Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER III NEW MYSTERY

WHEN Harry Vincent opened the front door of the house, an angry-faced man stalked in and glowered at The Shadow’s agent. The newcomer was a husky fellow. His old, unpressed suit added to his rough appearance, while the badge that glimmered from his vest was token of his identity.

“I’m Sheriff Forey,” the big man announced. “Tim Forey from down in Chanburg. Are you the fellow that called me over the telephone?”

“Yes,” responded Harry.

“What did you say your name was?” questioned the sheriff. “Vincent?”

“Yes. Harry Vincent.”

Three grim-faced men had followed Forey into the hall. They were wearing deputy badges. Their gaze was challenging on account of their chief’s anger.

“What did you cut off the call for?” demanded Forey. “What happened here?”

“The housekeeper fainted,” explained Harry, indicating the room where Johanna was still resting on the couch. “I had to catch her before she fell to the floor.”

“I see. Well, it broke up that description you were giving me. Where’s Mr. Breck?”

“The housekeeper said that he was out. She let me use the phone to call you.”

“All right. But say” — the sheriff’s eyes were suspicious — “for a fellow that was in all the hurry you were, it seems funny you left me standing outside this door. Why didn’t you answer my first ring?”

“The butler was around,” responded Harry, calmly. “I expected him to answer. I was in the living room. I came to the door when the butler failed to show up.”

“All right.” Again, the sheriff was abrupt. “Suppose we run up to the road and find that body.”

“I was about to suggest it,” put in Harry, quietly. “Otherwise you may be getting more calls from tourists who come through.”

“On that road?” demanded the sheriff as he motioned Harry through the door. “Not a chance. Say, fellow, you’re probably the first one who came through there this week. This your car here?”

Harry acknowledged ownership of the coupe. The sheriff ordered his men into the touring car which they had come in. He entered the coupe with Harry. Forey spoke as Harry started the car out into the road.

“Thought you said you were going into New York,” remarked the sheriff.

“I was,” replied Harry, as he picked a course to avoid the bumps.

“You’ve got a New York license,” said Forey. “I thought maybe you might have been coming from the city.”

“I left there ten days ago,” explained Harry. “I drove out to Michigan to see the folks. I was on the trip back.”

“What part of Michigan?”

“St. Joe’s County.”

“How’d you happen to take this road?”

HARRY explained the episode at the filling station. He pulled the map from the pocket of the door, with the statement that the service-station man had marked the railroad crossing. For the first time the sheriff appeared amiable.

“Wondered why you came through this way,” remarked Forey. “Most people duck the short cut. I figured somebody round here must have told you about it.”

They had reached the hill road; the touring car close behind. Harry swung the coupe to the right. The sheriff put another question:

“How far from here to where the body is?”

“A bit over eight-tenths of a mile,” replied Harry. “We’ll be there when the trip-dial shows” — he leaned forward — “when it shows ninety-six and five tenths.”

“That’s funny,” growled Forey.

“What is?” queried Harry.

“That you knew how far it was from here to the place you found the body. What’s the idea? Why’d you begin clocking from this junction point?”

There was renewed suspicion in the sheriff’s tone. While Tim Forey waited for a reply, Harry chuckled. This seemed to anger Forey.

“Well?” he growled. “Give me your answer. Why did you start clocking when you passed the lower road?”

“I didn’t,” laughed Harry.

“Then how do you know the distance?” queried Forey.

“After I found the body,” explained Harry, “I remembered seeing a road that I had passed. So I turned the car around, noted the registration on the speedometer, and set out. I wanted to be sure of the distance to the body, so I clocked it coming back.”

Forey emitted a gruff “huh.” Harry smiled. He felt that his explanation had settled the sheriff. He could see that Forey was hard-boiled only on the surface. There should be no trouble from now on. Harry began to slow the car.

“Tenth of a mile more,” remarked Forey, as Harry glanced toward the speedometer.

“Yes,” said Harry, “but I want you to see what I saw. Just as I finished this turn in the road, the lights glared toward the bushes on the right. That’s when I glimpsed the body.”

Harry had slackened to ten miles an hour. Forey was staring with him into the headlight glow. Bushes alone greeted their vision.

“I must have swung wide before,” decided Harry. “I was traveling pretty fast. Funny, though, we didn’t see—”

“Five tenths,” put in Forey.

Harry braked the car. He knew that he had reached the spot. He clambered from the driver’s seat and swung around the back of the coupe, glimmering his flashlight. Forey met him there; the deputies piled out of the touring car and flickered their own torches.

“Right over in here,” declared Harry, sweeping the beam of his light.

“Yeah?” questioned the sheriff. “I don’t see a body lying round.”

“It was here—”

Harry paused. A deputy had gone back to the touring car. There was a click as the man turned on the searchlight that was mounted by the hood. A brilliant glare swept the side of the road for a space of a hundred yards.

Bewildered, Harry Vincent turned to face Sheriff Tim Forey, who was staring at him steadily. For the first time tonight, The Shadow’s agent became confused.

“I was sure,” stammered Harry, “sure that this was the spot. Positive, sheriff — yes — just as — just as certain as we’re standing here right now. Yet — yet—”

“The body isn’t here,” put in Forey. “Which means that you’ve dragged us out here on a hoax.”

“No!” protested Harry. “Why should I be such a fool as to do that? I tell you, sheriff, the body was here! Within ten feet of where I’m standing now! There’s only one answer sheriff.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

Harry saw that the man was unconvinced. Promptly, The Shadow’s agent resolved upon a bold stroke that he knew would bring Forey a jolt.

“One answer, sheriff,” Harry repeated, in steady tones. “Someone has removed the body of Grantham Breck!”