Doom On The Hill

CHAPTER IX THE SHADOW’S RETURN

FIVE days had passed since the finding of the body in the smoke house. During that period, Harry had kept in communication with The Shadow. He had done this by letter and by occasional telegrams to Rutledge Mann. Through wires that referred to securities and real estate had enabled Harry to relay coded points of information to The Shadow.

The county coroner had classed Grantham Breck’s death as murder. Tim Forey had insisted that Harry Vincent remain in Chanburg. Harry had made no objection. Hence he was still a guest of Elbert Breck.

Moreover, Harry was still holding the sheriff’s confidence. Forey and deputies appeared occasionally at the house; but Harry was the secret watcher delegated to keep tabs on any doings there. This duty was becoming troublesome.

On two nights, Harry had heard Elbert Breck creep downstairs from his room. He had heard the young man go out of the house. He had timed the intervals of Elbert’s absence. On both occasions, the heir had been gone for more than one hour.

Craven, too. The butler was crafty as well as taciturn. Only once had Harry noted action on his part; that was when he had heard Craven coming up the stairs. Though he had no proof that the servant had gone out doors, Harry suspected that such had been the case.

Harry had not reported these occurrences to Tim Forey; but he had sent word of them to The Shadow. One point upon which Harry was convinced: there was no collusion between young Breck and the butler. During the day; at dinner — in fact, whenever occasion offered the opportunity — Harry had looked for signs of some secret conference between them. He had observed none.

On this particular evening Harry was seated in the living room with Elbert Breck. Off and on, Elbert had shown signs of talkativeness; but he had always swung into a nervous silence. Harry had made no effort to lead him on, and this policy was bringing results. Of a sudden, Elbert began to speak.

“Father’s death has troubled me terribly,” began the lawyer’s son. “Something must be done about it, Harry. New clues must be uncovered. I can stand this delay no longer.”

“We are liable to hear from Forey tonight,” remarked Harry. “After the bullet was extracted from the body, he sent it to New York. Experts are examining it.”

“Do you really think they can learn anything?” questioned Elbert. “From the bullet I mean? Could the killer’s gun be identified?”

“Positively,” declared Harry. “Of course, they will have to find the gun. The bullet, however, may tell them the make of the weapon. That will be one clue.”

“But I have no faith in Forey,” blurted Elbert. “He passed up the most obvious place to search for father’s body.”

“The smoke house? Yes, we realized after the body was found that the search should have begun there. But I must confess it never occurred to me that the body would be hidden there.”

“I must admit that I was confused also. But Forey should have thought of it in the beginning. Father naturally had the key to that padlock. The murderer would have found it with his other keys. That was why he unlocked the smoke house, put the body inside and closed the padlock afterward. Forey suddenly realized that after the body was found. Funny nobody thought of it before.”

Harry Vincent smiled. He knew someone who had deducted the murderer’s simple action. The Shadow. He had picked the smoke house as the place to find the body.

HARRY realized that the art of deduction included many points that seemed absurdly simple once results had been produced. He also knew that not one of all Forey’s searchers — nor even Harry himself — had struck upon the logical idea which The Shadow had gained.

“Do you know,” continued Elbert, “if the keys had still been on my father’s body, I think Forey would have continued to be puzzled. But he was so worried about the side door of this house that the first thing he looked for was the key-ring.”

“I know,” laughed Harry. “He shouted out that the keys were missing. Not in any pocket. Then all of a sudden he said: ‘Say — that’s how the murderer fooled us. Took the keys and unlocked the door of the smoke house.’ Then he kicked himself for not thinking of it before.”

“Why do you think Forey put new locks on all the doors of this house?” questioned Elbert, suddenly. “Do you think he figured the murderer would be coming back?”

“Perhaps,” answered Harry. “He has your father’s keys, you know.”

“Then there’s that prowler,” mused Elbert. “The fellow who smashed the padlock on the smokehouse door. He couldn’t have been the murderer. He would have unlocked the padlock — unless he had lost the keys or thrown them away.”

Again, Harry smiled. He knew well why the padlock had been broken. More than that, he was sure that The Shadow had first managed to open the lock and make sure that the body was within the smoke house.

“Harry,” said Elbert, in a confiding tone, “there’s something I want to tell you. I–I believe that Forey suspects me of complicity in my father’s death.

“How so?” queried Harry, in feigned surprise.

“Because father and I were at odds,” responded Elbert. “What is more, I want to tell you something — something that is not to be passed along to Sheriff Forey—”

“I understand. You can talk, Elbert.”

“I–I was not in New York when I heard the rumor of my father’s death. I was in Laporte. I–I had seen my father only a week before. Here, in this house. I came through that side door. He — my father — admitted me.”

Elbert gazed toward Harry as he spoke. The heir’s gaze was half shrewd, half nervous. Harry’s response was a quizzical look; but there was nothing suspicious in the manner of The Shadow’s agent.

“I needed money,” explained Elbert. “To pay off debts. I promised my father that I would behave if he gave me one more chance.”

“What was his reply?”

“He — he turned me down at first. Then he gave me hope. He said that he might help me in a few weeks. I had a little money, so I stayed in Laporte.”

“Why didn’t you tell this to Forey?”

“I was afraid he wouldn’t believe me,” declared Elbert. “He might have decided that father promised me nothing. Forey, like everybody else around here, has a very poor notion regarding my integrity. But you — well, you have been a friend, Harry. Tell me — do you think I should make this statement to Forey?”

“Perhaps,” replied Harry, adopting a neutral attitude.

“I may do so later,” decided Elbert. “But for the present, I want you to say nothing—”

The young man broke off as Craven appeared from the stairway. The servant entered the living room and looked about in a critical manner. He seemed to think that the place was untidy, for he grumbled a bit to himself. He went back to the hall and began to shout for Johanna.

ELBERT had become a clam. Something in his manner indicated that he thought he had talked too much. Harry also had the suspicion that Elbert had been pumping him. Did the heir suspect that Forey knew he had been in Laporte? Perhaps; that certainly would account for Elbert’s confiding statements. He might well have been trying to make Harry betray what Forey had learned from Ezekiel Twinton.

Johanna arrived in the living room. She began to rearrange books upon a table. Then came the clang of the door bell. Craven answered it. Tim Forey strode in, followed by a stout man whom Harry had met two days ago: Norman Trobers, the county prosecutor.

Beckoning to Craven, the sheriff made the servant stand near where Harry Vincent and Elbert Breck were seated. Assuming an important pose, Forey made a statement:

“The bullet is back from New York. Here it is” — he produced the metal slug — “with photographs. This is going to help us a lot, Elbert.”

“Good,” declared young Breck.

“That’ll please you, too,” resumed the sheriff. “Eh, Craven?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied the servant. “I hope that the fiend who slew the master will be captured.”

“Well,” remarked Forey, pacing back and forth, “we’ve learned this much. The killer used an odd sort of a gun. Not many like it in this country — leastwise not hereabouts. Did any of you” — he spoke impersonally, but looked from Elbert to Craven, ignoring Harry — “ever hear of a Luger pistol?”

“No, sir,” replied Craven. “What was the name again?”

“A Luger.”

“Never, sir.”

“How about you, Elbert?”

“Certainly I’ve heard of Lugers,” declared Elbert. He was a bit pale. “I’ve seen them. German guns. I–I - well, I’m a bit surprised to learn that a Luger—”

As Elbert paused, there came an unexpected interruption. Johanna had heard the conversation. Elbert’s last mention of the name “Luger” brought her suddenly into the conference.

“Ach! Das Luger!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “Yah. I have remember. You want you should see it?”

“A Luger pistol?” queried Forey.

“Yah,” repeated the housekeeper. “Mr. Breck he one time say: ‘Johanna. This have come from the old country. Luger.’ Come with me. I show you where it is put. I have forgotten until this time right now.”

As Johanna walked from the room, Forey beckoned the others to follow. The housekeeper lead the way upstairs. She took the side passage and entered Grantham Breck’s study. She went to the end of a bookcase; there, the housekeeper removed a handful of books and pressed against the back. Something clicked; a little compartment opened.

Springing forward, Forey pushed Johanna to one side. Thrusting his hand in the aperture, the sheriff brought out an automatic pistol. Harry Vincent recognized at once that the gun was a Luger. All were tense while Forey made his examination. The sheriff was solemn as he turned to face the group.

“The caliber of this Luger,” declared Forey, “is different from that of an American gun. What is more, it is the caliber of the pistol which discharged the bullet through the heart of Grantham Breck.

“One shot has been fired from this pistol. I don’t need an expert to tell me the answer. Grantham Breck was killed by a shot that was fired from his own gun. What is more: the murderer came here and replaced the pistol afterward!”

Gasps of amazement. Harry Vincent was bewildered. He saw an astonished look upon Craven’s face. He observed Elbert Breck blink as he stared at the sheriff.

A short quiz followed. Elbert and Craven disclaimed all knowledge of the gun’s existence. Johanna was above suspicion, for she had revealed the hiding place. The woman said that she had seen Grantham Breck put the pistol in the special compartment of the bookcase. That was all.

BEFORE Sheriff Tim Forey left the Breck house, he summoned two deputies to come there. He had reason to keep them at the place since it was established that the murderer had been a visitor there. After the deputies arrived, Harry Vincent remarked that he would have to send a telegram to New York. The sheriff told him to drive over to the station in his coupe; that he would go also.

On the way, Forey talked a bit. The finding of the gun puzzled him. Yet it did not shake his confidence in Harry. Forey stated that he wanted Harry to be as observant as before. Their conversation ended when they reached the railroad station.

Harry sent a telegram to Rutledge Mann. The station agent went back to his table. The two men left. It was between train time; the platform was deserted; but again, Harry had a feeling of uneasiness. The reason became apparent after the coupe had departed. It was then that Perry Nubin shuffled into view.

The railroad dick entered the station. Zach Hoyler looked up from his key. Nubin nodded. He waved for Hoyler to keep on. The detective listened to the ticks.

“I got it,” declared Nubin, when Hoyler had finished sending the telegrams. “‘New developments prevent present departure. Send full details regarding my securities.’ Was that all of it, Hoyler?”

The agent nodded.

“Sent by this guy Vincent,” observed Nubin. “Same address as the last one, wasn’t it?”

“Rutledge Mann, New York City,” declared Hoyler.

“What were the new developments?” quizzed Nubin.

“I don’t know,” snapped Hoyler, angrily. “Say — you must think Tim Forey swore me in as a deputy.”

“Keep your shirt on, Hoyler. I’ve got a right to know what the sheriff said to you.”

“He didn’t say anything. This fellow Vincent gave me the telegram. That’s all. Say — you’re a dick. You’ve got some authority, even though it isn’t as much as you put on. Why don’t you go down and see Forey?”

“Maybe I will. Not tonight, though. I’m walking the tracks tonight.”

“Been demoted?”

“Say — you’re wise, aren’t you? Listen, Hoyler. If you want to keep this job of yours, you’d better show less lip. I could ease you out of it.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I guess you could by planting a bottle of hooch in this table drawer. I wouldn’t put it past you, either. But you won’t catch me off duty long enough to pull a stunt like that.”

With this bitter assertion, Zach Hoyler arose and went through the inside door into the baggage room. Perry Nubin stood by the ticket window, an angry snarl on his lips. Then, with clenched fists, the dick turned and strode from the station.

As he had told Hoyler, the detective started off along the tracks. He headed in the direction of the grade crossing. But he did not go far along the right of way. Skidding down the embankment, he cut across fields toward the house now owned by Elbert Breck.

A FEW hours later, an autogiro dropped from the sky and landed in the clearing on the hill. The figure that emerged from the ship was as vague as a living specter. Silently it moved through the woods; then traveled toward the house below the hill.

A light was burning in a window. It indicated Harry Vincent’s room. The figure of The Shadow appeared, looming inward from the window. Gloved fingers opened an envelope. Burning eyes perused a coded report that turned blank.

The Shadow departed, His vague form circled the silent house. Tonight, however, The Shadow detected no sounds or tokens of a prowler. Perry Nubin had left a short while before The Shadow’s return.