SHADOWS OF NIGHT
BETTY MANDELL stared across the table. Her gaze was fixed upon Bob Galvin’s face. It seemed sallow in the dim light of the dining room. Two candles on the center of the table furnished the only illumination.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the man, as he noticed the girl’s stare.
“Nothing, Bob,” replied Betty. “It’s just — well, you look so different from what I expected you to be.”
“Yeah?” Bob’s voice seemed rather sour. “What’s the matter with me? Don’t you like my looks?”
“It’s not that, Bob,” said Betty hastily. “I like you, and I’ll always like you, Bob. It’s just that you’re — well — so different from the way I pictured you.”
The man laughed good humoredly.
“You haven’t seen me since we were kids,” he said.
“I’ve seen your picture,” reminded Betty. “The one you sent me two years ago — with one of those wonderful letters that you know how to write.”
“That’s so. I sent you my picture. But photographs sometimes fool you, Betty. Maybe I’ve changed a bit, too. People say I’ve been changing in appearance.”
“I guess that explains it, Bob. But when I heard your voice on the telephone last night, it was as if I could see you while you were talking. But now — well — it all seems different.”
“You didn’t see me last night. That was just your imagination.”
“I didn’t imagine I heard your voice! That’s different now, Bob! When I came in this afternoon, I was amazed the moment that I heard you speak.”
“A voice never sounds right over the telephone.”
“That must be it, Bob,” Betty consented, then went on.
“Don’t think I’m disappointed. I’m just bewildered, that’s all. I’m just trying to get used to you. You understand, don’t you?”
THE man arose and walked around the table. He patted the girl on the back. Somehow the action annoyed Betty, although she made no sign.
“You’ve been worried, little girl,” said Bob. “That’s all. Poor old uncle dying. It’s a hard blow for both of us.
“Maybe you oughtn’t to stay in this old house too much. Why don’t you take a trip down to Bermuda, or somewhere like that?”
“I don’t have the money, Bob,” said Betty frankly.
“You’ve got it coming to you from the estate, haven’t you?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t going to be much, Bob.”
“Don’t worry about that. There’ll be plenty. I’ve got plenty of money, Betty. I’ll take care of the trip.”
The girl shook her head.
“I wouldn’t want you to do that, Bob—”
“It’s all right with me, Betty.”
“Perhaps, later. After things are more settled. I’d rather stay here right now, Bob. That is, if you want me to—”
“Of course I want you here! Didn’t I tell you so last night?”
Betty nodded.
“All right,” said Bob. “That settles it!”
Hodgson entered.
“Gentleman to see you, sir,” he said to Bob.
“What’s his name?” asked Bob.
“He didn’t tell me, sir.”
“Well, I’ll see him, anyway. Take him in the study.”
“All right, sir.”
Betty looked at Hodgson as the man spoke. She observed a strange expression on the old servant’s face.
He was staring at Bob Galvin as though his dim eyes were trying to see the young man’s face more closely.
The old servant turned and left the room.
“I’ll be back later,” declared Bob as he left for the study.
Betty remained in the candlelighted room. Theodore Galvin had always liked candlelight. The dining room had never been equipped with electric lights. Even in the other parts of the house, modern illumination was sparse.
The gloom was oppressive to Betty; but it was not because of the flickering candles alone. She was really disappointed in Bob Galvin, although she had tried to deny that fact.
Bob had greeted her upon her arrival in New York; but there had been something forced about his manner. Somehow, she did not trust him.
Yet, when he had spoken over the telephone the night before, the sincerity of his voice had been impressive. It was only the memory of that conversation that reconciled her to the man who varied so from her expectations.
Hodgson was back. The old man was keen, despite his poor vision. He sensed the melancholy that had come over the girl.
“What’s the matter, Miss Betty?” he asked.
“Nothing, Hodgson.”
“Is it Mr. Bob?”
“Yes,” admitted Betty. “He’s different from the Bob Galvin that I expected. I can’t explain it, Hodgson, but—”
“You are right, Miss Betty,” said the servant, in a low voice. “He is different — different since last night!”
“Since last night!”
“Yes, ma’am. He went out with Mr. Mallory. That was about midnight. He came back an hour later, and I spoke to him when he came in. He didn’t say anything. He just went up to his room.
“To-day, when he spoke to me, he seemed changed. There was a difference in his voice, Miss Betty.”
The old servant’s words were perplexing.
Why had Bob Galvin gone out late — with Mallory, of all persons? Perhaps Hodgson was mistaken about Mallory. But he could not be mistaken about Bob.
Who was the visitor here tonight?
Betty wondered. She rose from the table and went out into the hall. There she encountered Bob Galvin and another man coming from the study.
The visitor was not easily discerned in the gloom, but Betty noted that he wore a cap pulled down over his eyes. There was a toughness about the man’s face — all that Betty could see of it. Bob turned suddenly.
“Hello, Betty,” he said. “I’m going out for a while. I’ll see you later.”
He was wearing his coat and held his hat in his hand. He did not introduce the stranger. He and the other man departed, leaving Betty astonished.
THE evening dragged slowly by. Betty read a book in the big library — a room as gloomy as the rest of the house. Betty was used to this atmosphere, although at times it chilled her.
It was nearly midnight when Betty retired. Before she went to sleep, she heard the front door close ponderously. The stairs creaked.
Bob Galvin had returned.
Silent minutes went by. Betty could not sleep. Somehow, her mind kept picturing the old study downstairs. It was there that Bob had received the odd visitor tonight.
Betty was seized by an uncontrollable impulse to go downstairs. She felt for her slippers; then recalled that they were in her trunk, which had not been brought in from the country.
Barefooted, she stole down the carpeted stairs, with one hand on the banister. There was no creaking under her light tread. She moved noiselessly along the hall, then stopped suddenly as she turned the corner that led to the door of the study.
There was dim light in the hall, coming from the study. The door of the room was open; and the table lamp must be on!
Perhaps Bob had left it burning; perhaps he was there now. In the latter event, Betty could explain her presence by explaining that she had heard a noise downstairs and had come to investigate.
Nevertheless, it might be well to observe Bob before he saw her. With catlike stealth, Betty advanced to the doorway.
The light on the floor of the hall fascinated her. It was more than a gleam. Into it came a peculiar shadow — the elongated silhouette of a man’s profile.
The patch of blackness swayed. Betty watched its motion. She stepped forward and turned to look into the room.
BY the desk stood a tall man clad in black. His back was turned toward the door. He seemed a strange phantom of the night — a living being that had come from nowhere. Across the floor lay his long, weird shadow, stretching into the gloom of the hall.
Betty’s hands gripped the sides of the doorway, as she stood horrified by the presence of this uncanny personage.
She could see the folds of the black cloak which hung from his shoulders; the back of the broad-brimmed hat which was upon his head. He was examining the desk — the motion of his black-gloved hands indicated that fact.
While Betty stood, entranced, the man must have sensed her presence. He swung suddenly to face the door. As his cloak spread wide, the girl caught a glimpse of its crimson lining and the thin, black-clad form within the cloak.
The face of the man was invisible, obscured by the collar of the cloak and the low brim of the hat. All that Betty could see was the glow of two piercing eyes that shone beneath that hat brim; eyes that saw her standing in the doorway.
The girl raised a hand to her mouth to repress a scream. Then a low, soft laugh echoed through the room. It came like a spectral whisper — an eerie sound that seemed beyond reality.
A black-gloved hand swung upward. A click followed. The room was plunged in darkness.
Betty stood there, suddenly wondering if it had all been imagination. With boldness that she could not understand, she crept into that black room, toward the spot where the man had been. She was determined to meet this stranger of the night — to learn his purpose — to discover the mystery that surrounded him!
Silently she moved forward until she knew that she was near the desk. There she reached out and found the lamp. She pressed the switch and turned quickly as the light came on.
She was alone in the deserted study! All that she had seen now seemed a creation of her imagination. She peered into the shadowy depths and saw nothing.
She could not believe her senses, for she knew beyond all chance of doubt that a man had been standing in that room. Now he was gone!
Noiselessly, like a shadow of the night, he had vanished!