WILBUR BLAKE was seated in the spacious library of his Long Island home. An empty glass was beside him on the table. He pressed a button on the wall. A butler appeared.
“Herbert,” said Blake, “tell Otto to come in here before he leaves.”
A moment later a uniformed chauffeur entered the room.
“Everything all right, Otto?” asked Blake.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re to pick up Mister Paget at the Merrimac Club at ten o’clock and be back before eleven.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pick up the night watchman at his house. You can bring him in the rumble seat.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chauffeur left. Blake went to a table in the corner and started to write.
Paget had been staying with Blake now for about a week, and he enjoyed Paget’s company in the huge Long Island house. Blake’s vast wealth made friendships of an intimate nature rare. He was rather a lonely young man.
BLAKE had been occupied less than ten minutes before some one entered the room. He turned to see Rodney Paget.
“How did you come in?” questioned Blake, in surprise. “Otto just left to pick you up at the Merrimac Club.”
“He did?” exclaimed Paget. “I told them to call up from there. A friend of mine was coming out in this direction, so I came out with him. I didn’t have time to phone, myself.”
Blake summoned the butler.
“Did they call from the Merrimac Club?” he asked.
“No, sir,” replied Herbert.
“I know what they did,” said Paget disgustedly. “I told them your chauffeur was coming at ten. They probably thought I wanted them to inform him that I had gone. A fine pickle, isn’t it?”
“It makes no difference,” replied Blake. “I won’t need Otto anyway. I’m glad you arrived early. Bring us drinks, Herbert. Then we’ll try a game of billiards.”
While the two men sipped their glasses, Wilbur Blake became both loquacious and complimentary.
“You know, Rodney,” he said, “you’re the best company I’ve had around this house. Five days, you’ve been here—”
“Six,” corrected Paget.
“Six,” confirmed Blake. “That’s right.”
“And six days is a long stay,” said Paget.
“I want you to stay a month, if you can spare the time,” said Blake.
Paget handed his glass to the butler.
“I’ll consider it,” he said. “But you’re busy at times, Wilbur. I don’t want to annoy you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” laughed Blake. “If you can stand it, I can. You’re the one that’s put out when I have to discuss business. Tonight was the first evening you haven’t been here.”
Paget nodded.
“Besides,” said Blake, “I like to talk some of my affairs over with you. You’d make a good business man, Rodney, if you spared the time.”
“Big business interests me,” said Paget languidly. “I become bored with trifles — and that’s why I don’t work any more than is necessary.”
The butler entered.
“Telephone, sir,” he said to Wilbur Blake.
Blake’s face was puzzled as he arose.
“Come along, Rodney,” he said. “I’ll answer the phone on the way to the billiard room.”
They entered the large living room, and Blake went to the phone. He held a short conversation; then hung up the receiver and turned to Paget.
“I’ll have to run over to see Barton,” he explained. “He’s all worried about that trust-company proposition. Expects a couple of men in tonight and wants me there.”
“Can’t you wait for Otto to come back?”
“No. But it won’t matter. Otto always drives me, wherever I go, but I can make this short run myself. I’ll have to take the sedan, though. Otto has the speedster.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. I’ll go alone. There would be nothing for you to do there. I’ll be back inside an hour.”
BLAKE went out by the side door, after turning on the outside light. Paget and the butler, standing in the doorway, watched him.
Blake disappeared into the darkness of the garage. Paget closed the door and turned to the butler.
“Another drink, Herbert,” he said. “Wait. I’ll come along with you.”
He went into the dining room and talked to the butler while the man prepared the drink. They heard the sound of the sedan as it rolled along the driveway.
Paget continued to talk to Herbert. Several minutes went by. Then Paget entered the library and began to read a book.
There was a certain calm assurance in Paget’s manner as he sat there. Herbert, entering occasionally, saw nothing unusual. Yet Paget was inwardly anxious, waiting expectantly as the minutes ticked by. His only betrayal was in his casual questioning of Herbert.
“Where is the valet?” asked Paget.
“Upstairs, sir,” said the butler.
“The other servants?”
“They go out in the evening, sir. But Jarvis and I are always here. So is Otto, except tonight, sir. Then the watchman comes on duty, later.”
“At eleven?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good idea,” said Paget approvingly. “It keeps the place well protected.”
“Yes, sir. Mister Blake is very insistent upon it.”
The butler left. Paget continued waiting. He noted Blake’s writing at the table, and studied the notations with interest.
Rodney Paget had learned a great deal concerning Wilbur Blake’s affairs during the past six days — a great deal more than Blake supposed.
A car came up the driveway. Paget left the library and went into the living room, where he found Herbert.
The automobile stopped at the side door. Wilbur Blake entered.
Paget stared steadily at the man and noted a slight motion of Blake’s right hand. In return, Paget gave a signal with his fingers. Blake turned to the butler.
“I’ll leave the car in the driveway, Herbert,” he said. “Tell Otto to put it away when he comes in. Tell him I want to see him.”
The butler did not reply. He looked at his master, puzzled. Blake stared back; his eyebrows crept together in the characteristic manner when he was annoyed.
Herbert recognized the action and was quick with his response.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Paget turned to Blake. “How about the game of billiards?”
“Good,” returned Blake.
Paget turned toward the billiard room, and Blake followed. Paget said something in a low tone, without moving his lips. Blake turned and looked back at Herbert.
“Drinks,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” There was no further hesitation in the butler’s manner as he went toward the dining room.
THE two men were playing billiards when Herbert arrived with the glasses. When the butler left the room, Blake whispered to Paget:
“That bird was pretty near wise.”
“Only for a minute,” replied Paget.
“Otto will be next,” commented Blake. “I’ll be ready for him. Say, the job was certainty pulled slick. How did you do it?”
“Never mind.”
“Oh, all right. I just liked the job, that was all. The sedan came along and stopped in front of the old house where you told me to wait. A fellow got out and walked away, up the road. When I saw the coast was clear, I hopped in and came back here.”
The door opened, and Herbert returned for the empty glasses.
“Nice shot, Wilbur,” commented Paget, in his usual drawling tone.
“Thanks, Rodney,” returned Blake, chalking his cue. “Now watch this one.”
The men resumed their buzzing conversation after the butler had gone. At last there was a knock at the door. Otto entered in response to Blake’s order.
“Sorry, sir,” said. Otto. “I didn’t know that Mister Paget had gone until I reached the club.”
“All right, Otto,” said Blake briskly. “Did you bring the watchman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you put the sedan away?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good night.”
At midnight, the men concluded their game of billiards. As they went upstairs together, Blake passed the butler with confidence and assurance. Paget accompanied Blake to his room.
“Remember,” said Paget, “you are Wilbur Blake. I’ve told you much tonight. I have more pointers that you will learn to morrow.
“I’m here for a month — and the game is in our hands.”
The other man nodded.
“Good night, Rodney,” he said.
In his own room, Paget turned out the light before retiring, and stared through the open window. He saw the watchman pass in his patrol of the grounds. Then his eyes were disturbed by the sight of a long shadow that lay across the lawn.
It reminded him of the shadow that he had seen in that squalid room in the house near Lexington Avenue.
Paget watched the shadow intently for several minutes. He shrugged his shoulders and was about to leave the window, when he fancied he saw the shadow move. He continued watching, but detected no further motion.
“A shadow,” murmured Paget, as he left the window. “Only a shadow — but a shadow may mean — some one. Well, there’s a cure for everything — including shadows.”
He was thinking of the Silent Seven. As yet, he had tested only a portion of their power. Should this strange shadow prove the presence of an enemy, an appeal to Number One would defeat the foe.
What was the power of a shadow compared with that of the Silent Seven!