'I said the letter,' repeated Bruce.
'I gave it to you.'
'No, you didn't. This is a blank sheet of paper.'
Harry smiled.
'I forgot you didn't know about it,' he said. 'The ink doesn't last on any letters that deal with The Shadow's business. It fades out and never comes back.'
HARRY rose from the table.
'Let's get started,' he suggested.
They left the restaurant and drove about the town in Vincent's coupe. The car bore Pennsylvania license plates. Harry had been careful about that registration. It would not attract the attention of a car that was plainly identified as from New York.
After a short cruise they returned and separated. Each spent an hour about town, gossiping in stores and with idlers. This was an easy task in the rural community.
'Only one good idea,' said Harry when they met. 'We might try the old Mountain Pike that goes north from here. There's a bus runs over it, through a gap between the hills. The bus waits for the last train from Harrisburg. Meyers might have taken it if he got off here.'
'Good idea,' agreed Bruce. 'I haven't anything better to offer.'
They rode slowly along the pike toward the nearest mountains, which were several miles away. As they neared the rising slopes, the road entered thick woods, which opened occasionally when they approached farms.
They stopped when they had reached the highest point in the road, midway between two small mountains.
'Let's go back,' said Bruce. 'We passed several side roads. The spot we hope to find is probably some distance off the pike.'
Returning, they reached a road that went to their left. It was a dirt road and in poor condition. Harry drove the car carefully and slowed down as they neared a bend.
'Listen!' exclaimed Bruce.
From a distance up the road came a cry for help. It was a man's voice, screaming loudly.
Harry pressed the accelerator. The car shot forward. They rounded the curve and turned sharply in the other direction. Directly in their path were two men struggling in the center of the road. One was trying to free himself from the other's grasp. He was shouting, but his cries were weakening. Evidently he was being choked.
Harry jerked the wheel as he applied the brakes. He missed the combatants by a narrow margin, almost ditching the car at the side of the road.
The men were at the left of the car. The one who had been screaming had fallen in the dust, his opponent upon him.
THE attacker was not a large man, but he appeared vigorous. Harry seized him by the shoulders and dragged him away. With a terrible snarl the fellow turned upon him. The attack was terrific. In one second Harry was lying helpless, with the man beating his head against the road.
Bruce came to the rescue. He had seen Vincent fall, and he realized the strength of the antagonist. He had not anticipated such a battle or he would have seized a wrench from the car. His help was needed instantly now; he hurled himself upon the frenzied man and rolled him in the dust.
With this advantage, Bruce expected quick results. Yet he was suddenly overpowered; the tables were turned. He found himself on his back, his arms beneath him. Clawlike hands were at his throat. As he stared upward he saw a hideous, wizened face, with wicked, glaring eyes.
Bruce Duncan was at the mercy of that apelike creature that had entered his room a month ago. It was the same brutal face that he had seen before!
The monster possessed prodigious strength. It was choking him to death. Why didn't Vincent come to his rescue? Vincent, or the other man, whom they had aided? Duncan's head was beating within, like the sound of a drum. His eyes seemed bulging from his head. He could even feel the claws that were buried in his neck.
Suddenly the pressure relaxed. Duncan was still powerless; the creature's hands were still at his throat.
But its head had turned sideways. It was waiting, unwilling to loose its victim, yet hesitating for some unknown reason. It seemed to be listening for something.
As Duncan breathed, the drumming ceased, and his head cleared. Then to his ears came a sound that he had heard on that same eventful night. It was a low, hissing whistle from far away; a penetrating whistle that seemed to echo through his brain.
The creature rose quickly. With long, jumping strides it dashed to the side of the road. As he propped himself on one elbow, Bruce Duncan saw the strange monster disappear into the surrounding woods.
CHAPTER XX. TWISTED LIPS
SOME one helped Bruce Duncan to his feet. It was the man who had been struggling with the creature when the coupe had arrived.
Harry Vincent, a dazed look on his face, was sitting in the road, rubbing the back of his head.
The man, who was assisting Duncan, appeared to be a farmer. His face was white from his recent experience.
'Sorry I couldn't come quicker, friend,' he said. 'You gentlemen helped me. I was pretty near done. I was just comin' to help you when the critter ran away. I was agoin' to hit him with this.'
He exhibited a large stone in his right hand.
'Let's get him!' exclaimed Bruce.
He leaped to his feet and rushed to the car. He came back with two wrenches and a jack handle. He passed a wrench to the farmer. Harry, now well recovered, accepted the other. Flourishing the jack handle, Bruce started through the underbrush, with the others closely following.
The creature had plowed a track through the bushes. It was easy for them to follow the course, which led to a path. Running along, away from the road, the three men continued their pursuit.
In a few hundred yards they came to a clearing. A small house stood there - a one-story building, not much better than a cabin. A man was watching from the rude porch. He held a shotgun over one arm, and he gazed narrowly at the approaching group.
Bruce Duncan stopped in front of him. The man was dressed in outing clothes, but he did not appear to be a woodsman. Instead, he looked like some one from the city. His face was rather hardened, and he did not appear friendly.
'Well?' questioned the man, as though demanding an explanation.
'Did you see anything of a wild man?' asked Vincent, joining Bruce Duncan. 'That's about the best way to describe the fellow we're after.'
'You look rather wild yourselves,' observed the man in a gruff voice. 'You're on private property, too.
What's the idea of coming in here this way?'
'It's the wild man,' explained Duncan angrily. 'He came this way. You must have seen him.'
The man on the porch thrust his chin forward.
'You're telling me what I've seen?' he asked in a significant voice. 'Listen, young fellow. You're a trespasser. Get that? Move along before I plug you.'
He raised the shotgun in a threatening manner.
The farmer intervened.
'Just forget that shotgun, stranger,' he said. 'This ain't your property. I live around here. I know.'
'I'm renting it,' declared the man on the porch.
'From whom? I'll bet you're squatting here. This is Seth Wilkinson's property. Seth's a friend of mine.
Lives in Harrisburg. If you don't want trespassers, where's your notice?'
'Over on that tree.'
'That's Seth Wilkinson's sign. Not yours. What's more, that shotgun business ain't used around these parts no more. If you want a quick jury trial with twelve men all agin' you, just plug one of us. You got just two barrels there. You ain't agoin' to hit all three.'
He swung the wrench in short circles.
