Bells of Doom

CHAPTER XIV OUTSIDE THE HOUSE

Clang! — Clang!—

The strident clamor drummed its clashing message to Harry Vincent, half asleep in his bed at Claverly’s. The bells of doom were like a nightmare, weaving their jangle into Harry’s dreaming mind.

Dong!

The final stroke. The bells had ended as abruptly as before.

Harry raised his head. A breeze from the half-opened window was almost tingling with the final reverberations of those concluded strokes. Harry could actually feel the sound of the bells.

Hurrying into some clothes, Harry stumbled from the room. He wanted to find Milton Claverly. Groping his way through the darkened hall, he reached the top of the stairs. He saw a dull light from below. Harry descended.

All was silent when Harry reached the lower hall. Calculating, Harry felt sure that others must have heard the bells before him. Someone must have come downstairs to turn on that light. Looking through a darkened stretch of hall, Harry spied the outline of the side door. He went to the portal and turned the knob.

The door was unlocked. It swung inward, aided by a gust of air. Harry stepped out into the blackness of a rear drive. The night was pitch-dark; he could not even see the grayish gravel that crunched beneath his feet.

Wondering why the door was open, Harry paused to listen. He tried to calculate the time that had passed between the ending of the bells and his arrival here. Harry found himself at a loss. It might have been three minutes — possibly five—

Time for someone to have come back from the old bell-tower? The thought was startling. It was almost like a premonition. Promptly upon the thought, Harry heard a sound. It was the slight crunch of gravel, at the far side of the drive.

Barely discernible was a low wing that extended back from the house. This was the addition that housed the sealed crypt which had served as temporary resting place for the body of David Claverly.

Creeping in that direction, Harry pressed his hand against the stone surface of the low wall. He edged through darkness toward the spot where he had heard the crunches. He stopped. Like echoes, other crackles replied from ahead. They ceased.

Harry shifted forward. Again the crunches. They were closer. Was someone creeping back to the house? Or had someone, sneaking away, reversed his course? Hearing another click, Harry sprang suddenly forward. He was leaping for the person in the darkness, whoever he might be. Harry’s guess was perfect. His forward-thrust hands encountered a human shape.

AN instant later, Harry was struggling with an adversary. The man was powerful. As Harry locked with his opponent, he realized that the man might be Milton. Harry cried out as he wrestled:

“Claverly! I’m Vincent—”

The response was a fiercer struggle. An arm wrenched from Harry’s grasp. A swift fist shot through the dark. It clipped The Shadow’s agent squarely on the jaw. The other arm came free as Harry slumped. Groggily, he sprawled on the gravel.

Darkness seemed to whirl as Harry heard quick crunching steps. He came up to his hands and knees, ready to resume the fight. His head was spinning; he could hear the footsteps dwindle. But he could not guess in what direction they had gone. Harry swayed and slipped back to the gravel.

One minute passed; dully, Harry sensed that slow footsteps were coming in his direction. He roused himself; he turned about and saw framed light. The side door of the house was open. A stooped figure was coming toward him.

It was Lester, the old servant. A flashlight blinked from the fellow’s hand.

Harry tried to rise. Lester caught him; with surprising strength, the man helped Harry to his feet. The flashlight, turned upward, showed each man the other’s face.

“What happened, sir?” Lester’s voice was apprehensive. “I heard you shout.”

“I encountered someone out here,” explained Harry. “I came out through the side door — after the bells rang — the side door was open—”

“I locked it, sir.

“It was open when I found it.”

A call came from the opened door. Milton Claverly was standing there, in his shirtsleeves. He stepped into the dark; his white garb showed in the blackness. Stepping away from Lester, Harry approached the house.

“What’s the matter, Vincent?” inquired Milton. “Come back into the house, and let me know what happened.”

Harry complied.

As the two men went inside. Lester stood crouched in the center of the drive. The servant was listening. Apparently, he was wondering if some lurker still remained on the premises.

Suddenly, the servant turned on his flashlight. He swept it in a wide beam, along the fringe of the drive. It passed the wall of the silent crypt. It probed among the trees; there it stopped. A guttural sound came from Lester’s lips.

By a freak of chance, the servant’s light had picked the outline of an approaching shape. Coming through the trees, stopping the instant that the light appeared upon it, was a phantom form cloaked in black.

The Shadow had swung in from his course across the hill. He had heard the talk in the driveway. He had recognized Harry Vincent’s voice. Creeping forward, he had been caught suddenly within the range of Lester’s unexpected light.

BURNING eyes. The servant saw them glitter from beneath the brim of the slouch hat. They were unearthly eyes, those blazing orbs of The Shadow.

Instinctively, the servant trembled.

Then, to his ears came the low tones of a sinister laugh.

Lester dropped back as he heard the eerie taunt. It was meant for the servant’s ears alone. It served its purpose. Lester’s light wavered as the man’s hand faltered. Dropping toward the ground, it no longer covered the motionless form in black.

There was a swish through the shrouding gloom. Lester did not hear it. The Shadow had lost no opportunity. He had faded quickly with the night, the moment that Lester dropped his hand.

Recovering from his fright, the servant raised the flashlight. This time its rays showed nothing but the trees.

Retreating toward the house, Lester kept sweeping his torch. It failed to reveal a new glimpse of The Shadow. The servant arrived at the house; his hand trembled as it opened the door.

Then Lester sprang inside and slammed the barrier behind him. Bolts shot into place.

When he reached the hall inside the house, Lester turned suddenly as he heard a voice from the stairs. It was Phyllis Lingle. Clad in slippers and dressing gown, the girl had come from her room. She questioned Lester in an anxious tone.

“What has happened?” inquired Phyllis. “Tell me, Lester; what happened outside?”

“Mr. Vincent encountered a prowler,” croaked Lester. “But he is all right, Miss Phyllis. I can hear him talking to Mr. Milton, in the library.”

Phyllis hurried down the stairs. She joined Lester and the two entered the library. They found Harry Vincent standing before the fireplace, rubbing his jaw. Milton Claverly was seated close by, smoking a cigarette.

“Lester,” snapped Milton, “Vincent tells me that the little door was open. You should have bolted it before you retired.”

“I thought I did, sir,” responded the servant. “Really, it is something that I should not have forgotten.”

“But you forgot it tonight.”

“Yes, sir.

“Vincent heard the bells,” declared Milton. “He was the first of us to get downstairs. Finding the door open, he naturally went out to the drive.”

“I thought you might be out there,” remarked Harry, eying Milton as he spoke.

“I was upstairs,” stated Milton, promptly, “getting dressed. I couldn’t find my coat and vest so I came down in my shirtsleeves. There wasn’t time to go fumbling about in the closet, looking for the right hanger.”

“I must have come down ahead of you, sir,” said Lester. “I was sound asleep on the third floor. Then I heard the bells ring” — a chuckle — “and I was glad. Bells of doom—”

“Cut it, Lester,” interrupted Milton, sternly. “This is no time for more of your madness. What I want to know is: who was outside this house — and why?”

Phyllis Lingle uttered a suppressed gasp. Harry Vincent was the only one who heard it. He looked quickly toward the girl. Her face was pale. Phyllis tried to cover up her sudden outburst. Lester came unwittingly to her rescue.

“I can tell you, sir,” he croaked. “I can tell you who was outside this house. It was a spirit, sir — a ghoul from the old bell-tower. I know. I have seen!”

The old servant’s chortle was maddening. Yet even the wildness of Lester’s eyes did not detract from the force of his words. Milton Claverly stared. He seemed to half believe Lester’s words. Then Milton laughed, uneasily.

“Seeing spooks, eh?” he quizzed. “Forget that stuff, Lester. It will drive you crazy.”

“I saw!” repeated the servant. “I saw him — the spirit from the night!

“Black, with burning eyes! Coals of fire, sir, that looked at me. It came from the tower” — the servant pointed his finger upward and wagged his bony hand — “it came to prove that my old master’s words were true!”

“Enough of that!” broke in Milton. “Keep quiet, Lester. Now I know that your wild imagination has gained the best of you.”

HARRY VINCENT was thinking. He had seen enough of Lester to know that the servant was fundamentally sane. Lester had seen someone outside the house; but not the person with whom Harry had battled. Harry’s antagonist had escaped; after that, The Shadow had arrived here at the house.

Who had been the man in the dark? Harry’s foe could have been Milton Claverly. For that matter, Lester — the servant had unusual strength — might have been the fighter who had dealt the lucky blow to Harry’s jaw.

Both Milton and Lester were dressed. Harry had no proof that either man had gone to bed. One or the other could have been coming back from the tower. It was quite possible that the guilty party could have gone into the house after sprawling Harry on the gravel.

Recollecting, Harry realized that he had been completely staggered by the punch. It had been the equivalent of a knock-out blow. A minute — no, at least two minutes — had elapsed before Lester arrived to give aid. There had been another time space before Milton had appeared.

Harry’s thoughts changed. He came to a consideration of The Shadow. He knew that it was not his chief whom he had encountered; The Shadow would have recognized Harry’s cry in the dark. But The Shadow was close at hand. Harry would soon have a chance to make a report.

Lester was walking from the library.

Milton spoke to the servant, to ask him where he was going. Lester responded that he intended to make sure the rear door was locked.

“I’m sure I pressed the bolts when I came in, sir.”

“I’ll go along to make sure.”

The two left. Harry was musing. Then came a soft voice. Phyllis Lingle was approaching. The girl spoke breathlessly.

“I heard the scuffle, Mr. Vincent,” she said. “I knew that you had met someone in the dark.”

“Do you know who it was?” questioned Harry, quickly.

“No,” replied Phyllis. “It was too dark to see from my window. But — there is something that I must tell you—”

She stopped and drew away. Milton and Lester were returning. Harry saw the girl’s lips frame the word:

“Tomorrow.”

Harry gave a slight nod and turned away. Milton noted nothing. He paced over toward the fireplace, stood there for a few moments; then spoke.

“Guess we’d better turn in,” was his comment. “There’s no use looking for the chap you bumped into, Vincent. After the way Vandrow talked, I don’t like the idea of going outside the house after dark.

“We would look mighty suspicious wandering about with flashlights. For that matter, it wouldn’t be so good if anyone dropped in on us while we’re in this room. I suggest we go back to bed and talk things over in the morning.”

MILTON’S suggestion was followed. Five minutes later, Harry Vincent was seated in his own room. He had turned on a single light, a little lamp above a table in the comer. But Harry had not gone back to bed.

He was seated at the table, writing with a fountain pen that he had taken from the pocket of his vest. Briefly, in coded words, Harry was giving the full details of all that had occurred. Trained in The Shadow’s service, Harry had gained a remarkable ability to remember events with exactitude.

His departure from the hotel, his chat with Milton Claverly; his return and the remarks that Vandrow had made — all these went into the report. Then came Harry’s description of his experience after the bells had clanged. Most important — to Harry’s mind — were the interrupted conversations that he had held with Phyllis Lingle.

Harry folded each sheet as he completed it. He placed the entire report in an envelope. He sealed the container; then went to bed. But he left the table lamp burning, That was a signal to The Shadow.

Time passed. Night breezes sighed about the mansion. From the thick, outer darkness, keen eyes studied the silent house. They spied the only glimmer of light, the dull glow from the window of Harry’s room. A stealthy figure approached the house.

Shortly afterward, the figure of The Shadow appeared through the open window. It materialized in weird fashion. The only person who might have seen that forming shape was Harry Vincent; but he had gone to sleep.

Gloved hands opened the envelope. The Shadow read the coded lines. The writing faded, line by line, as he completed his perusal. Such was the way with messages between The Shadow and his aides. They used a special ink that vanished after contact with the air.

The Shadow wrote brief lines. He sealed them in an envelope and left the message where he had found Harry’s report. Silently, the tall shape merged with the darkness beyond the window. The Shadow had gone.

Later, a sardonic laugh rippled from a spot along the hillside, not far from where the old bell-tower stood. The Shadow had returned to the mysterious thickness of the night.