The Shadow - The Key Part 2

SOBERLY, the four men filed into the sickroom. Stretched in a bed lay the withered form of Torrence Dilgin. Illness had played havoc with a frame that Edwin Berlett had remembered as robust. Scrawny hands; cheek bones in a dried face; these were the motionless impressions of Torrence Dilgin that showed above the sheets.

Life had apparently ended. The physician approached the near side of the bed to make an examination.

Dario was beside him. Berlett crossed the room and stood at the other side of the bed.

"I think," announced the physician, "that he is dead. If you had come sooner, Senhor-"

"This is no time to discuss the matter," interposed Berlett. "The fact that he subsided quickly proves that he could not have talked."

The sound of Berlett's voice produced a magical effect. Like a corpse from its coffin, Torrence Dilgin came to life. Scrawny hands twitched while blued eyelids opened. Torrence Dilgin was staring straight toward Edwin Berlett!

"You are here!" gasped Dilgin. With an amazing effort, the old man clawed his body half upright. "Here!

Berlett! With witnesses! Listen!

"The key! Get it, Berlett. For-for the company. The key! One- one million-dollars-"

Berlett caught Dilgin's shoulders. The withered frame was sagging. Leaning along as Dilgin sank, Berlett spoke these words.

"What key? Who has it?"

An incoherent gasp came from Torrence Dilgin's lips. Dried lips twitched, trying to repeat a name. The gasp, however, made the word inaudible. Slipping from Berlett's grasp, Torrence Dilgin rolled sidewise in the bed and spoke no more. It was the physician who took charge. No question remained. That gasp had been Torrence Dilgin's last.

When the doctor announced that the old man was dead, the three visitors filed from the room. They a.s.sembled beyond the door which the nurse closed behind them.

EDWIN BERLETT strolled to the window. He stood staring toward the lights. It was impossible to determine the emotion that the death scene had inspired in his mind. When Berlett swung from the window, his face had all its firmness.

"Sigler," he ordered, "get your notebook. Take down the death statement as I heard it."

"Yes, sir," replied the secretary.

Word for word, Berlett repeated the dying words. Finished, he turned to Dario. The Brazilian lawyer nodded.

"It is exactly as I heard it," he announced. "But there was one thing, Senhor. There was a name which Senhor Dilgin tried to speak-"

"Did you hear it?" questioned Berlett, keenly.

"No, Senhor," returned the Brazilian, "but you were close-"

"I could not catch the name," interposed Berlett simply. "In accordance with Torrence Dilgin's apparent wishes, I shall require affidavits from you, Senhor Dario, and from the physician. Did you hear the last words, Sigler?"

"No, sir. Only a few of them."

"Your statement will not be needed. Perhaps, after I have made my report in New York, I may be able to trace this reference to a key and the sum of one million dollars.

"However"-Berlett paused to eye Dario steadily-"that will be my concern. You, Senhor, are but a witness. Your affidavit will end your connection with the case. It will be a matter for the United States, not for Brazil."

"Very well, Senhor," bowed Dario, in acknowledgment. "I understand."

Edwin Berlett returned to his window. His meditative gaze again sought the sparkling lights of the city.

Beyond the glow of lights in the Parque da Acclamacao, he stared toward that inevitable stretch of landlocked bay.

Dying words! Edwin Berlett had heard them. They were the beginning of a revelation; Torrence Dilgin's statement of a strange secret which involved a key and the sum of one million dollars.

Yet more important than the words themselves had been the final gasp. A name-lost amid the dying breath-was the answer upon which Torrence Dilgin's secret hinged. To Edwin Berlett, the old millionaire had tried to give the all important words.

Who was the person whom Torrence Dilgin had tried to name? What could that person reveal regarding the old man's statements of a key and one million dollars? Had the secret died with Torrence Dilgin?

From the solemn look upon Edwin Berlett's steady face, one would have supposed the secret gone.

Senhor Dario, viewing Berlett's profile from one side, was clucking sadly. Warren Sigler, seeing that same profile from the opposite angle, was repressing a triumphant smile. Brazilian and American had watched by Torrence Dilgin's bedside while awaiting Edwin Berlett's arrival.

Yet the effect of Dilgin's apparent failure to convey a final clue to Berlett had produced an opposite effect.

Where Senhor Dario felt that misfortune had been the reward of a long vigil, Warren Sigler was satisfied that his own hopes had been fulfilled.

CHAPTER IV. FROM THE DARK.

TWENTY-FOUR hours had elapsed since the death of Torrence Dilgin. The piazza of the splendid Hotel Nacional was thronged with evening visitors. The glittering lobby buzzed with gaiety. A death in an obscure suite high above was no disturbance in the life of this huge hotel.

A tall stranger entered the lobby. American in appearance, he was evidently an arriving guest. Stopping at the desk, he received a registration card and signed his name as Lamont Cranston. The clerk affixed a room number and asked if any special service was required.

"Yes," came the statement, in a quiet tone. "I believe that I may have friends stopping here. Do you have a list of Americans registered at this hotel?"

"Certainly, Senhor." The clerk turned and obtained a card that bore a list of names. "We have occasional inquiries like yours. We keep this list in readiness."

The clerk watched the new guest as he studied the list. The man behind the desk at the Hotel Nacional had observed many unusual travelers, but never one who had impressed him more distinctly. Lamont Cranston's countenance might well have been hewn from living rock. Molded with the firmness of a statue, it was almost masklike.

Though Cranston's head was slightly inclined, the clerk could catch the flash of burning eyes.

Involuntarily, the man behind the desk followed the direction of Cranston's gaze-toward the list that the new guest was studying.

Beside one name was a check mark in red ink. Cranston's eyes were focused upon that name. Almost involuntarily, the clerk found himself leaning forward to deliver a low-toned explanation.

"The red mark sir," said the clerk. "It is most unfortunate. Senhor Torrence Dilgin died last night. He was a very old man. He had been ill-"

"I understand." Cranston's quiet interruption came as the guest returned the list to the clerk. "I suppose you naturally keep such matters quiet. I see no persons whom I know upon this list. Thank you."

The blaze of Cranston's eyes had faded when the guest faced the clerk. Stepping from the desk, the firm-faced arrival followed the waiting attendant to the elevators. He was conducted to his room.

LAMONT CRANSTON'S lodging was at the front of the hotel, a floor below the suite in which Torrence Dilgin had died. As soon as the bell boy had gone, Cranston extinguished the light and walked through darkness to the window.

Across the outer balcony, he commanded the brilliant view of the Parque da Acclamacao and the crescent of lights that indicated the sh.o.r.e line of Rio's bay. These lights, however, were not the ones that had attracted him.

Leaning from the window, Cranston gazed upward, at an angle. He located two lights on the floor above; they were situated in adjoining windows. One was bright; the other dull. These marked the rooms ofTorrence Dilgin's suite.

A soft laugh came from Cranston's lips. That tone was a weird echo of The Shadow's sinister mirth.

Death at the Hotel Nacional was in itself significant. On the list, however, Lamont Cranston had noted a name directly below that of Torrence Dilgin. It was the name of the man whom The Shadow sought: Warren Sigler.

The list was not alphabetical. Guests had been marked according to the date of their arrival. The fact that Sigler's name was with Dilgin's, coupled with the location of Sigler's room-on the same floor, near Dilgin's-was proof sufficient of a connection between the two.

Dead man and living! This new guest who used the name of Lamont Cranston was determined to gain an insight into their affairs. Motion occurred within the darkened room. A bag clicked open. The folds of a dark cloak swished in the blackness. Shortly afterward, a figure emerged upon the balcony.

Each window, on every floor, had its own railed projection. These had been designed for appearance rather than occupancy. No persons were visible along the front of the dull-surfaced hotel. Lamont Cranston had become The Shadow. His form, garbed in black, was no more than a moving splotch of darkness as it rose upon the rail.

A swinging spring carried The Shadow to the adjoining balcony. He repeated his maneuver and gained the next projection in the line. Continuing, he came directly beneath the balcony outside of Dilgin's living room. Grasping the projection above, The Shadow swung himself clear of the wall. A few moments later, his form swung over the upper rail.

THE night was mild; the window was open. Yet The Shadow's arrival, accomplished with the utmost stealth, was unnoticed by those within the room. Three men were engaged in conversation. They were Warren Sigler, Edwin Berlett and Senhor Dario. To-night, Berlett was seated in an armchair. He was not near the window.

"We have arranged everything, Senhor," Berlett was saying to Dario. "The Southern Star sails to-morrow; Sigler and I have engaged pa.s.sage. We shall have the body transported aboard the ship."

"Very well, Senhor Berlett," returned Dario, with a bow. "I shall aid you by making the proper reports to the authorities. The death certificate has been prepared."

"You saw the physician?"

"One hour ago. He will be here shortly."

Berlett paced across the room. The Shadow, watching from the balcony, eyed him closely. He had noted Berlett's name upon the clerk's list. It had been at the bottom, signifying that Berlett was the most recent arrival at the Hotel Nacional.

"Here are the affidavits, Senhor." Berlett ceased pacing as Dario spoke. The lawyer was drawing folded papers from his pocket. "One is mine. The other is Doctor Antone's. They correspond exactly with yours."

Berlett nodded as he received the affidavits. Sigler arose and approached the lawyer. He put forth a natural question regarding the pipers.

"Shall I file these, sir?"

"Certainly," decided Berlett, handing the affidavits to the secretary. "Keep them with my own statement. Ican repeat mine verbatim-from your notes -when we arrive in New York."

"Very singular, Senhor," mused Dario. "We all heard the same-a key-a million dollars-then a name which none of us could catch. I have been thinking about it, Senhor. I have wondered-"

"Wondered what?"

"If Senhor Dilgin tried to say a name. Perhaps, Senhor, he thought that you would know the person who had the key. Could that be? You have known Senhor Dilgin for many years."

Edwin Berlett stood stock-still. He rubbed his chin and furrowed his heavy brows. Sigler, placing the papers in the drawer of a trunk, paused, listening. His face was away from the other men. The Shadow, however, could spy the secretary's profile.

"No." Berlett shook his head. "I can think of no one. Lester Dorrington- the attorney who will handle Dilgin's estate-said nothing about a key when we had our last conference. I know of none."

"Another lawyer? A friend, perhaps?"

"I do not know of any. Frankly, Senhor Dario, I believe that Torrence Dilgin was delirious when he died.

I am preserving his death statement purely as a matter of procedure."

A smile showed on Warren Sigler's face. Again, The Shadow detected the secretary's expression. Edwin Berlett had turned. He was moving toward the window. The Shadow crouched into the darkness below the level of the sill. His action was unnecessary. Berlett turned as some one knocked at the door. Sigler answered the rap.

It was the physician. The man bowed politely; then spoke to Dario in Portuguese. The Brazilian attorney nodded. He turned to Berlett, who had swung back to the center of the room.

"We must observe a formality," explained Dario, "to comply with the law. As Senhor Dilgin's legal representative in Rio de Janeiro, I have made out papers turning the body over to you. Doctor Antone has prepared the death certificate.

"You and I must identify the body in his presence. Suppose we step into the other room and go through the procedure. No other witness is necessary. You have the papers, doctor? Good. We can sign them in there."

THE three men stepped into the inner room. Doctor Antone closed the door behind them. Immediately, Warren Sigler sidled over to the barrier to listen.

The Shadow saw the action; but he did not linger. Moving to the edge of the balcony, he mounted the rail and swung headforemost to the adjoining projection. Like a trapeze artist, he caught the further rail with silent skill. He brought his tall form up to the next balcony.

Peering through the opened window of the dimly lighted room, The Shadow saw the three men-Berlett and the two Brazilians-gathered at the foot of Dilgin's bed. The withered form of the dead millionaire was lying in full view while the trio spoke in whispers that one might have expected in a death room.

But The Shadow's keen ears detected a different reason for their soft tones. Senhor Dario was explaining to Edwin Berlett that this formal view of Dilgin's body was unnecessary. The old Brazilian attorney had a different purpose. He wanted to speak to Berlett, without the presence of Warren Sigler.

"Doctor Antone," Dario was saying, "has made a very serious discovery. He believes that a.r.s.enic wasadministered to Senhor Dilgin; that the poison caused the old man's death."

Berlett's raised brows demanded further explanation. It came.

"The doses," interposed Antone, "could have been given in the medicine that Senhor Dilgin took before I came on the case. They would account for the sudden illness."

"But after that?"

"A few heavy doses, given with my prescriptions, would have finished the work."

"You are sure of this poisoning?"

"No, Senhor; but I suspect it."

"Whom do you suspect?"

Doctor Antone pointed toward the door, to indicate the man beyond- Warren Sigler. Senhor Dario nodded his belief. Edwin Berlett, however, shook his head.

"Warren Sigler was with Torrence Dilgin for many years," declared Berlett. "I cannot believe him guilty of such crime. Never-with mere suspicion as the only basis."

"That is the reason we have brought you here," whispered Dario, gripping Berlett's arm. "There is only one way to gain the proof. An autopsy."

"Which would mean?"

"That the body would have to be turned over to the local authorities. It would be a matter for the Brazilian courts. You, Senhor, would be detained for weeks."

"Impossible! I must go back to New York."

"Exactly," whispered Dario. "That is what I told Doctor Antone. That is why we wished to speak to you.

If you wish, Doctor Antone will not mention his suspicions to any one."