Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER XV IN FROM NEW YORK

Two nights later. A heavy freight came plodding along the line of the Union Valley. Couplings clanked; big freight cars jolted as the engineer gave the brakes. The locomotive came to a stop nearly half a mile up the line. The caboose was by the station platform. The conductor of the freight waved to Zach Hoyler, who was standing outside the waiting room.

“Cutting off up ahead,” informed the conductor. “Dropping a couple of empties and picking up that refrigerator box you got on the siding.”

Zach Hoyler nodded. The refrigerator car had brought a consignment to Chanburg. The empty freight cars were to be loaded on the morrow with a large shipment from a cannery located near Chanburg. The baggage room already contained the first load of crates. They had been brought over early, by mistake.

Brakemen were hurrying along the tops. The train was cut about sixteen cars from the locomotive. The first step was to pull further ahead to the end of the long siding; then to back and pick up the empty refrigerator car. After that had been attached, the locomotive would again pull forward, back up and drop the pair of empties.

A trainman was standing by the switch as the locomotive and the first sixteen cars went by. The pair of empties were among the lot. The short first section took the curve just beyond the switch; then came to a stop. The engineer was waiting for the swing of lanterns that would give him the signal to back. Members of the train crew were on the near side of the track — the inner portion of the curve.

While the first sixteen cars were at a standstill, doors opened on the far side of an empty car. Sweatered figures dropped beside the track and scurried for the bushes on the upper embankment. They were crouched there when the locomotive reversed. They waited until the lumbering “hog” had chugged back on to the siding. Out of the headlight’s glare, the waiting men scrambled back to the rails and jogged along the track.

None of the train crew saw them. Brakemen had moved back by the switch and beyond. Lost past the curve, the jogging crew heeded the gruff voice of their leader. A dozen men scrambled down from the right of way. They were heading for the little shack in the bushes.

The refrigerator car was attached; the empties were dropped. The whistle of the locomotive called in the flag man. The couplings jerked; the conductor waved from the caboose. Zach Hoyler responded and went back into the station before the rear lights of the train had disappeared around the bend. He heard the distant blare of the locomotive, whistling for the grade crossing.

A FEW passengers began to appear. They were coming to take the inbound local, which was soon due. The agent stamped some tickets and attended to other details. The local arrived. Several passengers alighted and took waiting automobiles back to town. Zach Hoyler settled down for his long wait until the Union Limited pulled in.

The door of the waiting room opened. Two men entered. One was Harry Vincent; the other, Elbert Breck. They approached the ticket window; it was Elbert who spoke first.

“Any telegram for me?” he questioned. “For Elbert Breck?”

“No,” replied the agent. “I’d have phoned you if any had come in.”

“Hardly,” remarked Elbert. “Our phone went out of order a few hours ago. Send your telegram, Harry. I’ll meet you outside.”

Harry took a blank and wrote out another telegram to Rutledge Mann. This was still part of his policy. He had received a dummy wire from Mann this morning; a reply was in order. Harry gave the message to the station agent; then went outside to look for Elbert.

There was no one on the platform. Harry walked over to his coupe. Elbert was not in the car. Turning about, Harry chanced to see his companion appearing from the far end of the platform. Elbert arrived at the coupe.

“Just taking a little walk along the track,” remarked the young man. “Didn’t know you had come out.”

When they reached the house, Harry and Elbert found Tim Forey there. The sheriff seemed glum. He talked a bit about the mysterious death of Ezekiel Twinton; he mentioned that the house on the hill had been closed.

These were facts which Harry and Elbert already knew. Craven happened in while Forey was talking; the servant moved about and finally went into the kitchen. After a while, Forey decided to leave.

“I’ve sent the deputies back to town,” informed the sheriff. “Keep the place locked up in case there’s any prowlers around. Guess you fellows can look out for yourselves.”

Forey shot a significant glance at Harry. The Shadow’s agent understood. Baffled, Forey intended to allow full leeway here. The sheriff did not know that Elbert Breck had been abroad on the night of Ezekiel Twinton’s murder.

Perhaps the sheriff still suspected Craven. If so, he was relying upon Harry and perhaps Elbert. Harry nodded in response to Forey’s glance. He became thoughtful after the sheriff had left. Under ordinary circumstances, Harry might have condemned himself for misleading the sheriff into thinking that all was well within this house.

But Harry was an agent of The Shadow. He knew that his service to the hidden investigator would offset any neglect of duty to which Forey had assigned him. Not long after the sheriff’s departure, Harry went upstairs and prepared a brief report for The Shadow.

Coming downstairs, Harry discovered that Elbert Breck was absent from the living room. Harry knew that Elbert had not gone up to his own room. Going out into the kitchen, Harry found the place empty. The back door was unbolted. Harry stepped out and looked about.

CRAVEN, too, was missing. Had they started out on separate ways? Not knowing how soon The Shadow might appear, Harry returned into the house and went up to add notations to his report. He estimated that either Elbert or Craven could have been gone for half an hour — Craven perhaps longer.

Footsteps, soft in the hall. Harry stepped from his room. It was Craven, coming down from the third floor. Ostensibly, the servant had been in his room all the while. Harry began to have doubts of his own suspicions.

“Have you seen Mr. Breck?” inquired Harry.

“No, sir,” replied Craven. “I have been in my room ever since Mr. Forey left. I was just coming down to make sure all was locked.”

“The back door is unbolted. Wait. I’ll go down with you.”

As they reached the kitchen, the back door opened and Elbert Breck stepped into view. The heir seemed taken aback for the moment; then he grinned weakly.

“Taking a little stroll,” he said to Harry. “Just here about the place. Thought you had gone to bed, or I would have invited you along with me.”

That ended the matter. Craven looked up. It was nearly eleven. Harry strolled in and turned on the radio while Elbert and Craven retired. A little while later, Harry went up and added a few notes to his report. He left the light on as a signal to The Shadow; then went to bed.

TEN minutes before the Union Limited was due, a silent figure glided through the darkness near the railroad station. The Shadow stopped, away from the lighted platform. There were no passengers tonight. Zach Hoyler was standing at the outer end of the platform, leaning against a lightly loaded baggage truck.

Evidently the Limited was due on scheduled time. Other work finished, the agent had wheeled out the truck and was whiling away the minutes that remained. At last came the sounds of the approaching Limited. The train pounded into the station. The baggage went aboard. Off came three trunks and a square box. The final object measured about two feet in each direction.

The Limited pulled out. As Zach reached the door of the baggage room, a stocky figure stepped from the track. Perry Nubin growled a greeting. The agent smiled in wry fashion.

“Back again,” was his remark. “Getting to be a habit. Well, sleuth, there’s three trunks and a box that just came into town. Look them over. Maybe they’ve got fingerprints on them.”

Nubin passed up the trunks; but he studied the box while Hoyler was unlocking the outer door of the baggage room. The detective said nothing; but a quizzical frown appeared upon his heavy forehead. The Shadow, watching from darkness, observed the expression. So did Zach Hoyler, as he turned from the baggage room.

“What’s the matter?” queried the agent.

Nubin looked up suddenly.

“Nothing in particular,” he said, gruffly. “But I just found something better than fingerprints. Look at the label on that box.”

“Addressed to Grantham Breck!” exclaimed Hoyler, as he noted the name on the box. “Say — I wonder where that came from?”

“New York,” returned Nubin.

“Sure,” agreed Hoyler, “but I mean who sent it?”

Nubin shrugged his shoulders; then made a brief remark.

“The old man hasn’t been dead long,” stated the detective. “Maybe this is something he ordered before he was croaked. Say — that box is kind of heavy, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” admitted Hoyler, as he swung the box from the truck. “Mighty heavy, for its size.”

“Must be loaded with lead. Here — I’ll give you a hand with it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll roll it into the baggage room. Here goes.”

“What are you going to do with the box?” questioned Nubin, as he followed to the door of the baggage room.

“Call Breck’s house,” responded Hoyler. “That’s who it’s addressed to. Breck.”

“It’s for Grantham Breck. He’s dead.”

“I’ll notify his son.”

“Tonight?”

“Can’t. He was over here earlier in the evening. Happened to mention that his phone was out of order.”

“Humph. I’d like to know what’s inside that box.”

“Do you want to crack it open?”

Nubin hesitated at Hoyler’s question. The detective was considering the consequences.

“Give the order,” said Hoyler. “I’ll pry the top loose. But remember — the responsibility is yours. It’s kind of away from regulations; but you seem to make your own rules when you want to—”

“Leave it lay,” interposed Nubin. “But it’s not going over to Breck’s in the morning. This box is addressed to Grantham Breck. You can’t notify a dead man that a shipment is waiting for him.”

“How about calling the sheriff?” questioned Hoyler. “Tim Forey has every right to open it. Maybe it might give some clue to why Grantham Breck was murdered.”

“That’s a good idea. Where is Forey tonight?”

“Somewhere downtown. Probably out at some fellow’s house playing poker in the kitchen, with the window shades down. That’s the way they do round this town. Got to keep in right with the goody-goodies, you know.”

“Suppose we wait until you’re off duty,” decided Nubin. “I was going out on Sixty-eight; but I think I’ll stay over. I’ll run down with you and help look up the sheriff. Guess I could get a room in that house where you’re living?”

“Sure. The place is as big as a barn and there’s only about three people rooming in it. The old lady will be sore when we wake her up; but I guess she’ll get over it.”

Hoyler locked the door of the baggage room. He had other details before the Dairy Express came through. He mentioned that fact to Nubin. The detective nodded. After Hoyler went back into the station, Nubin strolled about; then suddenly cut across the tracks and prowled past the empty freight cars.

AS on a previous night, The Shadow caught sight of the detective’s outline as Nubin headed up past the green signal. Tonight, however, The Shadow did not follow. He waited. At last the dick returned. He appeared at the end of the station platform, just as the whistle of the Dairy Express sounded at the grade crossing above the station.

The milk train arrived. Nubin joined Hoyler. The agent closed the station. The two men went away in Hoyler’s car. It was then that The Shadow moved along the darkened platform. He reached the door of the waiting room; he picked the lock without the aid of his tiny light. Inside, The Shadow turned the lock as deftly as he had opened it. He continued into the office.

Here the light glimmered. It shone on the table, where Hoyler, in his hurry, had left odd articles scattered about; then it flashed toward the inside door to the baggage room. Suddenly the light went out, while The Shadow whispered a laugh that was inaudible outside this room.

He had heard sounds from outside. Quickly, The Shadow worked on the inside door of the baggage room. It opened; the lock was not formidable. The Shadow stepped into the windowless room and locked the door behind him. His light glimmered; he found a corner hiding place behind two trunks.

OUTSIDE, stealthy figures had approached the door of the waiting room. One man was working on the lock. He had a key which seemed to serve his purpose; for after a few attempts, it did the work as effectively as The Shadow’s pick.

“Stay here, mugs,” came a low growl. “Wait’ll I go in and look over the lay.”

“All right, Spike,” came a response.

The man who had opened the door moved across the waiting room. He entered the ticket office. He flashed a light upon the table. Then, after a pause, he turned the glare along the wall, to the door of the baggage room. Producing a smaller-sized key, he worked on this lock. It yielded. The locks throughout this station were obsolete. It was seldom that anything of value was left here over night.

The flashlight gleamed a half minute longer in the ticket office. Then came “Spike’s” growl, through the grilled window to the waiting room:

“Well, you mugs! I’m waiting. Move in here.”

Followers obeyed. Half a dozen men followed Spike into the baggage room. Faces showed dimly above the light as Spike picked out the box addressed to Grantham Breck. It occupied the center of the floor.

“Lug it,” growled the leader. “Out the way we came. Maybe this is what we’re looking for.”

“Heavy enough,” remarked one of the gang.

“Yeah.” Spike’s tone was non-committal. “Well, we ain’t opening it here. Hoist it along the track while I’m locking up.”

Men moved out with the box. Spike followed. He locked the door behind him. Minutes passed. At last, The Shadow moved. His soft laugh echoed in eerie fashion as its tones crept through the windowless baggage room.

This time The Shadow used his little light as he unlocked the outer door. The flashlight went out; The Shadow stepped from the baggage room and locked the door behind him. Spike and his henchmen had disappeared; but The Shadow had no doubt concerning their destination. Shrouded in darkness, this being of the night took to the tracks and headed toward the shack that lay halfway to the grade crossing.

The Shadow had permitted the theft of the box addressed to Grantham Breck. Like those who had stolen the heavy article, he intended to view the contents when the box was opened.