Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER XIII THE SECOND BULLET

THE next afternoon found Sheriff Tim Forey in his office. Two men were with him, One was Norman Trobers, the county prosecutor. The other was Harry Vincent. Tim Forey was discussing murder on the hill.

“Two fools!” exclaimed the sheriff. “Dunmore and that Chink cook. They had no telephone; so they kept watch over that body until morning. Then they got word in to me — hours after Ezekiel Twinton was murdered.”

“No evidence, then?” inquired Trobers.

“No,” growled Forey. “That dry ground left no footprints. I figure Ezekiel Twinton put up a fight; then he was shot dead. The same as with Grantham Breck. Only Twinton was shot in the back.

“I’ve got the bullet” — Forey produced a slug from the desk drawer — “and I won’t have to send it into New York. The expert is due here this afternoon. Maybe he can tell something about it.”

Forey dropped the bullet back in the drawer. It clanked alongside the Luger. The sheriff rested back in his chair and spoke again.

“I brought Vincent in here on a pretext,” he explained to the prosecutor. “Since he found Grantham Breck’s body, it was natural that he should see Ezekiel Twinton’s corpse also. But the real reason I brought him in for was to talk about this butler, Craven. One of the deputies reported that the fellow was moving around last night.”

“Inside the house or outside?” quizzed Trobers.

“Inside, the deputy says,” replied Forey. “But he could have gone out as well. He might have been coming back when the deputy spotted him. Listen, Vincent, did you see or hear Craven go out of the house last night?”

“No,” responded Harry. “I heard the deputy challenge him in the hall. Craven gave his explanation about the back door being unbolted.”

“What about Elbert Breck?” questioned Trobers. “Do you think he could have sneaked out the back way, Vincent?”

“No,” replied Harry. “As a matter of fact, Elbert locked himself in his room for the night.”

The explanation sufficed. Harry said nothing more. He knew that he must preserve silence that he might aid The Shadow. Accusations of either Craven or Elbert would bring a definite quiz. Harry knew that he might be forced to declare his own actions of last night. That would end his usefulness by making him a possible suspect in the murder of Ezekiel Twinton.

“Here’s the way I figure it,” asserted Forey, in abrupt fashion. “Old Grantham Breck was a cagy sort. He had something up his sleeve. There was something fishy about him wanting to buy some of Twinton’s property. Well, Grantham Breck got bumped off, and somebody had a reason for doing it.

“Like as not the actual murderer cleared out. But somebody stuck around. Whoever did was prowling like Grantham Breck had done. This fellow ran into Twinton and killed him last night. Now who was the fellow?”

“Somebody who knew something about Grantham Breck’s affairs,” decided Trobers.

“You’ve hit it, prosecutor,” agreed Forey. “Well, there’s Craven. He was pretty faithful to old Grantham Breck. He knows the lawyer was acting funny. Maybe that’s all that Craven knows. But maybe he knows more.

“Then there’s young Elbert Breck. He was hanging out over in Laporte. Using an alias. He may have been snooping into his father’s affairs; on the contrary, he may have been trying to get back in the old man’s good graces. He’s a puzzle, too, Elbert is.

“But that’s not all. Maybe there was somebody on the outside. Somebody who had no business hereabouts. Some fellow who was in cahoots with Grantham Breck. That bird — if there is such a one — is still about. I’m looking for him; but I’ve got no clue to him.”

“The new bullet,” suggested Trobers.

“Yeah,” remarked Forey. “The other led us to the Luger pistol but that only mixed things up worse. Say — I wish that expert would show up.”

FOREY arose and began to pace the room. As if in answer to his impatience, there was a knock at the door. Forey opened it to admit a quiet-faced, middle-aged man who was carrying a heavy suitcase.

“Mr. Hubert?” questioned Forey. “In from New York?”

The arrival nodded. Forey introduced himself and shook hands. He followed by introducing the expert to the prosecutor and Harry Vincent.

“Before I have you examine the Luger gun,” declared Forey, “I’ve got another slug I want you to look at. There was a second murder here last night. Fellow named Ezekiel Twinton was killed up by his house on the hill.

“You have extracted the bullet from his body?”

“Here it is.”

Forey produced the slug from the desk drawer. The expert opened his bag, brought out a powerful microscope and laid the bullet upon a little piece of cloth. Moving over by the window, he started a preliminary examination which ended promptly. He laid the microscope on the desk.

“You’ve made a mistake, sheriff,” he announced, as he advanced with the bullet resting on the cloth.

“How come?” demanded Forey.

“I understood,” declared Hubert, “that the Luger pistol was in your possession.”

“That’s right.”

“Then you have given me the wrong bullet. This is the one that you sent to New York for examination.”

“Not at all.” Forey laughed gruffly as he reached into the desk drawer. “Here’s the slug that killed Grantham Breck. I kept it in this match box, so I’d know where it was.”

“Perhaps you made a slip,” put in the prosecutor. “Maybe you have given Mr. Hubert the wrong bullet.”

“No, no,” protested Forey. “This is the slug that came from old Breck’s body—”

“Let me see it,” suggested Hubert.

Forey handed over the bullet. The expert placed it beside the one that he already held. His forehead showed a wrinkled frown. He picked up the microscope. His examination was brief. He turned to the sheriff.

“You were right, Sheriff,” he declared. “This bullet from the match box is the one that I examined previously. But that is not all. This second bullet—”

He paused and stared into the opened drawer of the desk. He saw the Luger pistol and directed an inquiring stare toward Forey.

“Is that the pistol?” inquired Hubert.

“Sure,” responded Forey. “One shot fired. I’ve kept it right here ever since we found it.”

“I must examine it—”

“Wait a minute! How about that bullet that killed Twinton?”

“This second bullet,” declared the expert, in a serious tone, “is the reason why I must examine the pistol itself. If it is the weapon that fired the first bullet—”

“What then?”

“It will be the pistol that discharged the second bullet also. These bullets” — Hubert was holding his hand flat and moving it up and down — “are not only of the same Luger caliber. They are identical in markings. Each was discharged from a Luger. Each came from the same Luger.”

SHERIFF FOREY gaped. The expert was nodding solemnly. With a gruff ejaculation, Forey reached in the desk drawer and pulled out the pistol that he had found in Grantham Breck’s study. He opened the weapon. He did not need the expert to certify what he saw.

“By George!” exclaimed Forey. “Someone has got at this gun. There’s a second cartridge missing! You are right, Mr. Hubert! Prosecutor” — Forey shook his head — “we’re up against a mighty clever murderer. He used this gun to kill Twinton like he did old Breck!”

The prosecutor was on his feet. He pointed to the window at the side of the office. He stepped over and jiggled the broken catch. Tim Forey emitted a growl.

“That’s it,” he decided. “Say — have I been dumb. That killer was looking for trouble last night. But he didn’t want us to get wise to him. He knew the Luger has us puzzled. So he sneaked in here and armed himself with it.

“That side street is black as pitch at night. Anybody could sneak into town without being seen. After he took the gun and killed Twinton, the guy came back. Left the Luger here just to make a sap of me — to have us doing some more blind guessing.

“It wouldn’t take a smart gazebo to pull that stunt. But the clever part was the idea. We’re as bad off as we were before. Humph. The guy did it neat. No traces here in the office. Well, prosecutor, you’ll have to keep the evidence in your safe from now on.”

“How soon could the man have gotten here after the murder?” inquired Trobers. “I presume that he would have returned promptly with the gun.”

“Well,” mused Forey, “by cutting across lots, he could have passed the Breck house inside of ten minutes. Fifteen more would have got him to the top of the hill, I reckon. He could have made as good time — maybe better — coming back.”

“You don’t think—”

“I’m thinking nothing, prosecutor. Not until Mr. Hubert has examined this Luger gun. But I guess it’s a sure bet that this pistol fired those bullets.”

Harry Vincent was pondering as he drove back along the devious road to Elbert Breck’s home. He was considering the travel time, by foot, between Breck’s and the sheriff’s office. Ten minutes each way — twenty altogether. Harry began to see a possible reason for the late returns of Craven and Elbert Breck. But there his thoughts divided. He would prepare a report; the rest would remain with The Shadow.

Harry Vincent did not know that The Shadow, last night, had found evidence to prove that someone other than Elbert and Craven could have been up the hill and back into the town. The Shadow was watching events outside of Breck’s house. To Harry belonged the task of checking those within.

The vital point of Harry’s report would be the news that the second bullet was fired from the Luger pistol. That, to The Shadow, would mean more than even Harry Vincent supposed.