The Shadow - Death Turrets Part 9

"Come along, Burke," he said. "We're going back to town."

t.i.tus was donging chimes that hung beside the dining-room door. George heard them and inquired, with mock politeness: "Why not stay for dinner, sheriff? Both you and Mr. Burke? Perhaps some one will leave the rifle on the door step."

"Ah yes," added Lenley. "You must stay for dinner. I can promise you a better demonstration in the laboratory."

Cravlen glared at both his baiters.

"I'll be back," he promised, "by nine o'clock. When I arrive, I may have an apology for one of you fellows, but not for the other. I won't need that rifle to find the man I want.

"Meanwhile, I'm taking no chances on any more pot shots. You hold every one here, Allard, until I've driven clear to the woods. As for you men"-this was to the deputies-"don't let Miss Merrith or her aunt out of your sight!"

WHEN Clyde and the sheriff went to the front door, Allard strolled there with them. He motioned t.i.tus away, and opened the door for the departing pair.

From his vantage point, Allard could look back to the living room, to watch persons there.

Outside, Cravlen paused to examine the coupe with a flashlight. Clyde heard the sheriff mutter under his breath as he inspected the damage that the bullets had done. They entered the car; looking back as they drove away, Clyde saw Allard, still at the door.

As he reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette, Clyde's fingers gripped something that crinkled. He realized instantly what it was: a note from The Shadow. Clyde thrust the envelope deeper in his pocket. He chatted with Cravlen as they rode along toward Northridge.

The sheriff still held to the opinion that some a.s.sa.s.sin-either George or Lenley-had meant those shots for him.

But Cravlen did not overlook the fact that Clyde had nearly been the victim of the barrage. He expressed concern over the reporter's safety.

"It was a close call for you, Burke," admitted Cravlen, "so I'd rather not have you go back to Five Towers too soon. Wait until after I go there again; because, on my next trip"-Cravlen spoke with grim confidence-"I'm going to make an arrest! All I need is just that much"-the sheriff snapped his fingers-"to s.h.i.+ft it one way or the other. Either Brendaw or Lenley."

Clyde returned no comment. They were nearing Northridge when the sheriff struck upon another idea.

"You know, Burke," he said, "the way you were working over those old newspaper files makes me think that you could be a lot of help. Between now and nine o'clock, you might dig up more facts."

"I didn't get many," rejoined Clyde, ruefully. "What's more, I don't know where I could get any real dope on the Brendaw family. Old Lionel musthave been a mystery in his day."

"They say he was. I wouldn't be surprised if the old fellow went out of the way to cover his own past. Particularly after he took that rap in a Federal prison. But I'm not thinking about Lionel Brendaw. I'm wondering about Five Towers."

"You mean the old house might have something to do with the recent murders?"

"Yes. It gives me the creeps, every time I go in there! I wouldn't be surprised to see old Lionel's ghost, or have his skeleton pop out of a closet."

CLYDE was impressed by the sheriff's words. The reporter had felt the odd chill of Five Towers. Cravlen was right; the place did seem spooky.

"There're people in Northridge who might know something about Five Towers," declared Cravlen. "Maybe you could dig up some old pictures of the house, like it used to look, years ago. Whatever you could find out would be good for your story, anyway, and it might be some help to me."

Clyde expressed his willingness to make the inquiries. Another thought had struck him, one that he did not mention to Cravlen. Possibly, facts regarding Five Towers might produce others that related to Lionel Brendaw.

It was Clyde's hunch that the full truth of Lionel's past might lead to Robert Lenley. The inventor could have more reasons than he had stated, for choosing Five Towers as a residence.

The newspaper office was still open when they reached it. Cravlen suggested that Clyde drop off there and talk to the editor, who could tell him the right people to visit in search of information. The sheriff said that he would be at the courthouse until nearly nine, and that he would make arrangements for Clyde to come to Five Towers later.

Once inside the newspaper office, Clyde had his chance to read The Shadow's message, for the editor was in the press room. Clyde couldn't figure when or how The Shadow had placed that envelope in his pocket. Holding it low beneath the counter, Clyde opened the envelope.

Inside, he found a coded message, in a cipher that he could read without difficulty, for it was the regular code in which such messages came.

It was lucky, though, that Clyde was alone. The astonished look that came upon his face would have attracted instant notice from any observer.

Clyde's eyes stared; his hands became numb, so that his fingers scarcely felt the paper they gripped.

The writing faded, as with all The Shadow's special messages. Clyde took a deep gasp; crumpled the paper and tossed it into a wastebasket. For the first time, he began to realize the depth of the game that The Shadow had encountered.

Pieced evidence told its story. If The Shadow was right-and Clyde's chief usually was-there would be new attempts at murder within the walls of Five Towers.

There was work for Clyde to do-a follow-up of the task that he had accomplished during the afternoon. Everything was right for it. The sheriff's suggestion that Clyde get facts about Five Towers left the reporter free to do the research that The Shadow wanted. Clyde was pleased to have the opportunity.

Some time after nine o'clock to-night, Clyde would see Cravlen again. He would know facts by then, that he could mention to the sheriff, but he might also have some private information for The Shadow. The person who would state those added facts would be The Shadow himself.

Clyde could foresee a huge surprise for all that were concerned with the strange events at Five Towers. Remembering the people whom he had met there, he could picture what their reactions would be. In one case, however, Clyde was wrong.

There was one person dwelling in the great house on the hill who would no longer be alive when mystery was broken.Death was due again, and The Shadow would be unable to forestall it!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE INSIDE PATH.

WHEN dinner ended at Five Towers, George Brendaw and his guests seemed tense, with one exception. Kent Allard, alone of those present, was unconcerned in manner. Though usually silent, Allard had provided most of the occasional conversation in the dining room.

That was natural, since Allard was the only one free from the murderous shroud that clung over the household. George Brendaw, like Robert Lenley, was a suspect who might prove to be a killer. Lucille Merrith and her Aunt Augusta were still prospective victims, should death strike anew.

They showed their thoughts, all of them, although they did their best to conceal it. One fact, however, was notable. Neither George nor Lenley had yielded ground to the other. Nothing in George's manner had caused Lucille's confidence to waver; Lenley, meanwhile, had kept himself in the good graces of Aunt Augusta.

Allard's gaze showed no suspicion of either man; none, at least, that could be detected. His expression was impa.s.sive; his eyes as unchanging as his masklike countenance. No one could possibly have determined the thoughts that were hidden by that hawklike face.

An innocent man, however, could feel confidence through Allard's presence. To a person steeped in crime, the case would be the opposite.

Lucille Merrith sensed it; that explained why the girl felt secure. She was confident that Allard would be more than a match for the ruthless murderer who had delivered death at Five Towers. Her own escape from doom was proof.

Lucille believed-through intuition alone-that Allard had somehow figured in her rescue. She was sure, too, that Allard would be ready for the killer's next thrust.

Those wild, useless rifle shots before dinner proved that the murderer preferred to stay under cover. Even though Lucille thought that the bullets had been intended for Sheriff Cravlen and not Clyde Burke, she was correct in her a.s.sumption that the murderer was afraid to risk an open attack.

Nevertheless, mystery still existed at Five Towers, and there was one face that seemed to gloat because of it. That face was not a living one; it was the portrait of old Lionel Brendaw, staring from the dining-room wall.

Every time she looked toward the painting, Lucille felt a shudder. There was venom in the portrait's gaze; it wore the very expression that would have suited Lionel Brendaw, had he lived to witness the murders of Roderick Talroy and Rufus Fant.

LUCILLE was glad when George told t.i.tus to serve coffee in the living room. They went there, to sit beside the cheery fire. The servant arrived with a tray of coffee cups. With the percolator, he brought Lucille's usual cup of tea.

The only person who did not remain with the group was Kent Allard. He spoke to the deputies; told them to stay on duty. That order given, he went out by the front door. Lucille supposed that he was merely making a routine trip to see that all was well outside.

Allard's actions became unusual ones as soon as he had reached the outside darkness.

There were no deputies close to the front of the house. No one saw Allard's tall figure stoop beside a bushy spot close to the front wall. His hands produced a black cloak, and slid it over his shoulders. Then came a slouch hat; after that, black gloves.

There was moonlight, but it did not reveal the ground close to the house front. No longer Allard, The Shadow was invisible as he glided toward the lawn. He reached the very fringe of shrouding darkness; then looked up towardthe high turrets of Five Towers.

The Shadow's keen eyes studied the darkened window panes that caught the moonlight's glow.

The Shadow was at the very spot where the sheriff's car had been parked.

He was reconstructing the scene when those rifle bullets had blasted at the coupe. Unlike Clyde, The Shadow had not kept entirely under cover. He had peered from the rear of the car, to see the last spurts from the rifle muzzle.

There was a tiny window directly over the big front door, one that was almost hidden by the slanted roof above the porch. No one would have noticed that window, ordinarily, but it was the spot from which the rifle blasts had come.

The window, oddly, was below the level of the second floor. It did not belong to any room that The Shadow had noted inside the house.

Approaching, The Shadow reached the wall beside the porch and began a prompt ascent. Rough stones enabled him to crawl upward in beetle fas.h.i.+on until he reached the roof. Flat upon the slope, the cloaked form was unseen outside the little window. Gloved hands gained their grip.

The window was of a swinging type, clamped shut from inside, but The Shadow worked it open.

With a twist, the cloaked investigator worked through the narrow s.p.a.ce and clamped the window shut. A tiny flashlight blinked, its rays m.u.f.fled toward floor and walls. The Shadow was in a small, secret room, directly over the front entry.

There were steps that led up to a panel. The Shadow knew that they gave access to the second-floor hall. On each side were narrow pa.s.sages that led through the house wall. Flas.h.i.+ng his light along one, The Shadow saw a spiral staircase that led downward. It was a route to the ground floor.

In a corner of the tiny room stood a rifle: the weapon that the sheriff's deputies had been unable to find. This room was a lookout post from which a watcher could observe all who approached Five Towers. Moreover, it was a formidable pill-box, as a sniper had demonstrated to-night. Any one in the house could have reached this room from any spot in the house, and made a prompt departure.

THE SHADOW proved that when he followed one of the pa.s.sages. The walls of Five Towers were a honeycomb, with spiral stairways at every b.u.t.tress. From this inside path, the openings in secret panels were easy to locate. Stopping at intervals, The Shadow opened catches and slid back panels to look into different rooms.

He viewed his own room, George's, Lenley's, and finally came to Lucille's. While he looked from that panel, The Shadow delivered a whispered laugh. He saw the spot where he had struggled with the murderer. The killer had gained a quick outlet, much closer than the door.

It was obvious to The Shadow that the murderer's first action here had been to unlock the door of the room and place the key on the floor. That had not only given him the door as an optional exit; it had also produced a faulty explanation of the murderer's mode of entry.

It had been the killer's intention to strangle Lucille and have people discover the unlocked door afterward. The murderer wanted no mystery of dead bodies in locked rooms. Such discoveries would have caused a search for secret panels.

Continuing through the wall, The Shadow looked into the room where Roderick Talroy had been murdered.

He descended a spiral stairway, chose a short route and came to another panel. He opened it.

This time, The Shadow viewed the trophy room, scene of the death of Rufus Fant. In each murder, the a.s.sa.s.sin had come upon a victim unaware, and had departed in absolute secrecy.

Changing course, The Shadow took a ground-floor pa.s.sage and arrived at the kitchen. Here, a panel opened into an obscure alcove beside a cupboard.The kitchen light was on, but t.i.tus was absent.

The Shadow made a brief inspection of the cupboard; then returned to the pa.s.sage. At the end of it, he found a stairway that led down into the cellar.

Here, the labyrinth ended. There was a short pa.s.sage to the right, leading to a cellar door that opened outside. The Shadow knew exactly where that door went; once he had located it. Outside, it was camouflaged to appear as a thick grated cellar window, identical in looks to many others.

Inside the cellar was another panel. The Shadow found that it possessed a secret catch. Probing, he discovered the catch and stepped into a small square room. In one corner stood a small printing press; in another, boxes stacked with papers. The Shadow pushed a light switch. The room was flooded with a brilliant glow.

With the boxes, The Shadow found engraved plates for printing bank notes of five- and ten-dollar denominations. Others were engraved for the manufacture of counterfeit stocks and bonds. There were printed samples of both money and securities in the boxes. They told their story as plainly as if they had spoken aloud.

THIS secret printing plant belonged to Robert Lenley. Counterfeiting was the inventor's real racket, and he handled it on a one-man scale. No wonder that Lenley made much of his invention and was actually trying to produce a synthetic motor fuel. It was the blind that covered his crooked enterprise.

Posing as a man of wealth, traveling many places, Lenley was able to unload the counterfeit stuff that he manufactured at Five Towers.

Examining the bank notes, The Shadow recognized them as difficult ones to detect. He had heard of this particular brand, bobbing up in unexpected places. As yet, government men had not even begun to guess where the phony money had originated.

Evidently, Lenley was one counterfeiter who played a wary game. The counterfeit securities indicated that he was planning to let the queer money rest for a while, and unload imitation stocks instead.

To The Shadow, this discovery was not startling. He had long since divined that Lenley had some criminal activities quite apart from the murders that had occurred at Five Towers. The key to The Shadow's deduction was t.i.tus.

The servant had been brought here by Lenley in the first place. Last night, it had been evident that some understanding existed between Lenley and t.i.tus.

As The Shadow a.n.a.lyzed it, t.i.tus played a very minor part. Any of Lenley's full-fledged a.s.sociates must be persons located in large cities; crooks whom he visited on his trips. It was up to t.i.tus to see that nothing happened during Lenley's absence. t.i.tus probably knew of the counterfeiting game, but had not been told of the pa.s.sages through the walls.

There was proof of that when The Shadow opened another panel and stepped into Lenley's laboratory. This would be the natural route known to t.i.tus.

There was no connection directly between the lab and any secret pa.s.sage. That could be gained only from the printing room, a spot to which t.i.tus might not have been admitted.

t.i.tus was no murderer. Therefore, The Shadow could understand the servant's quandary, on the basis that t.i.tus was unacquainted with the ancient pa.s.sages. t.i.tus, himself, could not guess how the murders had been so easily accomplished. Therefore, he was sticking with Lenley, in the belief that the counterfeiter might not be the killer.

A tight spot for t.i.tus, but a tougher one for Lenley. t.i.tus might weaken and blab the facts that he did know, if he became acquainted with more.

THE SHADOW had extinguished the light in the secret room; he was standing in the laboratory with the lights on there. Panels were closed; the lab's outer door was locked, the way that Lenley always kept it.

That was why The Shadow did not catch the footsteps that sounded in the cellar, until they were almost at the door.Some one rapped. The Shadow remained motionless. He heard a strained voice outside the door. It was t.i.tus speaking; the servant had seen the light beneath the door.

"Mr. Lenley!"

Stepping close to the door, The Shadow answered, his voice a perfect imitation of Lenley's smooth tone: "Does some one want me, t.i.tus?"

"No, sir," replied the servant. "It's just a message from Mr. Brendaw.

He started upstairs, thinking you might be there, and he sent me down here, in case you were in the laboratory."

"What's on George's mind?"

"The sheriff telephoned," explained t.i.tus, "He will be here in about one hour. He will want another test of your fuel."

The Shadow gave a chuckle that was exactly like Lenley's. Close to the door, he purred the answer: "Very well, t.i.tus. I shall be ready. Don't worry."

t.i.tus went away. As the servant's footsteps faded, The Shadow gave another of Lenley's chuckles-one that would rea.s.sure t.i.tus when he heard it.

The Shadow was confident that the final tone would do much to keep t.i.tus silent when he met the real Lenley. The more secure t.i.tus felt, the better.

That chuckle, however, produced another result. Coming from The Shadow's own lips, it was loud enough to drown a different sound that occurred in the rear of the laboratory: the click of the panel that connected with the secret printing room.

IT was a slight change in the echo of his own imitative tone that told The Shadow that the panel had opened.