Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER X THE SHADOW LISTENS

SHERIFF TIM FOREY was seated in his office. This room was located on the first floor of a little building just off the main street of Chanburg. It had once housed a shoe shop. Battered doors, ramshackle windows vied with the furnishings. For Tim Forey’s chairs and desk looked like relics of the early nineties.

It was evening — two nights after the discovery of the Luger pistol in Grantham Breck’s study. The death gun was at present lying upon Forey’s desk. The sheriff was discussing it with the prosecutor.

“I’m keeping the pistol here,” declared Forey. “Wired New York yesterday. An expert’s coming up here. Thought that would save time, Mr. Trobers.”

“A good idea,” decided the prosecutor.

“Do you know” — Forey arose and walked over by the half-opened window — “this case is getting mighty tough. It’s beat everything that’s hit this locality.”

“How about the Dobbin gang?”

“That bunch of bank robbers, seven years ago? That was tough all right, but it was different. That was a man hunt. We shot down the whole outfit.”

“And they dropped a few of the local boys, too.”

“Yes. That was bad. But there was no mystery about it. Those birds were fugitives from justice. Hiding out hereabouts. Supposed to have a load of swag with them. But that was the bunk.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mighty sure. There was a bunch of them came in on the Union Valley. Some of them dropped off here. Dobbin was with that part of the gang. The rest kept on — never heard of again — and it’s likely they had the swag.”

“I see.”

“We learned Dobbin’s crowd was about. We fought it out with them. Up on the hill, over by the railroad. I shot down Dobbin myself. Say” — Forey chuckled — “it’s lucky that Ezekiel Twinton wasn’t living up on the hill at the time. He’d have gone goofy.”

“I suppose so,” nodded the prosecutor. “The Dobbin gang set fire to the old Pastely farmhouse, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. It was empty at the time and they made a stand there until we drove them out. But it’s funny, Mr. Trobers, you mentioning that fight with the bank robbers and my remembering that they had come in on the Union Valley.”

“How so?”

“There was a fellow in here this morning. A railroad detective. His name was Perry Nubin. Told me that if I thought any marauders were about, to be sure and let him know. Said he’d cleaned all the bums off this division of the Union Valley.”

“What did you reply?”

“That we were looking for one smart guy — not a gang. I showed him the Luger pistol. He said it was a right good idea to have the expert come up from New York.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Nubin said he was going over to another division; that’s why he dropped in. Said he wanted to be sure everything was right; that he wouldn’t be back here for a week or more. But he looked to me like he was all talk; and I found out later that I was right. I asked Zach Hoyler about him.”

“You mean the station agent?”

“Yeah. He lives here in town. I met him when he was going on duty; I wanted to make sure that this fellow Nubin really worked for the Union Valley. Zach told me Nubin is trying to make a big hit with the company. He was dropped by the B and R; that was a come-down, so he’s trying to impress his new boss with his efficiency.”

“The mentality of a railroad detective,” remarked the prosecutor, “is sometimes confined to devising new ways of pitching riders from freight trains.”

“You said it, prosecutor,” chuckled Forey. “Those legal terminals you use are pips.”

The prosecutor smiled as he arose from his chair. Tim Forey pulled down the window and started to close the catch. It was broken, so he shrugged his shoulders. He dropped the Luger in a desk drawer and pushed the drawer shut.

“I’m watching things out at Breck’s,” he remarked. “Got a good reason to have deputies there now. If young Elbert tries anything sneaky, they’ll nab him. I’m having them watch Craven, too.”

“This man Vincent?”

“He’s all right. Maybe the others are, too. I’m keeping an eye on the outside — that is, for suspects. If Ezekiel Twinton would only get over his jimjams, I’d feel better.”

“What’s his trouble?”

“Thinks there’s prowlers as usual. Only they never get near the house, so he says. I think the guy’s cuckoo. I’d be, if I lived in a place with only a deaf servant and a chink cook who can’t talk English.”

SHERIFF and prosecutor had shifted to the door. Forey turned out the light. They departed; there was a click of the sheriff’s key that denoted the locking of the door. Then silence. After that, the unlocked window moved upward.

A swish sounded in the sheriff’s office. A tiny light glimmered on the desk. A gloved hand opened the drawer and removed the Luger. The Shadow studied the weapon.

The master of darkness had listened in on the sheriff’s conversation. He was here to examine the death gun. His left hand arranged the flashlight on the desk; his right glove slid clear of his hand. Producing a sheet of paper, The Shadow began to make notations in bluish ink.

Written thoughts that faded as the ink dried. The Shadow was considering the history of this weapon. His ideas would have amazed Tim Forey. The sheriff, balked by circumstances, had made no deductions whatever.

This was the first statement that faded. The Shadow knew that the old lawyer, prowling up the hill side, would have gone armed. He had taken the Luger with him for protection.

These two words told what had happened. Grantham Breck had encountered an enemy who had overpowered him. In the fight, the antagonist had gained the Luger pistol. He had slain the lawyer with the weapon.

The first word told of the murderer’s finding. The second, his immediate plan of putting Grantham Breck’s body in the smoke house. The third referred to the gun. A soft laugh came from The Shadow’s lips.

The Shadow was recalling Harry Vincent’s report. On the night of the murder, Harry had heard footsteps in Breck’s house. He had encountered only Craven, who had told Harry and the deputy that he, too, had heard footsteps. That, logically, was the time when the gun had been put back in Grantham Breck’s study.

The Shadow was comparing two points. First, that someone must have known the location of the smoke house; second that someone also knew where the Luger belonged. Had there been no time interval between the bestowal of the body and the replacement of the gun, it would have meant that one person knew both facts.

But the time interval made it possible for two persons to have figured. First: the murderer, who like anyone who had seen Breck’s grounds — would have known about the locked smoke house. Second: a crafty schemer, who knew Breck’s house from the inside.

Whether one or two were involved, the man upon whom The Shadow must concentrate was the schemer who had replaced the gun. Yet The Shadow was missing no point. Roughly, he specified the time interval:

A soft, whispered laugh as the written thoughts vanished. The Shadow resumed his deductions with a new phrase:

This referred to the chief criminal concerned. The Shadow was considering the matter of the pistol. Whoever had replaced it had most certainly visited Grantham Breck by that side door. The two must have been good friends. Otherwise, the lawyer would not have shown the visitor the hiding place where he kept the Luger. Johanna had been the only other person to see the pistol. Old Breck had shown it to her by coincidence.

Words and the pistol were both before The Shadow’s burning gaze. Again the soft laugh whispered. There must be some definite reason why Grantham Breck had brought the weapon from its hiding place to let his secret visitor examine it. The Shadow had the answer.

Crime had been brewing. Grantham Breck and his visitor had been hatching misdeeds between them. Figuring ways and means, the old lawyer had produced the Luger pistol. It had been an inspiration. Then murder had intervened. The Shadow had the reason for it:

GRANTHAM BRECK had not played fair. It was plain that he had been working with some man of crime. The lawyer should have stayed indoors. The period of the visit had been followed by Grantham Breck’s new habit of sneaking out at nights.

Why should the lawyer have jeopardized his position by becoming a prowler? He had been visited by a crook. This man had minions. The answer was obvious. During a lull that had followed the visits, the old lawyer had started out on his own. The crook was watching. He had brought in thugs to aid him. Grantham Breck had been intercepted on his way up the hill. He had received the crook’s answer to a double-crosser: death.

Swag. The Shadow knew that answer. Tim Forey’s chance remarks had been illuminating. Some crook knew that the wealth of the Dobbin gang was buried hereabouts. It must be on the hill, in the property that Ezekiel Twinton had purchased.

Hence Grantham Breck’s offer to buy that land. A New York lawyer who had dealt with crooks, Grantham Breck had been approached by some member of the evil fraternity. Had he bought the property, the hidden spoils could have been easily regained. Failing in that, Grantham Breck had advised the crook to bring in a crew — or perhaps the crook himself had suggested that plan.

Again the laugh. The Shadow was linking all this with the Luger pistol. He could see Grantham Breck as an advisor, as canny in plans of crime as he had been when facing juries. One more written thought concluded The Shadow’s chain. His hand wrote two words:

The crook had brought in his crew. That meant that the time to move had been approaching. But instead of going after the swag, Grantham Breck had been slain. Perhaps the mob had been brought early, on the lawyer’s account. If so, it was proof that Grantham Breck knew too much.

The move would be coming soon. The murder of the old lawyer had delayed it. The discovery of the Luger pistol might well mean another short delay. But the move would come; and it would be ordered by the master crook, the only one who must surely have remained on the ground.

The Shadow would wait. No need to strike until the move was made. But meanwhile, he would piece more facts. His silent investigations would continue.

The little light went out. The Luger was shifted back into the drawer. A swish; the drawer closed. Half a minute later, the window was silently lowered.

The Shadow had listened. He had made his deductions. Forgetting nothing in the past or present, the unseen investigator blended with the night.