Bells of Doom

CHAPTER X THE NEXT EVENING

TORBURG was a peaceful place by day. It was only when darkness shrouded the town that ominous danger seemed to approach. Harry Vincent was thinking of this contrast as he stood in Milton Claverly’s library.

Last night, Harry had heard the tower bells toll their second message since his arrival in Torburg. Harry had been at the hotel when the grim ringing had occurred. When morning came, the inhabitants of the little town were horrified by a new discovery: the murder of Stuart Hosker.

When Harry had risen, he had found an envelope upon his table. Coded instructions from The Shadow. In response, Harry had set out in his coupe shortly before noon. He had been traveling about all day, studying a specified area to the north of Torburg.

The Shadow had deputed this work to his agent because Harry, presumably here to investigate real estate, would naturally be driving through the countryside. In his orders, The Shadow had told Harry to look for any side roads that might lead to possible hiding spots.

Harry had uncovered several places. Most important of these was an old, dilapidated house that he had spotted while driving along a rocky road though the woods. To all appearances, the place was deserted; yet Harry had noted tire tracks in the mud of the driveway. He had a hunch that someone was about the old house.

It had been dusk when Harry made his discovery. Returning to Torburg, he had added the location of the old house to the list of other places that he had studied. In his hotel room, Harry had left a sealed envelope for The Shadow.

During dinner, Harry had speculated where The Shadow might be. Somewhere about the town perhaps; maybe entirely away from Torburg. The ways of The Shadow were strangely secret, even to his agents. Harry felt sure of only one point: namely, that The Shadow must sleep by day and act by night. That alone could explain his amazing activities.

At the hotel, Harry had received a call from Milton Claverly. The young man wanted Harry to come up to the old mansion.

Returning to his room, Harry had found his report missing. He knew that The Shadow had taken it. Communication was temporarily ended. So Harry had left a new coded report. He had gone to Claverly’s; and he was waiting now to talk to Milton.

Lester had shown Harry into the library. The old servant had proven taciturn. He had bowed; he had ushered Harry in; he had gone to inform his master that a visitor had arrived. That was all. But Harry had noted the servant’s face. He had fancied that he saw a gloating upon Lester’s cadaverous features.

Two men had died in Torburg. Maurice Dunwell and Stuart Hosker had been murdered on succeeding nights. Harry recalled that Milton had mentioned both of those men as persons who had robbed his father.

Lester must share Milton’s dislike for Dunwell and Hosker. That explained the servant’s malicious look. Lester, apparently, was making no effort to conceal the gladness that he felt because the two had died.

STANDING before the fireplace, Harry heard footsteps. He looked up to see Phyllis Lingle entering the room. He bowed as the girl approached; then stood attentively as he saw that concern was registering upon the girl’s face.

Phyllis Lingle was attractive. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, she had impressed Harry Vincent when he had first met her. He remembered, though, that her quiet, friendly demeanor had changed to sheer nervousness when Milton Claverly had mentioned the subject of the bells.

That had been two nights ago. Since then, the bells had tolled two knells.

The experience of listening to those dreaded dirges had produced a marked result on Phyllis Lingle. Harry could see that the girl’s mind was troubled. Her face was drawn; her lips trembled as she spoke in a low, quavering tone.

“Mr. Vincent” — the voice was pleading — “I must talk to you — before Milton comes. I want to tell you why he sent for you.”

The girl glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Milton was not approaching. She clutched Harry’s sleeve and resumed her statements, speaking rapidly and almost incoherently.

“Milton spoke to me tonight,” explained Phyllis, in her quick tone. “He told me that I might have to testify that he had been here in the house — at midnight — last night and the night before. I replied that I could not do so.”

“Why not?” quizzed Harry.

“Because” — the girl was faltering — “because I am not sure that he was in the house. I–I was asleep both times. Those terrible bells awakened me. They — they frightened me. I dreaded to leave my room.”

“You stayed there?”

“Yes. That is why I can not say that Milton was here. So I told him to call upon Lester for such testimony. He said that Lester would not do.”

“Why not?”

“He did not tell me—”

The girl stopped. She moved quickly away and seated herself in a chair. She was reading a book when Milton entered a few moments afterward.

The young man glanced suspiciously in the girl’s direction; then smiled suavely as he approached to shake hands with Harry.

Motioning his guest to a chair, Milton began to talk. The subject of his discourse was real estate; but Harry knew that there must be some other reason why Milton had asked him to come here.

Ten minutes passed; then Phyllis left the room and went upstairs. Milton changed the subject immediately.

“VINCENT,” he said seriously, “I’m worried. I want to tell you why. I think I can rely upon your friendship. I’ll tell you what’s troubling me. The bells!”

Harry nodded.

“People are linking the bells with the murders,” resumed Milton. “That’s my big worry. Those two chaps that died — Dunwell and Hosker — were enemies of my father. I’ve got every reason to be glad that they are dead. Do you get my inference?”

“You mean that you might be linked with the crimes?”

“Yes. Look at the facts. My father built the bell-tower. He was robbed by Dunwell and Hosker — and Beauchamp also. Lester spread a story that my father came to his senses while the bells were tolling his own death; that my father called them ‘bells of doom’ and laid a curse on certain men whom he did not name.

“Now, when I arrive in town, the bells begin to ring again. Each knell spells murder. It looks like vengeance. I might be the killer. I thought of it two nights ago, when I heard the bells ring out Dunwell’s death. I thought of it last night when they clanged for Hosker. But I didn’t worry at the time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had a perfect alibi. Two witnesses, here in the house, to prove that I had not gone out. Phyllis was one; Lester the other. So this evening at dinner, I mentioned the subject. After Phyllis and Lester had their say, I realized that my alibis weren’t worth a nickel.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“First of all,” declared Milton, “Phyllis said that she could not testify in my behalf. She stated that she had not seen me within an hour before the bells began to ring — either last night or the night previous. She added that she had not seen me after the bells rang.

“I told her that was foolish talk; that she knew I was in the house. She agreed with me on that point. She said she would take my word for it. But she appears to dread a cross-examination.”

“I see,” remarked Harry. “If her testimony were analyzed—”

“It would break down. I can’t blame her for wanting to be truthful, Vincent, but I thought surely that she would be able to twist her testimony so that it would sound well.”

“You still have Lester.”

“Yes” — Milton’s tone was bitter — “Lester saw me not long after the bells rang; on each occasion. He would testify in my behalf. But I found out that his word would be useless.”

“Why?”

“I’ll show you.”

Milton swung on his heel. He went to the door of the room and called the servant. Lester appeared and stood with shoulders stooped and scrawny hands clasped.

“Lester,” said Milton, soberly, “Mr. Vincent is a friend of mine. Tell him what you told me about the bells.”

LESTER’S leer turned to a venomous, toothless grin. Fists rising, clenched, the servant voiced hoarse words, while his eyes flared with maddened elation.

“Bells of doom!” he crackled. “Bells of doom! They have brought judgment upon those who did evil! My master told that this would come. I heard him, when he rose from his death bed. Ha — ha — ha — ha — ha — ha—”

Lester’s laugh dwindled into an insane chuckle. Pointing a bony claw at the two young men who watched him, the servant crouched forward and glared with wild eyes. His voice became a guttural croak.

“Bells of doom — they have rung again. Do you know what those bells can mean? Bells ring the curfew hour. They bring people to their homes, away from the night, where evil spirits prowl.

“Then there are bells that drive away those spirits. I know it! I know it! For the old master told me!” The servant’s head was bobbing; his voice had become a discordant shriek. “He told me of those bells! After the curfew, the bells that drive demons back to their abodes!”

The old servant seemed to shrink. His clenched fists had risen; they lowered. Again a bony finger marked each word that Lester uttered. His voice was croaking again; his eyes were staring above his pointing finger in the fashion one would sight along the barrel of a gun.

“There are bells that drive off sickness,” clucked the servant. “They heal, like bells that bring joy. There are bells that sound out victory; bells that clang like thunder. Some bells ring when coffins are being carried to the grave!”

The old servant had straightened. His long finger was pointing to the floor. He was gathering himself for his final statement; his lips were framing a gloating grin.

“Do not forget the passing bell.” Shrinking, Lester clasped his hands across his chest. His eyes were cunning as they looked from man to man. “The passing bell” — the croak was solemn — “the one that you have heard. That was the bell that tolled my master’s death. That was the bell of doom!

“He heard that bell while he lay dying. He knew that bell meant death. He spoke like a prophet, when he said that bells of doom would ring again. They rang two nights ago for Maurice Dunwell” — Lester spat the name and paused — “they rang again last night. They were for Stuart Hosker.”

Lester hissed the second name. He stood silent; then gave a final croak, while he bobbed his head to emphasize his statement.

“Those bells will ring again! They will ring — ring — ring — until all are dead! Until all are dead” — the man’s voice was a shriek — “all those who were enemies of this house! Until all of them are dead!”

The spasm ended. Lester gave a cackling chuckle, then turned and shambled from the room, leaving Harry and Milton staring at each other. Harry could feel cold shivers passing down his spine.

“You see?” questioned Milton, anxiously. “What kind of an alibi could that old fellow give? If he broke loose with that mad talk, they would put me down as the murderer and class him as an accomplice.”

“Where did he get all the facts about the bells?” questioned Harry.

“From my father, I suppose,” replied Milton, soberly. “Louis Vandrow gave me a box that my father had left me. It contained a batch of documents of little consequence. Many of the papers related to bells and their purposes.

“But let’s get back to the important subject” — Milton’s suave face was nervous — “about my alibi. You’ve got to help me, Vincent. You can do it.”

“I wasn’t here at midnight.”

“I’m not thinking of the past. I’m worried about the future.”

“The future?”

“Yes, tonight.”

“You mean you expect new murder?”

Milton Claverly nodded in response to Harry’s question. He pointed out through the door by which Lester had left. Milton spoke in a low tone.

“That old fellow is no fool,” he said, in reference to Lester. “Strange factors are at work, Vincent. I am serious when I say that I fear new crime tonight. Someone else may be murdered.”

“Do you mean Willis Beauchamp?”

“Perhaps. He was closely identified with the two who have died. That, Vincent, is why I want someone else to be here in this house. Someone on whom I can surely rely.”

“Like myself?”

“Yes. Why not come up here, Vincent? Stay in this house instead of the hotel. If the bells should ring again, you will know that I am here. I ask it, as a favor.”

Harry pondered. He glanced at his watch. It was after ten o’clock. Harry doubted that he would be able to communicate with The Shadow. However, he could leave word at the hotel, telling where he had gone.

This house seemed close to crime. Phyllis Lingle’s statements; Lester’s wild behavior; Milton Claverly’s fears — all made the mansion bear a close relationship to the mystery bells of the Torburg tower. Harry did not need orders from The Shadow. He knew that his chief would instruct him to accept the invitation to remain here.

“Very well,” decided Harry. “I’ll go down to the hotel and get my bag. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”

Milton Claverly smiled. His face showed relief. Harry Vincent left the library and headed for the front door.

Milton dropped into a chair beside the fireplace. The suavity returned to the young man’s features as he lighted a cigarette that he had pressed between his lips.