me, you can say that I killed Rayne."

Despite Timothy's objections, Bert remained obdurate. He took a sheet of paper and wrote a signed confession, declaring that he had slain Rayne. He forced Timothy to keep the paper, which the butler finally did, but only after he had written a similar confession of his own, which he gave to Bert.

Having thus fortified each other against the uncertainties of the future, Bert and Timothy turned to something which they regarded as an accepted fact.

"Next on the list," spoke Bert briskly. "Who is he, and what is he like?"

"I would suggest Freeman Wight," declared Timothy. "He is very pompous-like this."

Timothy drew himself up in haughty fashion, gave Bert a cold stare and pursed his lips, to speak with a precise and affected accent: "May I inquire the purpose of this visit? I am not accustomed to receiving callers at any hour!"

"Quite enough," laughed Bert. "I remember Wight. He talked in that tone at the funeral. Very well, Timothy, we shall take up Wight's case next."

AT Rayne's house, the subject was veering toward Freeman Wight. Commissioner Weston had completed his survey of Rayne's death.

His conclusion was that the same man who had impersonated Trelger had attempted to rob Rayne also, but had failed. Therefore, it was advisable to determine who might be the next victim, and Weston was calling upon Trelger for such information.

Seated at Rayne's desk, Trelger shook his head. He could not think of any mutual friends who had lately been in town. He looked across the room at Rayne's silent servants and asked if Rayne had received any recent visitors. One of the servants responded: "Mr. Wight was here last night."

"Freeman Wight!" exclaimed Trelger. "Why, he closed his apartment a month ago!"

The servant informed Trelger that Wight had moved to the exclusive Angora Hotel, in Manhattan, and had been living there since giving up his apartment. None of his friends had known it, not even Rayne, until last night.

"Last night!" expressed Trelger. "Why, that was after I was robbed! Perhaps Wight was worried and came here to warn Rayne. Well, Wight should be really worried now. I have been robbed; Rayne has been murdered-"

Trelger interrupted himself to push back the chair, because Cardona was insistently rummaging through the desk drawers. After Trelger shifted, Joe opened the top drawer and came across the key to the cash box. Discovering that the key fitted, the inspector unlocked the box.

Finding nothing but old papers, Cardona dumped them on the desk, and Trelger immediately pawed through them. Finishing, Trelger glanced up, horrified.

"These don't belong here!" he wheezed. "Why, Rayne always kept his cash in this box! Bundles of it, totaling thousands of dollars! Rayne was robbed as well as murdered! We must warn Wight at once!"

Commissioner Weston decided to give the warning personally. He invited both Trelger and Cranston to come along, and of course Cardona was included.

They rode to Manhattan in the commissioner's official car, and invaded the pretentious Angora Hotel, where it took all of Weston's authority to crash the gate of Wight's fourth-floor suite. Even then, there was a delay before Wight would receive the visitors.

Wight appeared attired in a fastidious dressing gown. At first glance, he looked like a self-important individual, and further acquaintance increased the impression. Wight had a droopy face, which he kept tilted back, to give an imaginary thrust to his weak chin. As a result, his eyes had a downward glance.

Wight had another mannerism, that of smoothing his black hair, which glistened in such sleek, black fashion that even a casual observer could suspect that its color was the result of dye.

"May I inquire the purpose of this visit?" questioned Wight, in a testy tone. "I am not accustomed to receiving callers at any hour!" Weston undertook to explain, but talk of robbery and death failed to ruffle Wight's hauteur. Wight turned his droopy gaze toward Trelger, as though to blame him for the visit.

"All this is preposterous!" a.s.serted Wight. "I called on Rayne last night, but merely because I was bored with hotel life. I saw no reason to warn him against imaginary enemies."

"It wasn't imagination that killed Rayne," insisted Trelger. "What is more, the disappearance of his money is a complete mystery. If I still had mine"-Trelger's wheeze reduced itself to a whisper-"I'd clear out of town for parts unknown."

"No one will disturb me here," argued Wight. "The Angora is very particular in preventing its guests from being annoyed. That is why I chose this hotel for my residence."

"I had an office full of employees," returned Trelger in his rattly tone, "and Rayne had a house full of servants. Such precautions did not protect either of us!"

"Mr. Wight will be protected," a.s.sured Weston. "I intend to post detectives in the lobby, and on this floor, night and day."

Something more noticeable than mere annoyance flickered on Wight's uptilted face. Knowing Wight, Trelger might have recognized that the haughty man was gripped with sudden fear. Certainly Cranston, with his keen gaze, did not miss the fact. To cover his mood, Wight drew his shoulders high and gave a curt wave of dismissal.

"Do as you like, commissioner," he said to Weston. "But I warn you: I shall not tolerate undue annoyance. Good evening, and in the future, if possible, arrange appointments with me before you call."

RIDING back to the club, Cranston listened to the verbal report that Cardona gave Weston. What irked the inspector most was the lost trail following the Rayne affair.

The patrol car would have overtaken the killer, Cardona averred, if people in the neighborhood had furnished satisfactory information. Inquiries at service stations and the like had brought a conflict of opinion, some claiming they had seen a coupe scooting one direction, and others stating just the opposite.

As a result, the police hadn't gotten anywhere, except back to Rayne's house.

As he listened, Cranston reflected on his own efforts to stop Timothy's car. For once, Cranston scarcely regretted that certain fugitives had made a getaway.

As The Shadow, he had felt it his duty to halt the flight of Bert and Timothy. Nevertheless, from the viewpoint of The Shadow, it would be preferable to crack things wide at a moment when crime was about to happen, rather than after it had been perpetrated.

The Shadow had almost done it at Rayne's, and now he could foresee an even better opportunity. It wasn't just because Bert and Timothy were still at large, with vengeance-and other things, perhaps-strongly in their minds. This time, The Shadow had uncovered the trail well in advance.

He knew who the next victim would be: Freeman Wight. The past was preying on Wight's mind, so strongly that it would soon catch up with him and take charge of his future.

While Weston talked to Cardona, planning the measures most suited to Wight's protection, Cranston smiled. Wight required more than protection; he needed observation of the sort that only The Shadow could furnish. Rutledge Mann was waiting at the club. He had some investments to discuss with Lamont Cranston.

Those "investments," it turned out, were a report on certain past transactions that pointed to Freeman Wight as another crafty swindler who had duped old Lionel Glendon.

Mann wondered why Cranston smiled at the suggestion that Wight might be the next man to receive a visit from those partners in retribution, Bert Glendon and Timothy.

The reason for the smile was significant. It seemed that The Shadow already knew!

CHAPTER XI. TOO MANY WATCHERS.

EARLY next evening, the Angora Hotel had a visitor. He arrived soon after dusk, and he accomplished the seemingly impossible-that of entering the sw.a.n.ky hotel entirely un.o.bserved.

Getting through the well-watched lobby of the Angora was difficult enough in normal times, but with headquarters men on duty, it was actually phenomenal.

Particularly when one of the headquarters group happened to be Inspector Cardona. It was Joe's night off, and he was spending his holiday by personally checking on matters at Wight's hotel. Yet, even Cardona was unaware of the singular visitor who entered.