Bells of Doom

CHAPTER XV THE LAW CONFERS

ON the next afternoon, a group of men were assembled in the meeting room at the Torburg town hall. Sheriff Locke and Coroner Thomas were there; also the deputies whom Locke had placed as guards at Beauchamp’s home.

Besides these representatives of the law, another was present. This was Galt Jornal, the county prosecutor.

Jornal had come to Torburg to make a complete investigation of the latest murder. He had summoned all who might furnish clues to the death of Willis Beauchamp. In addition, Jornal had requested the presence of Abner Zangwald, to represent the board of selectmen. Zangwald, in turn, had invited Louis Vandrow to the conference.

The county prosecutor was a bluff individual. He liked to get results; and he believed that slipshod methods had permitted crime in Torburg. When he called the conference to order, his first act was to read over reports that he had received from the sheriff and the coroner. That done, Jornal came down to business.

“We’ll center on the case of Willis Beauchamp,” declared the prosecutor. “First off, Beauchamp was afraid for his life. Reason: because he had been closely associated with the two men who were slain. That’s clear enough for all, I think.

“Beauchamp wanted a guard around his place. He got it. But he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to clear out, to go to New York. Maybe he thought he’d be safer there. Anyway, he stated as his reason that he had received a long distance call from New York. Am I right on that point?”

“Yes,” replied Zangwald. “Beauchamp called me and said that he wanted to leave for New York. He proposed the manner in which he intended to depart.”

“He talked to me afterward,” corroborated Locke. “Told me just what he’d told Mr. Zangwald. It was over the telephone — after I came to Mr. Zangwald’s home. I called Beauchamp from there.”

“Very well.” The prosecutor became emphatic. “Let’s continue that matter further. Who was it that called Beauchamp from New York? You don’t know, do you? You don’t even know whether or not he really received a call from New York. You can’t prove that he received any calls at his home, can you?”

“We can’t prove that he didn’t,” observed Zangwald, dryly.

“Granted,” was Jornal’s retort, “but we’re dealing in facts — not suppositions. All we actually do know is that you, Zangwald, talked with Beauchamp by your own testimony. And that Locke here talked with him later. By Locke’s testimony and yours, Zangwald, because you were present when Locke called Beauchamp.”

“Somebody called Beauchamp,” put in one of the deputies. “I know — because I was on guard at the side of the house. I heard the bell ringing inside.”

“When was that?” demanded Jornal.

“Early in the evening,” replied the deputy. “About nine o’clock, I reckon.”

“Was that your call?” questioned Jornal, turning to Zangwald.

“I didn’t call Beauchamp,” returned the bushy-browed man. “He called me. Look at the report sheet, Mr. Jornal.”

The prosecutor nodded. Then he turned to the deputy. He eyed the man severely.

“About nine o’clock,” remarked Jornal. “That’s the time you heard the phone bell ring. Did you hear it later? At the time when Sheriff Locke put in his call?”

“No,” returned the deputy, “but I wasn’t at the side of the house much after nine o’clock. We were kind of patrolling the place, later in the night.”

“I see. Did anyone else hear a telephone bell ring from inside Beauchamp’s house?”

No response.

“Hm-m-m,” mused Jornal. “Well, it looks like Beauchamp got a call from somewhere. But maybe it wasn’t from New York, Maybe it wasn’t of any consequence. That’s where we’re stumped.”

“Why so?” questioned Zangwald, in his rumble. “It appears to me that the matter of the telephone call is irrelevant. What is it’s bearing on the case?”

“We want to know the exact reason why Beauchamp acted the way he did” explained Jornal. “Maybe it was a freak idea of his own. But maybe” — the prosecutor paused emphatically — “maybe somebody called him up and talked him into putting himself in a trap.”

THIS came as a new theory. The looks that the listeners exchanged were proof that they saw the point that Jornal had presented. Before anyone else spoke the prosecutor added another comment.

“It might have worked either way,” he asserted. “Some friend might have double-crossed Beauchamp. Talked about him getting out of town. Suggested ways and means. On the other hand an enemy could have called him. Threatened him. Ordered him to get out of town or die. That would have worked.”

“A few moments ago,” put in Zangwald casually, “you said that we should deal in facts not in suppositions. Just what are you discussing at present?”

“I’ll talk facts” retorted the prosecutor angrily. “I’ll tell you what I think about Beauchamp’s death. I’ll tell you that the people in this town are dunder-heads to let crime happen right under their noses!

“Three men have been murdered. All by one killer. Don’t shout ‘supposition’ at me this time. The cases are too much alike. You can’t dodge that fact. Dunwell’s death was excusable. Nobody knew it was coming. Hosker’s was something that shouldn’t have happened. Locke should have guarded the man.

“But Beauchamp — well, letting him get killed was the biggest blunder ever pulled in this county! He was safe in his house. He shouldn’t have been allowed to get out. Nevertheless, Beauchamp is dead. What I’m going to do is analyze his death.”

The prosecutor paused to cough. He stood up and crinkled the report sheets between his hands. Then in the manner of an orator he continued:

“There’s only one place where the murder could have occurred. That was in the garage. The killer got there ahead of Beauchamp — laid for him in the limousine — shot him. That shows we’re dealing with a mighty bold customer. It also proves your men were dead on their feet, sheriff.”

“Why?” demanded Locke.

“Because they didn’t hear the shot in the garage,” retorted Jornal.

“We weren’t near the garage,” objected a deputy. “We stayed away from it, on purpose.”

“Sure,” put in another, “and those doors are thick. They slide together so close you couldn’t get a razor blade between ‘em. If Beauchamp was shot in the garage, it ain’t no wonder we didn’t hear it.”

“That will be enough,” rebuked the prosecutor. “I see by reports that Beauchamp’s chauffeur did not turn on the lights in the garage. Apparently, he did not realize that murder had been done before his arrival. He drove from the garage carrying a corpse in his car.”

“Then why,” questioned Zangwald, “was a car blockading the road to Lewisport? Why did the deputies find dying men who looked like mobsters? They were certainly posted there to make trouble for Beauchamp.”

“I agree with that,” said the prosecutor. “Furthermore, the reason for the mobsters is easily explained. Either the murderer feared that he would fail to gain the opportunity of murdering Beauchamp in the garage; or he wanted to cover up his work by making it appear that Beauchamp had been slain later, on the road.”

THE prosecutor had spoken in logical fashion. His words brought nods from coroner and sheriff. Vandrow appeared speculative; while Zangwald looked somewhat doubtful. Finally the lawyer registered his agreement and Zangwald nodded slowly.

“Unfortunately,” declared Jornal, “Beauchamp’s chauffeur was killed by the mobsters. None of that crowd remains. As luck had it, a coupe smashed into their touring car and overturned it. I see that you have not located the driver of the coupe. That is not an important point. The man probably left the scene, fearing that he would be arrested. However, he should be commended for smashing into a car-load of crooks.

“Our problem is to find the murderer. He is a man of nerve. He shows no half measures in his crimes. He has left no clues to his identity. He has spread terror through this town.”

The prosecutor paused. He turned to Locke and told the sheriff to dismiss the deputies. The men filed from the room. Jornal remained with Locke and Thomas. He also motioned Zangwald and Vandrow to stay.

“We can now discuss the matter of the bell-tower,” announced the prosecutor. “It has figured strangely in these deaths. It appears to have a connection with the murders. It makes the crimes look like the work of a fanatic.”

“That tower’s got me licked,” put in the sheriff. “Wait’ll I tell you about it, prosecutor. The first time those bells rang, I didn’t go up there until a while after. I found the door locked. Nothing wrong. That was the time when Dunwell died.”

“Go on.”

“When Hosker was murdered, we didn’t find out about the crime until the next day. But we heard the bells ring and we got up there not long after. I had the key to the tower — I’d gotten it from Absalom Yokes. But I didn’t need it.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” replied the sheriff, “the door was unlocked.”

“Unlocked?” questioned Louis Vandrow. “I thought you opened it with the key.”

“So did I,” observed Abner Zangwald. “You told the coroner that you had searched the tower.”

“Sure I searched it,” said the sheriff. “But I didn’t have to unlock it to get in. Well — I locked it up afterward. I was going to put men there last night, but I needed them at Beauchamp’s.”

“So instead,” broke in the prosecutor, “you removed the clappers. That is in your report. You also say that you visited the tower last night after the news came in that Beauchamp was killed in his limousine.”

“Yes,” said the sheriff. “I sure was stumped when I heard the bells ring without their clappers. Mr. Zangwald here can tell you that. I was over at his place. I was going to hot-foot it to the tower; but before I got started, the deputies showed up to tell us Beauchamp had been murdered.”

“So you went to the tower later?”

“Yes, and found no clappers in the bells.”

“Was the door locked?”

“Yes.”

“Then how do you explain the ringing?”

The sheriff looked at the coroner, who nodded. Evidently the two had cooked up a theory for the prosecutor’s benefit. Locke bent forward over the table.

“SOMEBODY got in the tower,” asserted the sheriff. “He must have been smart, for he had new clappers with him. He put them in the bells.”

“What! You found new clappers for the bells—”

“No. Because the man that put them there was smart enough to take them out again.”

The prosecutor scowled. The theory did not appeal to him. Nor did Zangwald approve. The bushy-browed selectman rumbled a basso laugh.

“More supposition,” he asserted. “Well, well! We are dealing with a very thorough-going murderer. One who carries his own bell clappers in case of emergency.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed the sheriff. “Maybe the fellow was watching the tower. He might have seen me come out with the clappers.”

“Plausible,” put in the coroner.

“It’s more than that,” added the sheriff. “It’s the only answer. Because if nobody put clappers in those bells, what made the bells ring?”

The prosecutor pondered. This was a question that he could not answer. Neither Zangwald nor Vandrow made comment. The sheriff smiled triumphantly.

“A good point,” decided the prosecutor, after a pause. “One that balks us. Gentlemen, we are confronted by a mystery of the most insidious sort. Our one consolation is the fact that the reign of terror is ended.”

“Are we sure of that?” inquired the coroner.

“Yes,” decided Jornal. “There were only three in the group that has been slain. Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp. All are dead. Our job is not to prevent new crime. It is to solve the riddles that the past presents.”

There was an uneasy silence. Abner Zangwald was on the point of speaking. Louis Vandrow rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Sheriff and coroner were silent.

“The first question,” said the prosecutor, slowly, “is whether we are dealing with one man or two.”

Surprised expressions greeted this statement. The prosecutor smiled.

“One man,” he said, “could have killed each of those three victims. After that, he could have gone to the bell-tower. But do you think that one man would have tried it alone?”

“One man could have done it,” stated the coroner.

“No, he couldn’t!” exclaimed the sheriff. “He’d have had to work too quickly after killing Beauchamp. He had to put clappers in the bells.”

“Let us not be hasty,” warned Jornal. “We know that the murderer had accomplices. The mobsters on the road were specimens. The actual killings, coupled with the bell ringing, may have been a one-man job. On the other hand, they may have been the timed actions of two persons, working together.

“Suppose that we give this matter further thought. Get our minds to work. Be ready with our individual theories. Perhaps some of you may know of possible suspects. If you do, name them.”

Zangwald was about to speak. The prosecutor raised his hand. Jornal had not yet finished.

“We can meet tonight,” he declared. “Then we can talk at length, without undue haste. Where shall we convene?”

“At my house,” suggested Zangwald.

“Very well,” decided Jornal.

“What about my deputies?” questioned Locke.

“Put them up at the bell-tower,” retorted Jornal, in a testy tone. “Watch the stable now that the horse is gone. That’s the best place for them. They can’t blunder there.”

With that, the prosecutor arose to end the meeting. Men filed forth into the afternoon air. Their serious faces showed that they were pondering upon Jornal’s words. Locke and Thomas; Vandrow and Zangwald; all were busy with thoughts that concerned the reign of crime in Torburg.