'In a way - yes. What is this place you mentioned - a sanitarium?'
'Doc never called it that,' the man replied. 'He said it was a rest home. Only, we've been wondering,' he chuckled, 'why doc always went away when he wanted a rest himself.'
He pointed into the darkness, made motions to indicate a road that turned to the right.
'Up there, about a mile and a half,' he said. 'The place is in the hills. And if you see doc, ask him why none of us ain't heard from him, since he got back. He was purty sick, the last time he closed the place.
Heart trouble, he said.
'He was supposed to be shutting the place for good, so he could go out to California and stay there. But the place is open again, only we ain't seen doc around.'
Arlene started to ask a question; Harry gestured to stop her. He had gotten a sudden inkling from the service man's remarks concerning Doc Broyce's ailment. The less said, the better, at this moment.
The picture was clearing in Harry's mind. He was coming to conclusions which he believed must be identical with those The Shadow had already formed: a solution to the riddle of the Dead Who Lived.
But the test of that theory, and its proof, depended upon a prompt visit to the sanitarium.
As they started along the road to the hills, Arlene looked back. She half wondered if The Shadow had remained in the sedan. Arlene was chiefly puzzled, though, because the other car had not come into sight.
She asked Harry what he thought about it.
'There was a dirt road that cut right just past the grade crossing,' recalled Harry. 'They might have turned in there, to watch us from between the buildings.'
'But where are they now?' queried Arlene.
Harry admitted that he did not know. He was less puzzled, though, when a dirt road came in from the right, to join their own route.
'They may have seen which way we headed,' undertoned Harry. 'If they did, they could have taken a short- cut, to get here before us.'
Harry was driving slowly, but he didn't tell Arlene to keep a lookout. That didn't worry her; it made Arlene hopeful. She was convinced, from Harry's calmness, that The Shadow must still be with them.
The road veered; ended at an open gate. Driving through, Harry followed a rough driveway that was scarcely more than ruts. Ahead, barely distinguishable against the cloudy sky, he saw a sprawly building that looked like an old farmhouse.
When they reached it, the place proved larger than an ordinary farmhouse, for it had frame-built extensions, that had evidently been added at different times.
As Harry swung the car about, his lights showed walls that badly needed paint. The windows, too, looked dingy; the front door had a battered look. He wasn't surprised that the natives had thought the place closed permanently. The whole building was in need of repair.
No other cars were in sight, but there were plenty of tree clusters behind which one could be hidden. It was certain, though, that by stopping close to the house, Harry and Arlene could reach the front door without trouble.
There was a good chance, too, that they would be admitted; for the sprawly house was occupied.
Trickles of light filtered past the drawn shades of a few front windows, and Harry had seen others like them, at one side of the house.
Lights out, Harry and Arlene stole cautiously from the sedan and reached the front door. Harry felt for a push-button, found it. He rang; they could hear no bell inside. Harry rang again; as he did, he heard footsteps.
A bolt grated; the door opened. From a dim hallway, a blocky man craned at the visitors. Noting that one was a girl, he asked no questions but simply beckoned them to enter. Once they were inside, he closed the door and bolted it.
HARRY was sizing up the fellow; one single word described him. That word was 'thug'. It made the place look bad, finding such a man on duty; yet Harry wasn't sure that things were wrong. Perhaps there were residents here who sometimes proved troublesome. If so, strong-arm servants would be needed.
The blocky fellow swung around, spoke in a tone that was gruff, although he tried to smooth it.
'You won't be able to see Doctor Broyce,' he informed. 'The doc's away. Thought I'd better tell you that, to save you trouble.'
'Thanks,' returned Harry, coolly. 'We haven't come to see Doctor Broyce. We want to talk to one of his patients.'
'There's no patients here,' began the man. 'We've got guests -'
'I mean a guest. His name is Remingwood.'
Thuggish features hardened. The tough servant seemed to be controlling a smile. He asked the names of the visitors. Harry gave them.
'All right,' said the fellow. 'I'll take you to see Remingwood.'
During that interval, Harry had been looking past the attendant, into a darkened front room. There, he had caught the soundless motion of a window shade, that faded as he watched. Harry's tenseness vanished. Such smooth entry could be accomplished only by The Shadow.
Harry was sure that his chief had joined them. He would have been doubly positive, had he been able to see what was going on outside at his parked car. There, slinking figures had moved from another car, beyond a clump of trees. With guarded flashlights, they were probing the interior of Harry's sedan, only to find it empty.
Conducted through a chain of gloomy, deserted hallways, Harry and Arlene arrived at a big door. The servant opened it, to take them into a wing of the house. Looking back along the last passage, Arlene was sure that she detected motion in the darkness.
That motion faded instantly, so surprisingly, that Arlene could scarcely believe that she had noted it. The incident, however, caused her to form the same impression that Harry had gotten; namely, that The Shadow had followed them.
Past the big door was a gloomy corridor, with closed deep-set doors along the right. There was a wide doorway on the left; the servant stopped there, to look into a large lounge room. Harry and Arlene saw a pair of white-jacketed attendants, as hard-boiled as the man who guided them.
There were half a dozen others in the room, pitiful specimens of humanity. One was an old man, slumped deep in a chair, muttering to himself. Two younger men, weak-looking fellows, were seated at a table listlessly playing checkers.
Another was staring from a darkened window; of the last two, one sat brooding, with folded arms, while the final man, who looked like a dope addict, sat in a corner holding his pale face buried in his hands.
HARRY no longer doubted the necessity of the husky attendants. The term 'guests' certainly did not suit this group of hopeless patients. Harry looked toward Arlene. Sight of the group troubled her; she was wondering about Dick's condition.
'Where's Mr. Remingwood?' gruffed the guide.
'In his room,' replied one of the attendants. 'Reading a book, the last I saw him.'
The guide conducted them farther along the corridor. Dick's room was the last on the right; there was only one door beyond it; that final barrier was located in the very end of the corridor.
The man rapped, announcing that visitors had arrived. Abruptly, he opened the door of Dick's room and shoved it inward. Harry saw a young man rising from a table, laying a book aside. That first sight pleased him. Dick Remingwood was not like the rest of the patients that Harry had seen here.
Square-featured, Dick had keen eyes and firm lips that automatically formed a smile of greeting. His face was a trifle pale, but not haggard. His clothes looked well; his black hair was smoothly parted.
Dick gave an exclamation of genuine gladness when he saw Arlene. With a happy cry, the girl was across the threshold; a moment later, Dick was holding her in his arms. Harry looked at the attendant; the fellow gave a shrug and stepped out to the corridor, leaving the door ajar.
Harry Vincent remained as the lone witness to the reunion between Dick Remingwood and Arlene Delton. As he watched, Harry was convinced that this meeting was important.
There were facts, Harry was sure, that Dick alone could tell. Facts, perhaps, that Dick Remingwood regarded as unimportant, yet which would prove vital to The Shadow's quest.
CHAPTER XIV. FACTS BEHIND CRIME
THE big door had opened at the front of the long corridor. A shape of blackness blocked the whiteness of that
