Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER VI NEW PERSONS ENTER

LATE the next afternoon, Harry Vincent’s coupe pulled up at an old house on the hill. Harry had followed the road at Sheriff Forey’s guidance. The approach to the house had required a considerable detour. This house was the home of Ezekiel Twinton. After Harry and Forey alighted, the sheriff rang the bell.

An old, quavering servant answered the door. He ushered the visitors into a small parlor. A few minutes later, a dry-faced, crabby man entered. Harry placed his age as between fifty and sixty. This man was Ezekiel Twinton. He nodded to Forey; gave a curt greeting when introduced to Harry; then sat down.

“I suppose you know what’s up, Mr. Twinton,” opened Forey. “We’ve been searching all over the hillside for the body of a murdered man.”

“I saw the searching parties,” crackled Twinton, “but I did not learn their purpose. I sent Dunmore out to inquire, but the poor fellow is nearly stone deaf. He came back with a very imperfect idea of what was going on.”

“You’ve still got the chink servant, haven’t you?” inquired Forey.

“Yes,” replied Twinton. “Lang Sook, my Chinese cook. But he is as hopeless as Dunmore. Lank Sook cannot understand English; Dunmore cannot hear.”

“He answered the door quick enough,” observed Forey.

“He does that,” remarked Twinton, with a nod. “He seems somehow to detect the vibration of the door bell. But you can shout in his ear without him hearing you. However, the house is well guarded. I have hounds and Great Danes chained about the place after dark. They are sufficient to frighten dangerous intruders. I shall be watchful from now on, since you have found a dead man near here. Where was the body?”

“In the road on the side hill.”

“Off my property. Well, that is a good point. Nevertheless, Forey, I have told you that prowlers have been about. Perhaps this man was one of them.”

“I don’t think so?”

“Why not?”

“Because we have an idea who the dead man was. Mr. Vincent discovered the body; it was gone when I came to the place. But we feel pretty sure of the fellow’s identity.”

“Someone from the town?”

“A bit closer. Grantham Breck.”

Ezekiel Twinton stared in horror. His lips opened; then formed a gasp. This revelation seemed to strike him with pangs of terror. Forey proceeded.

“I was busy most of the day,” explained the sheriff. “I couldn’t get up here as soon as I had hoped. I had an idea that perhaps Breck had come up here to see you.”

“No.” Ezekiel Twinton was emphatic in his reply. “Breck and I have not visited each other since I flatly refused to sell any of my property to him.”

“He wanted to buy the house, didn’t he?”

“Not exactly. He said that he would be willing to purchase the entire estate. But he chiefly wanted the portion that was once the old Pastely farm. Come. I shall show you. My! This is terrible news, Forey.”

TWINTON led the way through the kitchen. Standing on a broad porch, he pointed along the brow of the hill. A few battered fence posts marked what had once been a dividing line. Just beyond was a low, flat building built of stone. It was scarcely more than five feet high.

“The old spring house,” declared Twinton. “It was abandoned after the farm buildings burned. That was before I bought any of this property. After I took over this house, five years ago, I bought the old farm also.”

“When did Grantham Breck offer to buy it?”

“He made his final offer about a month ago. He insisted that he must have a house on the hill. I told him I wanted no neighbors within view. I added that he could buy houses on other hills hereabouts; that he would be a fool to build a new one. Somehow he seemed set upon rebuilding on the site of the old Pastely farmhouse.”

“That’s about a hundred yards past the fence line, isn’t it?”

“Less than that. Fifty yards, I should say. I filled in the old cellar so no one would fall in it. I left the spring house closed. But tell me more concerning Grantham Breck” — Twinton paused quizzically — “and how he happened to be wandering along the hill road.”

“Breck seems to have been going out at nights,” declared Forey. “The servants were sort of mysterious about it until we pinned them down. They finally admitted that Breck used a little side door that led to his study.”

“I know the door,” observed Twinton, nodding. “Breck showed it to me. I used to visit him occasionally before we came to loggerheads about the property sale.”

“What is more,” stated Forey, “we learned that people have come in and out that door within the past month.”

“Secret visitors?” inquired Twinton.

“Yes,” responded Forey. “We are anxious to know who they might be.”

“I might name one for you,” stated Twinton, in a casual tone.

“Who?” demanded Forey, quickly.

“Young Elbert Breck,” replied Twinton.

Dusk was nearing and it was gloomy under the projecting roof of the porch. Yet Harry Vincent could distinctly see the expression that flickered over the face of Sheriff Tim Forey. Ezekiel Twinton was watching it, too. The owner of the hill house smiled sarcastically as he made his next statement.

“Young Breck does not know that he had been seen hereabouts,” remarked Twinton. “I chanced to see him over in Laporte, about a month ago. He was registered at a hotel, under the name of Elwood Turner.”

“How did you learn that?” demanded Forey.

“I inquired at the hotel,” replied Twinton. “I knew the clerk well. I told him to keep check on his falsely registered guest. I was in Laporte yesterday afternoon, Forey. Elbert Breck was still staying there.”

“Elbert Breck,” mused the sheriff. “Grantham’s only son. In wrong with the old man. He deserved to be, too. Squandered money, got himself in trouble. I thought maybe the kid had landed in jail by this time.”

“He was not quite that bad, Forey,” put in Twinton, with a charitable chuckle. “Perhaps he was here to regain his father’s confidence. As I said before, he visited his father secretly. Late one afternoon I was driving by Breck’s house. I saw young Elbert entering that side door.”

“Humph,” grunted Sheriff Forey. “Thanks for this information, Twinton. Well, if you notice any prowlers around, give me a prompt call. Come on, Vincent. We’ll walk around to the front.”

Harry was staring across the lawn as he heard the sheriff speak. Over beyond the fence, close by the darkening side of the spring house, he had fancied that he had seen the outline of a moving shape. The impression faded as Harry gazed. As he walked along with Tim Forey, The Shadow’s agent smiled.

Only one person — to Harry’s knowledge — could have approached so close to Twinton’s house while daylight still persisted. That being was The Shadow. Harry already knew that his mysterious chief was in the vicinity. The absence of the report was proof of that. But now the agent knew that The Shadow was already deep in his investigation about the scene of crime.

HARRY and Forey drove along the roundabout way to the Breck house. Gloaming had set in; yet the twilight still gave Harry the complete view of the Breck estate that he had gained during the morning. Off to one side of the house was an old barn; Forey’s searchers had searched it today. Farther away was a stone smokehouse; a square, windowless building with a tiny chimney in the top. Its steel door was fastened with a massive padlock. The searchers had therefore ignored it.

As they pulled up in front of the house, one of the deputies appeared. He beckoned hastily. Forey clambered from the coupe and approached on the run. The deputy put a quick question.

“Say, Tim,” he said to the sheriff. “Take a guess — who do you think blew in while you were up at Twinton’s?”

“Save the riddles for the next barn dance,” growled Forey. “I’ll answer this one just the same. Elbert Breck.”

“Say-y” — the deputy paused with mouth agape. “How’d you figure—”

“Just forget it,” snapped Forey. “Where’s young Breck?”

“In the living room.”

Forey beckoned to Harry. Together, they entered the house. Floor lamps were lighted in the living room; stretched in an easy chair was a young man, smoking a cigarette. He sprang to his feet as the newcomers entered. Harry Vincent stopped short. He saw a distinct facial resemblance between this arrival and the dead man whom he had discovered on the hill road.

“Hello, sheriff,” greeted Elbert Breck, in a troubled tone. “Is this true — what I read — about my father—”

“What you read?” inquired Forey.

“Yes,” replied Elbert, shifting his gaze. “In the New York newspaper. I was in New York this morning. Reading a newspaper. It said a search was being made for the body of Grantham Breck.”

“Got the newspaper with you?”

“I–I guess I left it on the train. I was so worried, I came here right away. Is — is this the chap who saw the body up on the hill road?”

“Yes.” Forey introduced Harry. “Vincent here thinks it must have been your father; but the body was gone when I came to investigate.”

“I’m sure that the body was that of Grantham Breck,” said Harry, solemnly. “I can see the resemblance between the dead man and his son.”

Elbert Breck succumbed. Dropping in his chair, he buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook from the effect of convulsive sobs. Harry and Forey stood by while the young man managed to overpower his emotions. Elbert Breck stared upward. His countenance was haggard.

“We — we didn’t get along, father and I,” gulped Elbert. “But when I first — when I first learned of his reported death, it — well, it broke me up. I’m his only heir — but that doesn’t mean anything. He was my dad. I — well, I was to blame for our misunderstandings. This — this has changed me, sheriff. I mean it. I mean it.”

There was something pathetic in Elbert’s speech. It won Harry Vincent’s sympathy. Even gruff Tim Forey softened sufficiently to clap his hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“We’re investigating, kid,” said the sheriff. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. You stay right here. It’s your father’s house — yours now — and leave the rest to me.”

“All right, sheriff.”

“I’ve got Vincent staying here. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have learned anything. I want him to stay on—”

“As long as he wants.” Elbert arose and gripped Harry’s hand. There was a surprising firmness in his grasp. “You’re my friend already, Vincent. You’re white — that’s all.”

The effort seemed to overcome Elbert Breck. Subsiding, the young man dropped back into his chair. He rested his head on one hand and stared toward the floor. His face was melancholy.

“I’m going down town,” remarked Sheriff Forey. “Come along, Vincent, while I scare up those deputies. I’m taking them with me — rather, I’m going with them in their car.”

They left Elbert Breck.

THE moment they were outside the front door, Forey gripped Harry’s arm. The sheriff spoke in a low, tense tone.

“Elbert is lying,” he informed. “His story doesn’t click. No mention of his father’s death could possibly have reached the New York newspapers this morning. Elbert wasn’t in New York. Ezekiel Twinton was right. Elbert was staying over in Laporte.”

“How did he hear the story there?” inquired Harry, in a whisper.

“On account of the searching party,” stated Forey. “I told them who they were looking for. You know how news leaks out. Wait a minute, though. I’m telling you how Elbert could have learned of his father’s death — one way that he could have learned. There’s another way.”

“You mean—”

“That Elbert might have known it last night. Learned it here — not in Laporte. Listen, Vincent, I’m suspecting nobody; yet everybody. I’ve even had you on the list.”

“I thought so,” chuckled Harry.

“But you’re off it now,” assured Forey. “What’s more, I’m going to prove it to you. I’m leaving you here alone. I want you to make friends with Elbert Breck.”

“I think I can do that,” declared Harry.

“I know you can,” stated Forey, emphatically. “This much is certain. Elbert is trying to get a line on what’s happening, or he wouldn’t have shown up so promptly. If I stay here; if I leave deputies, he’ll know that I’m suspicious.”

“You might explain that you were watching Craven.”

“That would only be a halfway measure. It’s a sure bet that Elbert will stick around so long as he thinks he’s clear. That’s why I’m going to depend on you for a while. Are you game?”

“I am.”

Harry received the sheriff’s bonecracking hand clasp. Turning on his heel, Forey called to the deputy. The two entered a touring car and started back to town. Harry Vincent stood pondering.

STRANGE events had crossed his path. Out of a clear sky, Harry had discovered death and mystery. The result: he was playing two parts, both leading to the same goal. He had become the secret agent of the law as well as the secret agent of The Shadow.

The Shadow! As Harry stood in the gathering darkness, he wondered what The Shadow’s next step might be toward the solution of the strange problem that involved the murder of Grantham Breck and the disappearance of the dead man’s body. While Harry pondered, the answer came. With an uncanny closeness that made Harry quiver, a whispered voice spoke a single word from the darkness close beside him.

“Report!”

The Shadow! The master of darkness had come here from Twinton’s! He wanted to know what his agent had learned. Steadily, in a low monotone, Harry recited the conversation that had passed at Twinton’s. He followed with an account of the interview between Elbert Breck and Sheriff Tim Forey.

All the while, Harry stared straight ahead. He did not see The Shadow; he did not see his chief; but he felt a distinct impression of The Shadow’s veiled, yet dynamic presence. In conclusion, Harry began to recite his own speech here with Forey, here outside the house. It was then that a hissed interruption sounded.

“Report received.”

Almost immediately afterward, Harry sensed that he stood alone. He realized that The Shadow had listened in on his talk with Forey; that The Shadow had required only the missing details. Harry knew that The Shadow had departed. This meant that his chief wanted him to carry on until he received new instructions.

Turning, Harry Vincent went back into the house. He was ready to play the game; to be friendly with Elbert Breck, yet to keep close watch upon the young man’s actions. He knew that Sheriff Forey had reached a standstill; yet he was confident that new developments would come. The Shadow was at work.

Off beyond the dimly lighted house, a strange, shrouded figure was gliding through the gathering darkness. Harry Vincent had divined correctly. The Shadow had bided his time throughout the day; now, with darkness his habitation, the master of the night was ready to resume.

A whispered laugh stirred up vague echoes. That throbbing mirth was foreboding. Before this night was ended, The Shadow would produce evidence that others had failed to gain.