He raised the sash and slipped out into the darkness. He became a phantom shape, amid the long patches of blackness that spread across the lawn.
His work had been accomplished. He was bound on some new mission.
ARTHUR WILHELM was dining alone that evening. He liked to dine alone, in solitary state.
He ate slowly and thoughtfully. His mind was considering the strange death of Silas Harshaw.
Wilhelm had seen the old man only a few times. Twice, Silas Harshaw had been in this house. Roger Biscayne had conducted most of the negotiations that pertained to Harshaw’s work.
Biscayne had known how to handle the eccentric old inventor. Good fellow, Cousin Roger, thought Wilhelm.
It was well after eight o’clock when Arthur Wilhelm arose from his chair and strolled into the living room. He had dined heavily.
He sat down in the gloomy room and rested. At night, he became drowsy and lethargic. Then he bethought himself of the papers that Roger Biscayne wanted.
He walked to the little private room and turned on the light. He sat at the desk and unlocked a lower drawer. He rummaged there for several minutes.
At last, Wilhelm discovered that which he wanted. It was a folder that contained the agreements he had made with Silas Harshaw.