Bells of Doom

CHAPTER V THE LAWYER SPEAKS

“WELCOME back to Torburg, Milton.”

The speaker was a firm-faced, gray-haired man who had risen from behind a mahogany desk. His grip was forcible as he shook hands with Milton Claverly. This was Louis Vandrow, the Torburg attorney who represented the Claverly estate.

Seating himself opposite the lawyer, Milton lighted a cigarette and began to smoke while he waited for Vandrow to speak again. The attorney was busy with a file of documents which evidently pertained to the estate.

The window of the office gave forth a good view of Torburg. A town of scattered dwellings, the community appeared to be enjoying an afternoon siesta. Milton Claverly smiled as he studied the vista that the window offered.

Torburg had no railroad. Hence the town had spread out in a natural fashion. The central district was nestled in a depression that lay between sloping hills. The building that housed this office was on the outskirts.

Rising, Milton strolled to the window and viewed the town for a beginning. He saw the old hotel that had existed since stagecoach days. He noted the cluster of stores that he remembered since childhood. He turned his gaze toward residences that were situated among trees. He could not see his father’s house, for it was past a slope; but on the intervening rise of ground he observed a structure that was new to him.

THIS was a rounded tower, some forty feet in height. It was built of stone; and its walls were tapering. There was a door at the bottom; but the tower was windowless until near the top. There, Milton saw an eight-sided belfry, which had slits for openings. The tower was capped by a large, octagonal cupola that topped off the belfry.

“Admiring the bell-tower?”

The question came from Vandrow, who had finished with the papers. A smile showed on the lawyer’s rugged face. Milton nodded.

“Who built it?” he questioned.

“Your father,” replied Vandrow.

“He built that crazy tower?” Milton shook his head in a puzzled fashion. “No wonder he lost so much money. What was his idea?”

“A gift to the town,” replied Vandrow. “There had been talk of a monument upon that slope. Impossible suggestions were made regarding it. So your father settled the matter by building the bell-tower for the community.”

“Why did he pick on a bell-tower?”

“Some whim, I suppose. Your father was a man of original ideas. He had made money. It was his right to spend it as he chose.”

“Maybe,” grunted Milton. “But he might have left more to his heirs than he did. Don’t let that statement mislead you, Mr. Vandrow” — Milton paused as he added the additional comment — “because I’m not thinking of myself alone. Whether or not I shared in the estate would have made no difference.

“It’s simply my opinion that a bell-tower like that one is a senseless idea. I’m not saying that to criticize my father; I merely mention it to back up my theory that he must have slipped a bit during his later years.”

“You are wrong, Milton,” returned Vandrow, shaking his head, “entirely wrong. You were not here when your father died. You had not seen him for a great many years. I assure you that your father, David Claverly, was mentally alert up to the time of his death.”

“Yet he built bell-towers?”

“He built one bell-tower. It was more sensible than some stupid monument to which he would have been asked to subscribe. It remains, at least, as a unique memorial. I, for one, approved of its construction.”

“All right,” laughed Milton, “I’ll vote for the bell-tower. It’s not surprising, though, that I didn’t like it when I first saw it. Father and I never agreed on anything.”

“So I recall,” mused Vandrow. “Yet you and he had real understanding. He often remarked on that fact to me. He said that he had made his way through the world and that he wanted you to do the same. That was why you left Torburg.”

“He staked me,” stated Milton. “Gave me fifty thousand dollars. I shot the works. Spent it inside of a year. After that — well, I had to battle my own way. I was too proud to come back home.”

“You made out well in the end.”

“Yes, but the going was tough for a while. My father knew of some of the troubles I ran into. I used to write him after I got out of my scrapes. I guess—”

MILTON paused. He puffed at his cigarette, then noticed Vandrow’s friendly expression. He decided to continue.

“I guess some of my letters wouldn’t look good in print,” said Milton. “They might give the idea that I had followed a pretty shady career. But after I settled down in Adelaide, I put all that behind me.”

“A wise procedure. You can forget the past, Milton. Youthful escapades seldom produce serious consequences. As for your letters to your father, I feel sure that he must have destroyed them. That is, unless they happen to be in this box.”

The lawyer arose to approach an opened safe. He brought forth a tin box and handed it to Milton. The box was locked. Milton shook it and noted that it contained light objects only.

“I left the key with Lester,” explained Vandrow, “your father’s old servant. The box probably contains personal papers that your father thought would be of interest to you.”

The lawyer seated himself at the desk and began to tap the file of documents that he had been studying. Milton laid the tin box aside to hear what Vandrow had to say.

“Your father,” stated the attorney, “encountered unexpected misfortunes in his business enterprises. I must admit that those troubles came during his later years. But they can not be attributed to failing mentality.

“David Claverly made only one mistake. That was in confining his activities to the Torburg section. He handled all building contracts in this vicinity. His wealth increased year by year. But he ran into opposition.”

“Who from?” inquired Milton.

“Other prominent men,” replied Vandrow. “No one individual could have damaged your father’s business. It took a combination to perform that deed. There were three who seemed to envy your father’s success.”

“Who were they?”

“Maurice Dunwell was one. You probably remember him. He is a local manufacturer.”

“I know him. Who else?”

“Stuart Hosker, a man who is important politically. He was the second. Willis Beauchamp, the local banker, was the third.”

“You say they combined against my father?”

“Yes. They controlled different bodies of selectmen in the neighboring townships. Your father ran into unexpected losses on his contracts. His work failed to gain the approval that the specifications demanded.”

“Did he know that there was a plot against him?”

“Yes and no. He always met opposition bluntly. In this case, he practically abandoned the contracting business. He put his money into real estate.”

“For what purpose?”

“To sell land to a power company that intends to build a huge reservoir near Torburg. That was proof of your father’s foresight. Most people thought that his purchases were folly.”

“Were they?”

“No. Unfortunately, however, he ran into new troubles with his contracting business. He was forced to borrow money. He put up the real estate as security.”

“And lost it?”

“Yes. But only because of death. His notes were coming due and I feel sure that he could have paid them. Then he died, suddenly, after a short illness.”

“And who gained the real estate?”

“The three men — Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp.”

“A flock of crooks!” Milton’s comment was vicious. “What did they do? Kill my father?”

“QUIET, Milton,” warned Vandrow. “There is no proof that they sought to do physical injury to your father. In fact, subsequent events proved that those three men did not appreciate the value of the land that they had gained. They made only a fair profit on its sale.”

“Who bought it?”

“A holding company. A concern which will probably sell it to the power company later on. Had Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp held the property, they would have gained much more.”

“That’s one satisfaction,” decided Milton. “Well, those are three names I’ll remember. Dunwell — Hosker — Beauchamp. You can call them what you want. I term them crooks.”

“Then what about Abner Zangwald?” inquired Vandrow, with a shake of his head. “He was your father’s friend; yet he, too, loaned money on some of the property.”

“That’s different,” retorted Milton. “I remember Zangwald. Owned a lot of farm land, didn’t he?”

“He still does.”

“Well, he wasn’t one of the three conspirators, was he? I guess when father died, he had to take the property since he couldn’t collect the money. That’s business.”

“But Zangwald still has the property.”

“You mean he didn’t sell out to the holding company?”

“That is precisely what I mean. Zangwald stands in a position that the others failed to gain. He intends to keep the property until the power company needs it. He may gain a full million by its sale.”

“You mean he knew my father’s plans?”

“He did. In fact, he and your father alone knew for a certainty that the power company intends to come to Torburg. The others are not positive of it, even yet, and they have sold out to the holding company.”

“Then it looks like Zangwald is a crook in his own right,” asserted Milton, hotly. “You asked for my opinion. You’ve gotten it. Zangwald is the worst of the bunch!”

With this statement, Milton Claverly arose. Louis Vandrow did the same. He picked up the folio of papers and shook his head sadly.

“You are as headstrong as your father,” rebuked the lawyer. “That was his great falling. A tendency to become impetuous. He curbed it as he grew older—”

“And look at the deal he received,” interposed Milton. “Maybe, if he had kept on being tough, he wouldn’t have lost all his money.”

“There is still some left,” reminded Vandrow, tapping the folio. “Considerably in excess of one hundred thousand dollars, to be divided between yourself and your father’s ward, Phyllis Lingle.”

“There should be millions,” protested Milton. “You admit that yourself, Vandrow. That’s your trouble; you’re too placid. This was thievery — this robbing of my father!”

“It is getting late, Milton,” said Vandrow, in a kindly tone. “We do not have time to go over affairs in detail. Suppose you see me here tomorrow, after you feel in a mood to discuss matters.”

“All right,” agreed Milton, staring at the window. He saw that dusk was gathering outside. “But I think I ought to know more about the circumstances of my father’s death.”

“Talk with Lester,” suggested the lawyer. “He was in the house when your father died. Ask him for the key to the box that I have given you; and bring up the subject of your father’s death.”

With that, Vandrow led the way through the door and down a flight of stairs. On the street, he and Milton parted ways. The lawyer walked in toward the town; Milton took a street that led in the direction of his father’s old mansion.

THE road curved along the side of the hill. As he followed it, Milton Claverly stared up toward the bell-tower, which stood like a forgotten chimney upon the summit of the little hill.

The tower reminded him of an old-world campanile. The shrouding dusk brought memories of the past. Staring at the tower, Milton realized that this bleak structure was a memento of his father. It spoke of prosperity that had been forgotten; of wealth that had passed to other hands.

Vengeful utterances came from the young man’s lips as his eyes gazed steadily toward the tower. Louis Vandrow had seen the outburst of Milton Claverly’s anger. This was a new manifestation of the wrath that the lawyer’s statements had kindled.

As Milton Claverly continued on his way, the epithets that he growled were those of ill wishes for the men who had despoiled his father. Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp were the men whom Vandrow had named. To those three, Milton had added another of his own accord. That was the name of Abner Zangwald.