Stuart Bruxton was seated in the smoking car of a two-coach train that was wending its curving way through the hills of northern Massachusetts. He was traveling on a branch line, and was alone in the car.
To Stuart, the purpose of this quiet journey was puzzling. He was acting upon instructions given him by Harry Vincent. He was going to a place called Greenhurst.
This hamlet, Stuart had learned, was a budding summer resort that had failed to bloom. In Greenhurst, he was to keep a watchful eye on the affairs of two men; Paul Hawthorne, a real-estate promoter who had not yet managed to put Greenhurst on the map of Massachusetts; and Sherwood Mayo, a multimillionaire of many enterprises.
What had these two to do with strange events that had occurred in Maryland? Could there be any connection between them and the sinister old man who had sought Stuart's life?
Hawthorne was managing the affairs of a summer colony. Mayo dwelt on an estate, resisting the invasion of what he considered to be feudal rights.
From Harry, Stuart had learned that some hostility was supposed to exist between the two men. For some reason, both should be observed, although Harry had been very meager in his information. Ever since Stuart, anxious to aid in the cause of justice, had agreed to work with Harry, he had felt a positive conviction that some directing hand was in back of his rescuer's activities. Harry had told Stuart that further instructions would reach him at Greenhurst. He had also indicated the manner in which those instructions would be received. It had made Stuart wonder. As the train pulled into the little station of Greenhurst, Stuart felt a sudden interest. This was a campaign that called for diplomacy. He must meet two men and win their confidence. That would be easy with Hawthorne. Mayo might be a different matter. Stuart decided that Paul Hawthorne would be his best approach.
There were no houses near the station. The summer colony was a mile away. Stuart entered a touring car that bore a sign "Taxi." He started for the village. On the way he questioned the driver about Paul Hawthorne.
"You're going to the Inn?" queried the driver. "Well, it's only a little spell up the road to Mr. Hawthorne's.
'Bout a fifteen-minute walk, I should say. The house sets back from the road apiece.
"I reckon he's out running round the township, marking out places for new cottages.
There ain't many folks buying them, though. He's always home in the evenings. You can telephone him from the hotel." Stuart registered at the Inn. It was a building left over from a previous attempt to colonize Greenhurst. Stuart was given a room at the end of a wing, on the third floor. The hotel was somewhat modernized, so Stuart was not dissatisfied with the surroundings.
The other guests were typical residents of an obscure resort. Stuart went in the dining room when the bell rang for dinner. After that, he lounged a while in the lobby. Finally, he called Paul Hawthorne's cottage. A brisk voice answered him. Stuart gave his name and explained that he had come to Greenhurst from New York. He mentioned that he would like to know about real-estate opportunities. Hawthorne eagerly agreed to meet him. He said he would come to the Inn in his car. In ten minutes, Hawthorne arrived. He proved to be a pleasant-faced man, some forty-odd years of age. He shook hands warmly and invited Stuart to come up to the cottage.
They left the hotel, and were soon in the living room of Hawthorne's home, chatting as though they were old friends. Hawthorne was interesting to Stuart. The man possessed a lulling glibness; but Stuart felt that his cordiality was something that he adopted with all prospects.
"By the way," said Hawthorne, "you don't happen to know Sherwood Mayo, who lives near here?"
"Mayo, the millionaire?"
"Yes," Hawthorne assented.
"I've heard of him," declared Stuart. "I'd like to meet him sometime."
"I can arrange that," said Hawthorne promptly. "Tonight, if you wish." The statement surprised Stuart. He had not expected to find Hawthorne and Mayo on good terms. This was a good hit, already, Stuart thought.
"Mayo is a friend of mine," explained Hawthorne. "We had a little unpleasantness, when I first came here. Mayo has a hunting lodge, and he thought that he was lord of all lands that he could view from his watch tower. Since he found he wasn't, he's been more pleasant.
"He's begun to find out that the people who are buying here in Greenhurst are of a selective class. Wait, I'll phone him and see if we can run up there."
Stuart smiled when Hawthorne had gone from the room. He saw the promoter's game.
Currying favor with Mayo, Hawthorne probably made it a point to introduce all desirable persons to the millionaire. It was a system that worked both ways. It enabled Hawthorne to impress his prospects, and also to better his position with Mayo. Stuart wondered if the millionaire was wise to the game. Hawthorne was smiling when he returned.
"Let's go," he said. "Mayo says he will be glad to see us." They left the cottage and stepped out into blackness. The night was cloudy, and it was impossible to see a step ahead. As they were feeling their way toward the car, Hawthorne suddenly pressed Stuart's arm. They stood silent for a moment; then continued their way. When they reached the car, and Hawthorne had turned the lights on, the promoter explained his action.
"It's rather lonely out here," he said. "All right when the family is here, and friends are around. But it's early in the season, and I'm up here alone.
"I've got a man here on the place — a young fellow who helps me in the real-estate business; but he goes home on certain nights, once or twice a week. It gives me the creeps once in a while; just then I thought I heard someone prowling around."
Stuart felt no qualms as they were driving through the woods; but Hawthorne's remarks interested him. Stuart decided to take advantage of the turn in conversation.
"I shouldn't think you'd be worried up here," he said. "I guess most of the people are honest farmers — "
"It's not the people up here," interrupted Hawthorne quickly. "They're the best in the world. It's strangers — outsiders, you know.
"Well" — he laughed, a trifle nervously — "I've been around so much in this promotion work, I guess I'm apt to worry foolishly. But you bump into so many cranks. People who have imaginary grievances — " He went no further, but Stuart began to understand. He recalled that Harry had said Hawthorne had been engaged in various enterprises which had ended unfortunately. Perhaps the man had reason to fear some menace.
Stuart looked toward his companion and saw the outline of Hawthorne's pale face. He realized that the man had been actually frightened.
They swung up a road and passed between two stone pillars, upon which were mounted electric lights. These were brightly illuminated, and they showed walls running in both directions. The pillars constituted a gateway. The gates were open.
"Mayo is expecting us," declared Hawthorne. "That's why the lights are on. There's the lodge, straight ahead."
The house was set in a level clearing. It was of old English style, and very elaborate for a hunting lodge. They pulled up in front. The door opened, and a tall, genial baldheaded man stood awaiting them. They went in the house, Hawthorne introducing Stuart to Mayo as they entered.
Stuart looked around the living room in admiration. It was sumptuously furnished for a hunting lodge. An excellent rug lay on the floor. A bright fire crackled in the fireplace. A glass-eyed deer head looked down from above the mantelpiece.
Stuart noted the bookcase, with its array of neatly placed volumes. Each article of furniture was distinctive. All of the chairs were elaborate, and no two were exactly alike. While Stuart was wondering who kept the place so tidy, the explanation came in the form of a Filipino valet, who entered with a tray of glasses.
The servant was neatly attired in a white coat, and he moved with catlike stealth. Stuart took a sudden dislike to the man. Why, he did not know.
Conversation began. Mayo and Hawthorne became involved in a friendly discussion of affairs at Greenhurst. Stuart was an interested listener. He noted that Mayo was rather indulgent.
"So you're going on with the developing, eh?" asked Mayo. "What if it goes flat?"
Hawthorne shrugged his shoulders.
"Remember the price I offered you?" quizzed Mayo. "It's a lot more than you paid for that acreage!"
"It's not enough," responded Hawthorne.
"Suppose I raised the bid?" Mayo suggested.
"Not for sale. I'm going to make millions out of this deal."
"Maybe you're fooling yourself, Hawthorne."
"Not a bit of it, Mayo!" was Hawthorne's definite answer.
The millionaire laughed.
"Say, Hawthorne," he said, "I'll bet you've cleaned up on some of these propositions of yours."
"I have," returned Hawthorne quietly; "Why shouldn't I?"
"No reason why you shouldn't. More power to you. Of course, clean-ups sometimes bring comebacks unpleasant ones, from disappointed customers." Hawthorne shifted the subject immediately.
Stuart made a mental note of the conversation. He sized the men as opposites.
Hawthorne, a speculator who was afraid to declare the wealth that he had made through doubtful dealings; Mayo, a magnate who was proud of his possessions.
"Swell," said Mayo pleasantly. "You're a cagey chap, Hawthorne, and I like you in spite of it. Maybe it pays you to be mysterious. Say — by the way — you might like to see this. It ought to fit in your line. A packet of letters that I've been receiving. They're rather mysterious, too." He went across the room and fished in a pigeonhole of a writing desk. He brought our a key and unlocked a drawer. He started to lift a small white parcel that was girded with a rubber band.
Stuart saw him hesitate; then make a hasty examination of the package.
"This isn't it," declared Mayo. "I guess I left the letters back in New York." MAYO
replaced the packet and put the key in the pigeonhole. Stuart threw a sidelong glance toward Hawthorne. He saw a keen look upon the man's face.
Stuart knew what the promoter was thinking. For some reason, Mayo had decided not to show the letters of which he had spoken. His excuse that he had picked the wrong package was a lame one.
"I'll bring them up when I come from New York," declared Mayo pleasantly. "I'm going down to town tomorrow afternoon. Then back the next day."
"Quick work," observed Stuart. "I thought it was a sleeper jump from here to New York."
"No, just a plane hop for Mayo," laughed Hawthorne.
"Yes," said Mayo, "I use my private plane. Landing field right out in back of the house.
The pilot's on my pay roll. He drives my car while I'm here.
"Louie looks after the place when I'm gone. I go back and forth a lot, Bruxton. Anytime you want to travel that way, say the word."
"Thanks," said Stuart. "I'll be here for a while, but I might want to run down to New York, since it's so simple a matter."
"Why don't you come up here to the lodge?" asked Mayo. "After I get back, you know.
It's better than that terrible Inn."
Stuart again expressed thanks for the invitation. This was excellent. It would be easy to watch Mayo here, and Hawthorne's cottage was nearer to Mayo's lodge than to the Inn. The clock on the mantel struck twelve with an odd, chiming note. Hawthorne suggested a departure.
Louie, the Filipino, arrived with hats and coats. The guests said good night to Sherwood Mayo.
As they drove slowly between the stone gates, Stuart glanced through the rear window, wondering if the lights of the house would be visible. He noted that they were hidden over a slight rise of ground. Stuart's interest in that fact quickly faded. For he saw something else that impressed him as much more important.
Beside the wall, a few feet from one post, stood a tall, silent figure. It looked like the form of a man; but Stuart could not be sure that it was other than a creation of his imagination. It was a mammoth shadow, that bore the semblance of a human being.
Before Stuart could speak to Hawthorne, the car had reached a bend in the road. In his last glimpse, Stuart could scarcely see the fantastic form that he had noticed. It had blended with the darkness of the wall. It had vanished, like a specter of the night!