Part 3 (1/2)
”Good. Very good.”
”But when you reach New York, you can have an autopsy performed upon the body. Then you will learn the truth. However, Senhor, you must protect Doctor Antone.”
”In what way?”
”By stating that the suspicions were your own; that you wondered about Senhor Dilgin's death after you were on the high seas. You, yourself, must cast suspicion upon Warren Sigler. It must never be known that Doctor Antone and I permitted the body to leave Rio de Janeiro suspecting that the dead man had been poisoned.”
”I understand.” Edwin Berlett nodded. ”I promise you, gentlemen, that the autopsy-if there is one-will be privately conducted. But I doubt very much that I shall have one at all.”
”That is your own choice, Senhor,” declared Dario, in a relieved tone. ”We are your friends. We could not let you leave Rio de Janeiro without this information. It was also necessary, however, that we protect our own positions. If we can all three forget this entire discussion, all will be well.” ”It is forgotten, gentlemen,” affirmed Edwin Berlett. ”Forgotten entirely. And now, Doctor Antone”-Berlett's voice was rising as he strolled to the door -”you have your papers. Since Senhor Dario and I”-he was opening the door- ”have identified the body and signed the doc.u.ments, the last formality has been completed. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Standing in the doorway where Sigler could observe, Berlett extended his hand to Dario. Antone made a presence of fumbling with papers in his inside pocket. Then he, too, shook hands with Berlett.
The American lawyer conducted them to the outer door of the suite. As soon as the Brazilians had left, he turned to Sigler.
”I'm going down to the lobby,” Berlett announced. ”After that, to my room. Call me there if you have anything important.”
”Yes, sir,” responded the secretary.
”And in the meantime,” added Berlett, ”clear up here. There will be no more visitors, until the body is removed. Have everything ready for the removal.”
”Yes, sir.”
WHEN Berlett had gone, Sigler locked the door. Smiling, he strolled to the inner room, where The Shadow was still watching from behind the window. Stooping beside the bed which held the body of Torrence Dilgin, the secretary shoved his hand beneath the mattress and brought out two small bottles.
Sigler grinned shrewdly as he pocketed these objects. He pulled the key to his own room from his pocket and left the death room. The outer door of the suite closed behind him.
Darkness edged in from the window.
The form of The Shadow became visible. Like a tall specter of death, the eerie visitor advanced and viewed the corpse of Torrence Dilgin. A soft, mirthless laugh came from The Shadow's hidden lips.
The tall shape stalked across the room, pa.s.sed through the outer portion of the suite and faded in the corridor. When Warren Sigler returned a few minutes later, he found no traces of The Shadow's brief visit.
ONE hour later, The Shadow was standing by the window of his room. He was again in the character of Lamont Cranston. A single desk lamp cast sufficient illumination to reveal his chiseled countenance.
There was a hawklike expression to that visage. Burning eyes, staring out toward Rio's splendor, were both thoughtful and predictive. Again, a laugh came from The Shadow. Motionless, the lips of Lamont Cranston delivered the whispered sound. This time, the laugh was tinged with mockery.
The Shadow had seen the justification of the suspicions held by Senhor Dario and Doctor Antone. He had watched Warren Sigler enter to remove the hidden a.r.s.enic bottles which he had not had opportunity to take away before to-night.
Sigler was a murderer; that was obvious. Dario and Antone were reputable Brazilians; their conversation had proven that fact. But Edwin Berlett, New York attorney who had come to talk with Torrence Dilgin, was a character of doubtful species.
Berlett's belittlement of Dilgin's dying statement; his crafty behavior in his conversation with Dario and Antone; his subsequent statements to Sigler- all were evidences of a cunning game. Plans lay behind the lawyer's poker face. The Shadow, as yet, could not divine them; but he knew that Berlett was scheming for the future. The Shadow, though he needed more facts, was trying to ferret out the part that Berlett was playing in a game that had involved death.
Another laugh from steady lips. It was one of keen understanding. The Shadow had found his answer.
He had formed a theory which enabled him to place Berlett. More than that, The Shadow had formed a plan of his own.
Edwin Berlett could wait, along with Warren Sigler. When the time for action had arrived, The Shadow would be capable of handling the clever lawyer as well as the stupid murderer.
CHAPTER V. AT PERNAMBUCO.
DAYS had pa.s.sed since The Shadow's arrival in Rio de Janeiro. The Steams.h.i.+p Southern Star had made its scheduled sailing from the Brazilian capital. Steaming more than a thousand miles northward, it had reached the final Brazilian port. The s.h.i.+p was at anchor in the harbor of Pernambuco.
Edwin Berlett was standing beside the rail of a stern deck. The lawyer was studying the widespread city, with its causeways connecting a central island with mainland and peninsula. Strolling across the deck to gaze out into the harbor, Berlett looked toward the open sea.
Somewhere in the direction of the ocean lay the hidden reef that served as protection to Pernambuco's harbor. Within a few hours, the Southern Star would be steaming through one of the navigable pa.s.sages that pierced the reef, guided by a pilot who would know the hidden channel.
Pa.s.sengers, standing by, were discussing the harbor, which had been improved to accommodate vessels the size of the Southern Star. Among them was a distinguished looking personage whose acquaintance Berlett had made. He was Lamont Cranston, wealthy New Yorker, who had come aboard the s.h.i.+p at Rio.
”Mr. Berlett.”
The lawyer swung at the sound of his own name. Warren Sigler had approached. Berlett raised his eyebrows quizzically.
”What is it?” he demanded.
”I have completed all the work you gave me, sir,” responded the secretary. ”Is there any other duty?”
”Not at present.”
”Then I shall go ash.o.r.e, sir.”
”For how long? The boat sails in three hours.”
”I shall be back in one.”
”Very well. Come to my stateroom when you return. No-I shall not be there. I am going down for a while; but after that I shall be in the smoking salon. Come there.”
”Yes, sir.”
Sigler walked away and descended by a companionway. Berlett remained by the rail to finish the perfecto that he was puffing. Unnoticed by the lawyer, Lamont Cranston left the group of pa.s.sengers. He had overheard Berlett's conversation with Sigler. FIVE minutes later, Edwin Berlett finished his smoke. He threw his cigar stump overboard and strolled along the deck. He stopped at a pa.s.sage that led into the s.h.i.+p. Reaching a door, he unlocked it and entered a sumptuous cabin. Furnished in old-fas.h.i.+oned style, the stateroom was almost a combination of living room and bedroom.
The bed was large and comfortable. A huge wardrobe closet provided s.p.a.ce that Berlett did not require for his limited supply of clothing. A writing desk was stationed in the corner. Upon it lay an opened box of cigars. Berlett advanced to fill his pocket with perfectos.
The lawyer stopped. Beneath the box was a sheet of paper, folded in peculiar, diagonal fas.h.i.+on. Berlett recognized that this must be a message. Unfolding the paper, he read the note.
A steady, crafty look showed on the lawyer's face. Berlett gripped the message between his hands. He tore it while he nodded; then smiled as he pulled the paper to shreds. Strolling slowly from the cabin, Berlett returned to his spot on deck.
Lamont Cranston had come back. Keen eyes were watching Berlett as the lawyer let fragments of paper drift into the harbor breeze. Fifteen minutes pa.s.sed; then twenty. Berlett s.h.i.+fted to the sh.o.r.e side of the s.h.i.+p. He eyed the wharf as though expecting Sigler's return.
In contrast to his usual calm, Berlett seemed unusually anxious. When a half hour had pa.s.sed, he left the deck and went into the smoking salon. Here he was greeted by a trio of card players who were whiling away the harbor hours with pinochle. In response to their insistence, Berlett joined the game.
IT was not long before Warren Sigler entered. The secretary had arrived back well within the hour. He saw Berlett at the card table and approached. The lawyer looked up from his hand.
”I have an appointment in fifteen minutes,” he announced, glancing at a clock in the smoking salon. ”It will be in my cabin. It is very important. I do not wish to be disturbed. Do you understand?”
”Yes, sir,” returned Sigler.