Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER XVII MOVES BEGIN

NINE o’clock the next evening. The through freight had just pulled out, taking along the two cars loaded with canned goods. Another empty had been left; this car was far up the siding, toward the switch.

Passengers had not yet arrived for the evening local. One man was stamping back and forth through the waiting room. It was Perry Nubin, the railroad dick. He was impatient when he stopped beside the ticket window.

“Say” — Nubin growled as he addressed Zach Hoyler, who was at his table — “I want to ride out on that local.”

“Nobody will stop you.”

“I know that. But I don’t want to go before that fool sheriff gets here. He said he was coming to open that box that blew in for old Grantham Breck.”

“Forey went out of town this morning,” observed the agent. “Said he would come out here after he got back. There’s nothing to worry about. The box is safe.”

“It ought to be,” agreed Nubin. “The only time you opened the door was when those shippers took the canned stuff out. We were both watching to see they left Breck’s box alone.”

“Well. Why beef about it then?”

“I told you why. I want to get back to Laporte. Maybe there’s a message there for me—”

Nubin broke off as the door of the waiting room opened. In stamped Sheriff Tim Forey. The official nodded to the detective; then approached the ticket window.

“All right, Zach,” he said to the agent, “let’s see that box. We can go in through the inside door, can’t we?”

The agent nodded. He picked up a cluster of keys. He went to the inner door of the baggage room. Forey and Nubin followed. The door unlocked, Hoyler turned on a light. Tim Forey studied the box which lay in the center of the floor. He read its label.

“To Grantham Breck all right,” he declared. “Well, it’s got to be delivered to his son. Have you called the house yet, Zach?”

“No,” responded the station agent. “But there was a call here today. Phone’s been fixed at Breck’s.”

“Who called?”

“Well, there were two calls, now that I come to think of it. One from young Elbert; then one from Craven.”

“What did they want to know?”

“If anything had come in. I took it to mean telegrams. I didn’t mention the box, because you hadn’t seen it.”

“Hm-m. I wonder why they both called?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which called first?” quizzed Nubin, suddenly.

“Young Breck,” responded Hoyler.

“That settles it.” The dick laughed. “He must have told the servant to call; the fellow probably was busy so young Breck made the call himself. Then the servant called later. But say, sheriff — what about this box? Are you going to open it?”

“Yes,” responded Forey. “But I thought it might be best to run it over to Breck’s first.”

“That won’t do.”

“Why not?”

“Well — when Hoyler here called you last night, you said you’d come up today and take a look in the box. Being as how it concerns the railroad, you agreed to let me see the shipment.”

“You can go with me to Breck’s.”

“Then Hoyler won’t see the shipment, He’s the agent who received it. If I make a report, I ought to have his statement. What’s more — I’m going out on the local. Won’t have time to go over to Breck’s. Train’s pretty near due.”

Taps from the agent’s wicket proved Nubin’s statement. Hoyler went out to see who was there. Staring from the baggage room, Forey saw a firm, impassive face beyond the ticket window. The sheriff was staring at The Shadow — guised as Lamont Cranston.

A QUIET voice asked for a ticket to Laporte; also for time tables of the Union Valley and the B and R. While Hoyler was busy, Foray acceded to Nubin’s request. He picked up a small metal wedge and used a hammer to drive it under the top boards of the box. The container came open with surprising ease.

Foray saw the glint of metal. An exclamation of surprise came from his lips. He thrust his hand into the box and yanked out a tin can. It had no label. Liquid sounded within when the sheriff shook the metal cylinder.

“Canned goods!” exclaimed Nubin. “Say — that’s a hot one. No wonder the box was heavy.”

“No labels, though,” growled Foray. “May be something phony about this.”

Zach Hoyler had come back from the ticket office. The customer was still at the window, studying a time table. Like Hoyler, he could see the tin can that the sheriff was holding. He also heard Forey’s remark.

“Tin cans?” put in Hoyler, as he approached. “That’s a funny one, Tim. There were crates of canned goods here in the baggage room all night.”

“Labeled?” asked the sheriff.

“Sure,” replied the agent, scratching his head. “Over from the Newton Canneries. Had their usual labels on them.”

“Humph.” The sheriff paused. “Maybe some smart Aleck might have taken the labels off some of those cans. He could have put them in this box.”

“I locked everything last night,” remarked Hoyler. “Still, these doors aren’t any too strong. I never leave anything valuable here at the station.”

“It’s just a coincidence,” laughed Perry Nubin, eying the sheriff’s frowning face. “Old Breck must have bought some canned goods cheap — right out of a factory. Through some official in the place. Maybe these were samples of some sort.

“On that account, they were shipped without their labels. Breck would have known what they were. Maybe it’s a brand that hasn’t been named yet. The point is, a lot of canned goods don’t have anything to do with murder.”

Nubin seemed satisfied with his theory. Foray, after removing most of the cans and replacing them, began to nod his agreement. Zach Hoyler was on the point of making comment; he changed his mind when he saw that he would probably be over-ruled. He went back into the ticket office when Foray started to nail up the box.

Perry Nubin came from the baggage room. He strolled out through the station and reached the platform. The local was about due. The detective saw two more passengers in addition to the tall personage who had bought the ticket and obtained the time tables.

The local clanged into the station. Boarding the rear car, Nubin looked for the passengers. He saw two of them getting on the train. The tall stranger was not in view. Nubin supposed that he was the first aboard. As the local pulled out, the railroad dick waved to the sheriff and the station agent. They had come out of the waiting room. He saw them turn back in as the local neared the bend.

Despite the quickening speed of the local, the detective bounded across the platform and hung from the opposite steps. He swung clear, landed on the ground beside the tracks and went staggering forward until he sprawled on the embankment. Grinning, he arose and dusted his clothes. Cautiously, he crossed the tracks, threw a glance toward the station; then took to the lower side of the embankment.

PERRY NUBIN was positive that his deeds had not been witnessed. He did not know the tall stranger of the ticket room had failed to board the local. Shrouded in darkness, that personage was standing by the station. Staring keenly toward the bend, The Shadow glimpsed the vague figure of the railroad dick as Nubin scurried across the tracks.

TIM FOREY had come in a car driven by a deputy. He and Zach Hoyler took the box from the baggage room and loaded it aboard. The car started toward the road that led to Breck’s. Zach Hoyler came back into the station. The Shadow moved off into the darkness.

His course was toward the clearing where he had parked the autogiro. From there, The Shadow intended to communicate with Burbank; then to move forth on a new and important mission. Darkness swallowed the swiftly-gliding figure.

AT the Breck house, Harry Vincent was seated in the living room. The Shadow’s agent was oblivious to the music that came from the radio. He was pondering upon cryptic thoughts that had gripped him during the entire day.

The Shadow’s message! It had been revealing in part; yet mysterious as well. It had given Harry inklings concerning the truth of crime. It had included instructions which Harry intended to carry out to the letter, yet which puzzled him to a considerable degree.

The door bell rang. Craven answered it. Sheriff Forey strode in; he nudged toward the door. Craven went out and reappeared helping the deputy lug in the square box. At Forey’s order, Craven went upstairs and summoned Elbert Breck, who was in his room.

When the heir arrived, Forey indicated the box and mentioned that it had come for Grantham Breck. He ordered Elbert to open it. Craven produced a hatchet, Elbert set to work in nervous fashion. He acted as though this unexpected shipment worried him. Harry watched Craven as well as Elbert. The butler was solemn; standing as still as a stone statue.

“Canned goods!” exclaimed Elbert, when he had pried open the box. “They must have been shipped by some friend who did not know that my father had died!”

“It might have been an order, sir,” put in Craven. “Mr. Breck was in the habit of storing away food-stuffs.”

“Did he ever get canned goods without labels?” quizzed Forey.

“I believe he did, sir,” recalled Craven. “Small shipments, as I recall them. Most of the goods had labels, though. I cannot give positive information, however.”

“Why not?”

“He always placed the canned goods in the custody of the cook. It was her province, sir.”

“Where’s the cook now?”

“Adele, sir? I believe she has retired. But she could tell you nothing, sir. It was the old cook — Martha — who worked here when those previous shipments came to Mr. Breck.”

“I see.” The sheriff appeared satisfied with the explanation. “Well — I’m going back to town. Come on, Hank.”

Craven began to unpack the canned products and take them into the kitchen. Elbert Breck strolled into the living room with Harry Vincent. Lighting his pipe, the heir slouched into an easy chair. Like Harry, he listened to the radio while Craven finished unpacking the cans and went upstairs.

TEN thirty. A musical program ended. The radio was tuned in on Station WNX. The voice of an announcer came over the air. Steady in tone, it carried a slight emphasis on certain words.

“‘If’ you give ‘any’ tobacco this ‘one’ test,” came the announcement, “you will learn that ripened ‘leaves’ alone can ‘capture’ the full tobacco flavor. Talk to an old smoker. Ask ‘him’ his opinion. ‘Put’ the test to ‘him’. He will tell you that ‘in’ his experience, the best ‘smoke’ is the product of Lowden Brothers, the oldest tobacco ‘house’ in Virginia; the makers of Old Dominion Burley.”

Elbert Breck was oblivious to the radio. But Harry Vincent, listening placidly, caught every word that had been emphasized. To him, the announcer’s speech conveyed a hidden message, told by those stressed words:

“If anyone leaves, capture him. Put him in the smoke house.”

Harry already knew that The Shadow had planned to move tonight. Harry’s own part had been outlined; but this final order was needed. Harry knew that The Shadow must have communicated with Burbank; through some contacts, the master sleuth had arranged for that announcement to go over the air from WNX.

Harry had received orders of this type in the past. He knew that The Shadow must already be operating on his own; otherwise, he would have delivered this final message through Harry’s window. Faring abroad, The Shadow was planning to frustrate the band of thugs headed by Spike Balgo.

To Harry Vincent, The Shadow had entrusted the duty of preventing a move from the Breck house. Harry was alert. Tonight, he was determined to give the aid upon which The Shadow relied.