Bells of Doom

CHAPTER XX IN THE CRYPT

THE bells kept tolling. Ceaselessly, unending, they pronounced their dirge. As moments passed, standing men expected the knell to end. It continued, defiantly. The clamor from the tower was imbued with a hideous note of triumph as the baffling strokes kept on.

The whole air took on an affrighted quiver. Ghoulish discords drove their monotone with a clangor that remained unfaltering. Bells of doom! They were ringing long and loud tonight!

Abner Zangwald rumbled fiercely. His voice brought the others to their senses. Scowling, the big man pointed into the house. His motion indicated that the answer might be there. Attention gained, Zangwald strode into the hall. The others followed his trail.

There they spread, searching through the doors of opened rooms. Louis Vandrow ventured into the hallway past the stairs. He spied the opening that led to the cellar steps.

Then someone approached the spot where the lawyer was standing. It was Zangwald.

“Come!” rasped the bushy-browed man. “Down to the cellar! It’s open!”

Officials arrived. The prosecutor shouldered his way past Zangwald. He drew a revolver as he marched down the steps. The others followed; and all the while, the muffled dirge of the tower bells formed its dull accompaniment.

“Look ahead!” exclaimed Jornal.

He pointed to the opened door of the crypt. They could see the dull light from below. Its ghoulish glow was forbidding; yet the prosecutor did not falter. He led the way down the stone steps. He was holding his revolver. The sheriff had also drawn a gun.

A strange sight greeted the arrivals. The crypt was illuminated by hidden lights located in bowl-like containers, one in each corner of the room. Revealed in the center of the twelve-foot square apartment were two men: Milton Claverly and Hatch Rosling.

A tile had been raised from the floor. The entering men could see a tiny light shining within the opening. Milton’s hand was thrust into the hollow. It was holding a master switch pressed to one side.

Rosling was standing a few feet away. He was covering Milton with a revolver. Stooped by the opening in the floor, Milton was obviously obeying Rosling’s command to keep the switch in place.

Rosling looked up as he heard the five approach. A grin showed on his hatchet face. He lowered his gun as he sighted the revolvers that Jornal and Locke were holding.

“All right,” said Rosling, calmly, “I’ve got him. Got him with the goods.”

ALL the while, the distant bells were tolling, bringing a muffled sound to the depths of the opened crypt. Rosling made a threatening gesture with his revolver. The young man released the switch. It sprang back from its position. Instantly, the sound of the tower bells was ended.

“What does this mean?” demanded the prosecutor. “Which of these men is young Claverly?”

“That fellow,” growled the sheriff, pointing to Milton. “I’ve seen him before.”

“And who is this man?”

The prosecutor had indicated Rosling. It was Louis Vandrow who responded. The lawyer stepped forward and waved his hand toward the hatchet-faced man.

“His name is Rosling,” declared Vandrow. “He is a private detective who has been looking into these crimes. It appears that he has found the solution to the ringing of the bells.

“You knew of this?” demanded the prosecutor. “You knew that young Claverly—”

“Let me explain,” interposed Vandrow, solemnly. “I must admit that this climax comes to me as something of a surprise. In order to make it plain, I must tell exactly what happened since Milton Claverly’s return.”

The lawyer gained the floor. He looked approvingly toward Rosling; then stared sorrowfully at Milton. While the heir remained silent, Vandrow resumed.

“The day that Milton Claverly returned to Torburg,” he stated, “this man” — he paused to indicate Rosling — “came to my office and introduced himself. He had credentials that announced him as Charles Rosling. He proved to be a detective who has worked as special investigator upon international cases.

“Rosling informed me that he was watching Milton Claverly. He declared that Milton had been forced to leave certain countries because of criminal activities. I told Rosling that I doubted that Milton was actually a crook. Nevertheless, I felt — in all fairness — that I should give Rosling a chance to prove it either pro or con.

“So while I maintained a normal attitude toward Milton, I kept secret the fact that Rosling was coming in and out of town. Then came the murder of Maurice Dunwell. It worried me. But I could not bring myself to believe that Milton Claverly had stooped to such crime.

“The same after the death of Stuart Hosker — and Willis Beauchamp. I found myself torn between duty to the law and my position as Milton Claverly’s attorney. Rosling came to my home. He had failed to gain the evidence he wanted. Therefore, I would not accept his opinion that Milton was the murderer.

“But now, the case is indisputable. Here we have Milton Claverly, in his own home, operating a special device that has caused bells to ring from the old tower. I suppose that it must be a set of duplicate bells. That, however, is beside the case. The important point is that Rosling has trapped a rogue.”

Milton Claverly was about to speak. Words failed when they reached his lips. The prosecutor waved the accused man back. He looked to Rosling.

“Tell us the facts,” ordered the prosecutor.

“ALL right,” agreed Rosling. “Here they are. This fellow Claverly has a bad record, see? Mostly small stuff he pulled in the past. Slick gambling on board boats. Troubles like that. But enough to make people keep an eye on him.

“He came in from Calcutta to England on board a P & O boat. A fellow named Messler was supposed to have been on that ship. Messler had a lot of jewels belonging to a rajah and he took a different boat. Some guys were pinched aboard the P & O liner.

“In England, the jewels were insured for the trip across the Atlantic. Messler had arranged that by cable from Calcutta. The insurance company sent me to England to come in on Messler’s ship — the Laurentic. I did. I spotted young Claverly.

“I talked to him in his stateroom. Pretended I was a crook, too. Told him I was after those same jewels. Well — I found out he was hooked up with some New York crooks. But thinking I might queer his game, he offered to let me in on a cut if I didn’t spoil it.

“We got in to New York. I tipped off the police. They queered the jewel robbery. Knowing some racketeers, I got just what I wanted. Sworn affidavits from small-fry saying that they’d seen Milton Claverly with a crook named Mike Tocson. That guy Tocson was the one that tried to rob Messler’s. Tocson got bumped.”

Rosling pulled the affidavits from his pocket and handed them to the prosecutor. Grinning at Milton, he resumed his statement.

“I saw Mr. Vandrow here in town,” he said. “He was kind of partial to young Claverly. So I went out on my own. Kept a watch on this house. I figured that since Claverly had flivved on the jewel robbery, he’d start something in this burg.

“Well, three nights ago, I didn’t see him, but I thought I heard somebody sneaking around this house. Then I heard those bells ring. I wondered what was up. When I learned the next day that there’d been murder here, I decided to watch this house again.

“I did. I caught Claverly sneaking in toward the house, but he slipped away from me. Where he got to, I couldn’t guess. Then the bells started in again. I figured I’d have to do better than before.

“Last night, I was here again. When the bells started to ring, I was outside this crypt. I’d seen the locked door. I’d figured it was the only way Claverly could get in once he was out. I couldn’t watch everywhere; but I stuck here along at midnight.

“I heard somebody — made a grab for him — thought it was Claverly. That was right after the bells. But it turned out to be another guy. Some fellow stopping here in the house. I had to beat it. So tonight, I called myself a dummy. I tried something different.”

Rosling paused triumphantly. He looked about the circle of listeners; then shot a contemptuous glance toward Milton.

“I came in through the front door,” declared Rosling. “I spotted young Claverly heading out from his library. I followed him down here. I caught him, working on this switch. I figured the game. Somebody else doing his dirty work tonight.

“I could hear the bells begin to ring, muffled like. So I pulled out my gat and I covered Claverly. I kept him at the switch, hoping somebody would turn up. They did. There’s my story. Here’s your man.”

THE prosecutor turned toward Milton. Jornal’s gaze was withering. Yet Milton faced it. He was tense, fighting against fury. He hurled a denunciation.

“This is a lie!” he cried. “My past is clear. I tell you, it’s a lie! I didn’t arrange that job at Messler’s. Rosling was the fellow who started it — on the boat. He forced me into it!”

“Hear him?” queried Rosling. “He admits he was in the job. That backs up those affidavits, prosecutor. I’ll tell you something else. Those mugs that were bumped off last night on the Lewisport road — I’ll bet you’ll find out they were old pals of Mike Tocson, the guy that worked for Claverly.”

“Let me speak,” urged Louis Vandrow. “I must state something that I previously concealed. Milton Claverly has had an unfortunate past. He admitted it in letters to his father. I have those letters. I intended to destroy them. I told Milton that I had done so. Fortunately, I can produce them now that they are necessary.

“What is more, I gave Milton a box from his father. It is probable that the box contained the secret of this crypt; also the key that Milton needed to make entry here. Now that the truth is out, I must agree that Milton Claverly had cause to murder the three men who have died here in Torburg.”

“You are wrong!” exclaimed Milton. “Rosling has duped you, Mr. Vandrow. He didn’t find me in the crypt tonight. He forced me to come here at the point of a gun. He had the key to the place.”

“Listen to him,” sneered Rosling. “He was down here when I walked into the house. He can’t prove otherwise.”

“I can,” blurted Milton, “if you will listen to me—”

“Silence!” broke in Jornal. “Sheriff, arrest this man. Rosling’s testimony goes. Claverly can’t prove that it is wrong.”

“I can!”

The words came in a woman’s voice. The prosecutor turned. Phyllis Lingle had entered the crypt. The girl was followed by Lester. Phyllis pointed accusingly at Rosling.

“This man has lied!” she declared. “Milton is right. The man came in here at half past eleven. I saw him and Milton come out of the library. I could only see their heads and shoulders as I gazed from the stairs.

“I wondered why Milton looked pale. I know the answer now. This man was close behind him. He must have been covering Milton with a revolver.”

“That’s right,” blurted Milton. “Thanks, Phyllis. Maybe you’ll listen to me now, prosecutor… You will? Thanks. Just hold that fellow Rosling until I’ve finished with him.”

ROSLING had pocketed his gun. Locke was covering him. The hatchet-faced man shrugged his shoulders. He seemed to think that Milton’s statements would collapse.

“Rosling had the key,” declared Milton. “He made me come here. He forced me to raise the tile in the floor. I had never even been in this crypt. I was amazed when I saw the switch. Rosling made me operate it.”

“What a story!” jeered Rosling. “I suppose next you’ll be trying to deny that you were in on that job at Messler’s.”

“That’s just what I’m going to do,” declared Milton. “Listen, prosecutor. I did see Rosling on the boat. I did promise to aid with the jewel robbery — as inside man. But I double-crossed Rosling. I spilled the word to Augustus Messler. He brought detectives to his house. The robbery was foiled.

“I can prove it by Messler himself. I’ve talked with him by long distance. He’ll come from New York any time I say; and he’ll bring Detective Joe Cardona with him! I did meet Mike Tocson, because Rosling here insisted on it. But that was all part of the game. The law will square me; and the law is looking for Hatch Rosling! His affidavits are worthless.”

Hatch Rosling stood stupefied. He had never expected this finish. All his sang-froid was gone. Wilted, the exposed crook stood muttering. He realized what his arrest would mean. Sent back to New York, he would go up the river for attempted burglary. But Rosling had a greater fear — the death chair.

“I–I didn’t do no killing!” he pleaded. “Honest! I only rang these bells. I–I was wise to this layout down here. I sneaked in and worked the switch. But — but—”

Looking about the group, Rosling caught a sudden glare of eyes. He realized that he was getting into deep water. He tried to back out of it.

“It was just sort of a joke,” he explained, weakly. “Trying to put something over on young Claverly, here.”

“You were,” challenged Milton. “Yes Rosling, I think we can believe you when you say that you were merely an accomplice. Someone else did those murders; and there’s only one man mean enough. He’s the one that pretended to be my father’s friend. He stands there — Abner Zangwald!”

The bushy-browed man was glaring as others turned toward him. At first rage showed on Zangwald’s face. In a moment, the anger died. Zangwald’s bass rumble filled the crypt as he answered the accusing words.

“THIS is absurd!” he declared. “Totally absurd! This young man is entirely mistaken. I was his father’s friend; as I can prove when the time demands. For the present, however, I shall limit my statements.

“Tonight” — Zangwald’s brows knitted as he paused — “five of us were trapped by masked gunmen. We were told that one man was due to die. Three persons present were officials of the law. None of them had gained a clue to these amazing murders.

“That left two of us, Louis Vandrow and myself. The thought flashed through my mind. Which of us was to die? Vandrow or myself? I cannot see in light of what has happened here why crooks should have sought Vandrow’s death. Apparently, Vandrow was ready to support this fellow Rosling, who appears to be the chief crook of the lot.

“Those who support crooks are sometimes crooks themselves. Moreover, I could gain nothing by Vandrow’s death; but he could gain much by mine. Vandrow is the lawyer who controls my estate. He would manage it should I die. I have entrusted an important matter to Louis Vandrow. He could gain a million dollars — more perhaps — by my death—”

Zangwald wheeled toward Vandrow as he paused. Fierce accusation showed beneath bushy brows. Others turned; a cry came from the prosecutor. The accusation had come too late from Zangwald’s lips. Stepping back, Vandrow had yanked a gun!

Only the sheriff had a weapon ready. He turned instinctively as he heard Jornal’s exclamation. Instantly, Rosling pulled out his pocketed revolver and jabbed it against the sheriff’s ribs. Locke let his revolver fall to the tiled floor.

Vandrow motioned with his gun. People backed away from him toward a corner of the crypt. Sheriff and coroner; Milton Claverly and Abner Zangwald — the four formed a group.

At Vandrow’s next command, Lester and Phyllis backed toward the same corner. Only the prosecutor remained. His hands were raised while Vandrow and Rosling kept covering the others. Vandrow dipped his left hand into the prosecutor’s pocket and brought out Jornal’s revolver. He dropped it in his own pocket; then gave the prosecutor a shove and sent him back to the corner.

All were at bay while the lawyer and his henchman held them covered. An insidious chuckle came from Louis Vandrow’s lips. The arch-crook had revealed himself. Here, in the depths of the crypt, a master of crime was ready to display his winning hand.