Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER VIII CORPUS DELICTI

“HELLO, bloodhound,” greeted Hoyler, from the baggage-room door. “When did you drop in?”

“Just now,” responded Nubin, gruffly. “Climbed off the Union Limited.”

“Riding in style, eh?” laughed the station agent. “I suppose you pulled the trick stuff again. Nobody knew you were aboard.”

“Right,” responded Nubin. “If any mug can prove I was on that train, I’ll hand him a ten spot.”

There was a touch of irony in this statement; one that The Shadow appreciated even though Zach Hoyler did not. The Shadow had learned the reason for Nubin’s hasty progress along the track. He knew that the detective had been prowling the fields near the Breck house. He also understood that Nubin wanted to create the definite impression that he had just arrived in the vicinity of Chanburg.

“What’s the idea this trip?” questioned Hoyler, while he lugged boxes into the baggage room. “Going to pull a search for that missing body?”

“Let the hicks look for it,” growled Nubin. “Just the same, that’s why I’m here. Making a routine check-up, that’s all. Guess you can tell me all I need to know.”

“That’s a real satisfaction,” stated Hoyler, grinning as he locked the door of the baggage room. “Any time anybody can tell you anything, it’s an event to remember.”

“Lay off the sarcasm. This is railroad business. I want to know about that search this afternoon.”

“Better talk to the sheriff. I’ve been anchored here ever since early in the afternoon.”

“I’m not worrying about the sheriff. I’m interested in railroad property. Did those yahoos come messing around the right of way?”

“I don’t think so.” Hoyler shook his head. “Some of them walked in along the tracks, but they looked like they were quitting the search.”

“What did they have to say?”

“Nothing that concerned the railroad. But they had a good idea whose body they were looking for.”

“Whose?”

“Grantham Breck’s.”

PERRY NUBIN cocked his head a trifle as he heard the station agent’s statement. His face, however, betrayed no surprise. The Shadow could study the detective’s heavy visage plainly from the bush.

“I thought the body was unidentified,” declared the railroad dick.

“So did I,” responded the station agent. “But the sheriff let the word slip out. Old Breck hasn’t been seen since last night. The body answered his description. So they’re looking for him.”

“Humph,” grunted Nubin. “Well, that don’t mean anything to me. I just wanted to know if there was any chance of the sheriff starting an argument with the Union Valley.”

“How could that come about?”

“Well” — the dick was speculative — “he might have figured that some hoboes had dropped off a freight and caused the trouble. That would make him figure that they went out of town the way they came.”

“Have you seen any bums along the line?” asked the agent.

“No,” replied Nubin, “but that’s why I’m asking you. I can’t watch this whole division all the time.”

“I haven’t seen any bums,” declared Hoyler, “but that doesn’t mean there’s none around. They wouldn’t walk into the station to buy a ticket or check their baggage. That’s a cinch.”

“Wise-cracking again, eh?” Nubin snorted the question. “Say, Hoyler, I know the ways of hoboes better than you do. I know they’d duck off through the woods when they came near a station. Of course you wouldn’t see any of them around.

“But those yap deputies might. Or they might figure there’d been some bums around. If they did, you’d be the first fellow they’d talk to. That’s why I’m asking what you heard.”

“No mention of any hoboes,” stated Hoyler, emphatically. “If there had been, you would have been here on an earlier train than the Limited.”

“How come?”

“Because I would have tapped the information through. I’m working for the Union Valley, too. I would have wired the word to the chief. He would have sent you down here on his own hook.”

“You’ve got more brains than I thought, Hoyler. Well, I guess there wasn’t any use in my coming here after all. I’ll go out on the Dairy Express. But don’t say anything about it to the train crew.”

“Some more smart stuff, Nubin? Say — you’re the wisest dick that ever worked on this road. Where are you going to hop on?”

“Same place as usual, I guess. B and R crossing. I’ll get aboard when the train comes through. So keep your mouth shut.”

“All right, Nubin. But you’d better start hoofing it if you expect to be there in time.”

With this admonition, Zach Hoyler went back into the station. Perry Nubin strolled about until he heard the clicking of the telegraph key. Then he sidled off into the darkness of the tracks. The Shadow watched until the green glow of a signal light showed a momentary glimpse of the chunky form. Then The Shadow followed.

The railroad dick was walking back in the direction of the shack. But he did not go that far. Instead, he scraped down the embankment and headed across fields. His course led toward the Breck mansion. It was slow and cautious; Nubin seemed to be in no hurry. In fact, the whistle and clatter of the Dairy Express was already audible when the dick reached his destination.

This was the third spot that The Shadow had intended to visit. The presence of Perry Nubin had caused a change in his plans. By the darkened side of the house, The Shadow waited. At intervals, he could hear Nubin’s cautious prowling. Only the keen ears of The Shadow could have detected the sound, for Nubin was well away from the house.

HOURS passed. The clear starlight presaged an early dawn. Yet Perry Nubin kept up his vigil. He chose new spots more distant from the house; yet all the while he watched. During this period, The Shadow waited, unseen. Though time was shortening, he could afford to lose it. His business here was too important to neglect; and it had to wait until the railroad dick departed.

At last there were no more signs of Nubin. The Shadow sensed that the detective had left. Moving silently from the cover of the house, The Shadow glided to the rear and approached the square outline of the closed smoke house. This was the third tiny block that had appeared upon his map.

The glimmer of the little flashlight shone upon the massive padlock that guarded the smokehouse door. No search had been made in this building, because the lock itself gave evidence that the building had not been entered. The Shadow had learned this fact from Harry Vincent. But The Shadow’s opinion concerning the locked door was different from the one that had entered the mind of Sheriff Tim Forey.

Indeed, the whispered laugh that sounded in the darkness was evidence of definite knowledge. The Shadow knew that the sheriff had overlooked a simple possibility; yet one on which new facts of crime were hinged. The Shadow had left details in the hands of the law. The law, represented by Forey, had failed in its quest.

A blackened pick of steel probed the padlock. After a short while, a click sounded. The lock snapped open. The Shadow removed it; softly, he opened the door of the smoke house, entered, and closed the door behind him.

MANY minutes passed before The Shadow’s figure reappeared. A black-gloved hand snapped the padlock back in place. The Shadow moved toward the house. His flashlight glimmered along the ground. A whisper sounded as The Shadow found an object that would suit his next purpose. It was a small hand-sledge that lay with other rusted tools on the little back porch by the kitchen.

Dawn would soon be due. The last period of darkness was suited to The Shadow’s next purpose. Without using his flashlight, The Shadow returned to the smoke house. There, he relinquished his usual mode of silence. The Shadow had brought the sledge with him. Swinging it through the darkness, he pounded fiercely upon the steel door, aiming haphazard for the big padlock.

Crash! As The Shadow’s strokes continued, lights began to blaze in the Breck house. Windows came open. Excited shouts sounded from within. With two final strokes, The Shadow used precision in the darkness. These blows sufficed to completely shatter the padlock.

Hurling the sledge to the ground, The Shadow swung off past the smoke house, heading for the rear fence. But as he rounded the final corner, a stocky figure came hurtling upon him from the darkness. The Shadow swirled just as heavy, hamlike hands caught him by the throat.

Wrestling free, The Shadow grappled with a powerful foe who emitted incoherent roars. Doors were clattering from the house. Men’s voices shouted as flashlights began to blaze. The Shadow’s enemy gave a hoarse shout. It was triumphant, for the black-cloaked form was slumping downward.

“I got him! I got—”

The man’s cry ended as The Shadow’s back shot upward like a spring. Clawing nothingness, the fellow went hurtling head foremost over The Shadow’s shoulders. He thudded heavily upon the dried ground and rolled along the tufted grass. Swiftly, The Shadow swept away into the darkness. His figure merged with the blackness beyond the fence.

HARRY VINCENT was the first to spy the form of The Shadow’s overpowered adversary. Harry’s flashlight showed the fellow lying face downward. Elbert Breck arrived; then Craven. While the servant held the light, Harry gripped the prone man’s shoulders. The fellow mumbled; he came to a sitting posture. Harry saw the dull face of a yokel. Craven uttered an exclamation.

“It’s Hiram!” declared the servant.

“Who is Hiram?” questioned Harry.

“The lad who works about the place,” explained Craven. “He always gets here just about dawn, sir. A dullard, but faithful and as powerful as a bull. I am amazed, sir, that he was so promptly whipped in the struggle.”

Slight streaks of dawn were appearing as Craven spoke. Harry Vincent recalled that he had reported no mention of Hiram to The Shadow. Harry realized who the yokel’s adversary had been. Then Harry’s thoughts turned to the present. Hiram, propped against the back corner of the smoke house, was beginning to talk.

“I heard him,” asserted the rustic. “Bang — bang — that’s the way he was goin’ — right at the smokehouse door. I knowed he’d come this way. I can rassle, I can. So I grabbed him, by heck.”

“Are you hurt, Hiram?” inquired Craven.

“Nah,” responded the hired man. “Might have been, though, if I’d bumped a rock. Say — I wisht I knowed the rassling holt that feller used. Picked me up like this” — Hiram swooped his arms upward — “and heaved me, he did. Then he run away.”

“Which direction?” inquired Elbert Breck.

“How’d I know?” retorted Hiram. “I was layin’ kinda foolish like, with all the wind knocked out of me.”

Elbert stared off toward the fence. Though the sky was lightening, the ground was still hopelessly dark. Pursuit was impossible; Harry Vincent promptly killed all thoughts of it.

“I heard the hammering on the smokehouse door,” declared Harry. “Hiram says someone was trying to get in there. I thought I heard the lock smash. Suppose we look and see what happened.”

“We should aid Hiram first, sir,” put in Craven. “Perhaps we should help him to the house.”

“A good idea,” chimed Elbert. “Come on, Vincent, give me a lift with him.”

“I can walk,” protested Hiram, as Harry and Elbert aided him to his feet. “Leave me use my own legs.”

“Take it easy,” ordered Elbert.

“That’s right, Hiram,” added Craven, who was leading the way with the light. “Do as young Mr. Breck orders. He is the master here at present.”

Hiram showed no ill effects from his struggle. By the time they reached the living room and propped him on the couch, his face was wearing a sour look.

“I want to go back to the smoke house,” he complained. “I tell you, the feller was trying to get in there. Leave me go—”

A motor came to a stop out front. Then a clang of the door bell. Craven looked worried; then went to answer the call. Sheriff Tim Forey stamped into the living room.

“That cook of yours called me on the phone,” stated Forey. “Where is she? What’s up?”

“Here I am, sheriff.” Adele appeared in dressing gown from the stairway. “There was a terrible noise out back. Someone smashing at the smokehouse door. The men rushed out; I called you on the telephone—”

“What happened out there?” quizzed Forey.

“Hiram encountered someone,” replied Harry. “He thinks the person was trying to break into the smoke house.”

“Let’s get out there!” barked Forey. “Come along. All of you!”

THE outline of the smoke house was plain when they arrived outside. The sheriff was the first to near the door. He tripped over the hand-sledge and picked it up. He noted big dents in the steel door; then observed the shattered lock.

“The fellow smashed things right,” growled Forey. “But he didn’t get in. Leastwise I don’t think so. The hasp is still on the staple. Looks like he was mighty anxious to get in, the way he hammered at the door. I wonder what his idea was.”

Prying the hasp free, the sheriff drew back the steel door. The interior of the smoke house was totally black. Forey stepped over the threshold and turned on his flashlight while the others peered in through the door.

A sharp word came from the sheriff’s lips; Craven uttered a startled cry; while Elbert Breck delivered a choking gasp. The flashlight had illuminated the entire floor. Its rays were revealing a huddled object in the center of the smoke house.

Face upward was the body that Harry Vincent had discovered in the road. The Shadow’s agent recognized the thin countenance with its gray hair. This was the corpse for which the sheriff’s posse had been searching. It remained only for Forey, himself, to give the statement of identity.

“Grantham Breck,” declared the sheriff, solemnly. “You gave us the right start, Vincent. This is the dead man you saw in the road.”

Elbert Breck was slumping by the door. Craven, his face ashen in the dawn, was quavering as he sought to aid his new master. This time it was Hiram who came to aid. He caught Elbert by one arm; Harry Vincent took the other.

Elbert was choking with convulsive sobs. Craven was shaking as he faltered ahead to open the back door of the house. They reached the living room; there Elbert slumped upon the couch, while Craven stood beside him.

Harry Vincent went out again, to report to Sheriff Forey at the smoke house. He was thinking of what Forey had said; that he — Harry — had been right about the body. But Harry Vincent also knew that he was right about something else. The proof was coming in the form of a distant sound off by the hill. It was the thrumming motor of The Shadow’s autogiro.

Harry knew the truth. That fading sound marked The Shadow’s departure. But before he left, rising into the haze of dawn, The Shadow had performed his task. He had located the hiding place where the body of Grantham Breck was lying. He had deliberately paved the way to the discovery of the missing victim.