Zachary! A younger brother. Wilbur wondered, there in the clouded moonlight, why he had come to rely so much upon Zachary. He and Zachary were companions in a warfare for possession. Then, for the first time, Wilbur began to realize Zachary’s viewpoint.
What would Zachary profit by Harvey’s elimination? Very little, for he would be the younger of two recognized sons. Until now, Wilbur had admired Zachary’s cunning; now he saw a craft in the man that he had not understood before.
What if Zachary were the only son? What if Wilbur were eliminated as well as Harvey?
The thought was a terrific shock to Wilbur Chittenden. It acted as a mighty spur to his doubtful mind. Why side with Zachary, from whom he could gain nothing of consequence? Why not team with Harvey, who might be induced to give up his rights?
Talk with Zachary now? No thought could have been more repugnant to Wilbur Chittenden’s mind. His hesitation ended. He strode directly toward the grove with long, eager steps.
UP on the hill, Zachary Chittenden was watching his brother’s progress. He was standing still as he noted Wilbur’s hesitation. Then, when he saw Wilbur march into the black mass of trees, Zachary laughed. Perhaps some psychic wave had told him what was in Wilbur’s mind. Whatever the case might have been, Zachary appeared pleased when he saw Wilbur swallowed in that mysterious spread of darkness.
Zachary Chittenden turned and went back to Upper Beechview. He found his father sound asleep in the chair. The big dog, Beowulf, looked up. Seeing Zachary, not Wilbur, the beast placed its nose between its paws.
Entirely forgetful of his promise to send men who would be within range of Wilbur’s call, Zachary went upstairs to bed. Watching from his window, he could see the twinkling lights of Lower Beechview, toward which Wilbur Chittenden had gone.
He could not see the sloping hillside, the spot where he had stood. Perhaps it was well that the area was out of view; perhaps, had Zachary been able to see it, he would have detected nothing. Nevertheless, someone was present near the place from which Zachary Chittenden had watched his brother enter the grove.
A tall, eerie phantom had emerged from the darkness that enshrouded Upper Beechview to view the scene below. The Shadow had arrived from a tour about the grounds just after Wilbur Chittenden had reached the edge of the grove. He had stood beside Zachary. He had heard the youngest Chittenden’s dry laugh. He had seen Zachary return to the house.
Now, with swift strides, The Shadow was descending the hill. Scurrying clouds erased the moon as the tall form stalked across the links. Then The Shadow, like Wilbur Chittenden, was buried in the weird grove among the trees that seemed haunted by day as well as night.
Half an hour later, the shape of The Shadow reappeared, this time beneath a dull moonlight. The being in black stood upon the lawn of Lower Beechview. The lights of the lower house were extinguished. All was silence here.
The phantom form moved silently about the grounds. Then, after a long and careful inspection, it approached the grove and became a still patch of black beside the darkness cast by the trees.
The Shadow, who could move with perfect silence; the personage whose stealth could not be heard nor seen when danger lurked; again had he passed through the grove of doom unmolested. But the man who had gone before him was nowhere to be seen.
Wilbur Chittenden had passed into complete oblivion when he had entered the shroud of those mysterious trees! Another victim had fallen prey to the menace that inhabited the grove of doom!
Some shrewd schemer was at work; some terrible power was in action. It required more than mere coincidence to account for the disappearance of this man before The Shadow could arrive to warn him.
Yet The Shadow, although he could trespass where it meant death to others, was still in search of the answer to this latest mystery. The world knew nothing of the menace within the grove of doom. Only The Shadow could hope to solve the riddle.
CHAPTER IX
CHITTENDENS MEET
IT was the next afternoon when old Galbraith Chittenden stepped out on the terrace of his home, to find his son Zachary staring speculatively from the high parapet.
The night before, Galbraith had appeared extremely aged, dozing in his easy chair. Today, the old man was alert and keen. He bore himself with a stern, pompous dignity that had been his characteristic posture for many years.
Turning to see his father, Zachary Chittenden noted at once that Galbraith was incensed about something. The old gentleman had a habit of arousing himself from a lethargy whenever anything disturbed his comparatively peaceful existence.
His eyes were sharp as they looked at Zachary.
“Where is Wilbur?” demanded Galbraith querulously. “Where has he been all day?”
“I haven’t seen him, father,” answered Zachary, in a subdued tone. “That is, I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“The young ingrate!” growled Galbraith. “Well does he know that I wanted him here at home today. Yet I have not seen one sign of him. A favor-currying son who is never on hand when needed.”
“I haven’t seen Wilbur all day,” said Zachary thoughtfully. “It has troubled me, father. I have been wondering about it.”
“That dog of his!” snarled Galbraith. “Whining, whining, whining. It annoys me! It must stop!”
Zachary Chittenden approached his father. Despite his malicious nature, the youngest of the Chittenden boys possessed a remarkable faculty for soothing his aged parent. In fact, it was this one element that had so long kept peace upon the hill.
Galbraith Chittenden’s mind had rankled for years over Harvey’s absence. At times, the sight of Wilbur and Zachary incensed the old man, but always, Zachary could ease the situation by subtle comment.
“Father” - Zachary’s tone was serious - “I am really anxious about Wilbur. I must talk to you - about something that is worrying me - something that you ought to know -“
Galbraith Chittenden’s rage subsided. Father stared at son, and saw that the young man was troubled. Nodding his head in parental fashion, Galbraith requested Zachary to step into the living room. As the two entered, Beowulf the big dog, came bounding over to Zachary, then turned away and whined as it lay down in a corner.
“You see?” questioned Zachary. “Beowulf knows that something is wrong. Father, I must speak to you in closest confidence - about Wilbur - and about Harvey.”
“Wilbur and Harvey?” The old man’s temper flamed. “Always that trouble between the two. And you, Zachary - you are like Wilbur -“
“I bear no animosity toward Harvey,” protested Zachary. “I scarcely remember him - I was so young when he went away -“
“Ah, yes,” declared Galbraith. “Wilbur and Harvey were at odds. Yet you sided with Wilbur. Still, Zachary, that was not your fault. Wilbur was the closer to your age. He had a constant influence over you.”
“I always remembered Harvey,” said Zachary, in a reflective tone. “I always regretted the quarrel between him and Wilbur. But I fear that Wilbur must be in the right.”
“Why?”
“Because he stayed here, with you. That, at least, was the duty of a good son.”
ZACHARY had picked a certain thrust. Galbraith Chittenden - as self-centered as any member of the family - was greatly impressed by Zachary’s subtle statement.
“You are right, Zachary,” he said. “You are right. Wilbur was faithful - although I still feel that Harvey wants his father’s friendship. That is why I have always recognized him as my eldest son. My own father disinherited his elder son. I could never make that mistake with my elder boy, unless - unless I had full proof of his enmity.”
“There is one way of settling that matter, father.”
“How?”
“By visiting Harvey.”
“Never!” Galbraith Chittenden drew himself up proudly. “Harvey must come to me - then I shall welcome him!
