Fingers of Death

CHAPTER XVI. THE EMPTY ROOM

WILLARD SAYBROOK was restless. Seated alone in the living room of the Bartram home, he was trying to read a book, but actually his mind was hard at work on other matters.

Last night, Doctor Felton Shores had called again. The physician had strolled about the house as though he owned it. Saybrook had paid no apparent attention to the fact. But in the morning, he had become extremely thoughtful when he had read of another death in Holmsford.

Saybrook had paid a prompt visit to the office of Hurley Adams. The old lawyer had sadly admitted that Ernest Risbey was another of the conspirators. But Adams had assured Saybrook that no further crime would follow. In fact, he had told the young man that he might soon be able to reveal the name of the murderer.

Somehow Hurley Adams had then seemed more at ease, and his quietude had lulled Willard Saybrook.

Nevertheless, the young man, upon his return to the Bartram house, had decided that nothing could be lost by action on his own part.

Saybrook was familiar with the house, but there were parts of it that had perplexed him. There were storerooms on the upper floor that had not been touched since Josiah Bartram’s death. This was due to a simple clause in the will that had stated that nothing should be disturbed on the premises until after the estate had been properly settled.

Similarly, there were rooms on the ground floor that were useless. One of these was an old parlor in the corner; the other was a small workroom where Josiah Bartram had kept plans and specifications of buildings. Both of these rooms, filled with unneeded furniture and discarded articles, were locked so that they would not be disturbed.

Mahinda had the keys; and, so far as Saybrook knew, the Hindu never troubled to visit either place.

Saybrook was familiar with the rooms, for they had been open occasionally during Josiah Bartram’s declining months of life. Until tonight, however, Saybrook had paid no attention to them. The cloud of suspicion that still made him wonder about the cause of Josiah Bartram’s death now made the young man speculative regarding what lay behind those locked doors.

Although he had never liked Mahinda, Saybrook had been more observant of Doctor Shores than he had of the Hindu. He had come to regard the servant as merely a freakish type of foreigner. Hence, last night, while watching Shores, Saybrook had not observed that he, himself, was being watched by Mahinda.

TONIGHT, now that Grace Bartram had retired, Saybrook was trying to read a book; and he did not realize that Mahinda, in the hallway, was studying every change of emotion that manifested itself upon Saybrook’s face.

It was not until the doorbell rang that Saybrook knew the servant was close at hand. Looking up, he saw Mahinda going in answer to the summons.

Doctor Shores was the midnight visitor. The physician smiled as he saw Saybrook. He shook hands with the young man and sat down in a chair.

“Terribly busy,” commented the physician. “All worn out. Need a rest. You’re a life-saver, Saybrook, you night owl! Every time I come by the house I see a light in the living room, and I just have to drop in to say hello. It relieves me to talk a while with some one after a strenuous day. All asleep at home when I get there.”

Saybrook nodded agreeably.

“Reading?” questioned Shores, in an affable tone. “Go right ahead. Don’t let me disturb you. I’ll sit around and take it easy for a few minutes. More comfortable here than home. Puts me in good fettle.”

Saybrook returned to his book. The physician’s suggestion evidently had a purpose. Saybrook decided to watch while pretending to read. He noted that Mahinda was not around. Saybrook was playing for a break. It came.

When the young man appeared deeply engrossed in his book, Doctor Shores arose and strolled about the room. He finally went into the hallway, and disappeared. Saybrook laid his book aside. He stole to the door of the living room.

Neither Mahinda nor Doctor Shores was in sight.

Quickly, Saybrook crossed the hall into the dark dining room. From there, he reached the pantry and opened a side door that led back into the hall. From that spot he could view the narrow passage that led to the old, disused parlor. The passage went by the door of the old workroom, which was set down a short pair of steps.

Saybrook watched. He saw the door of the workroom open. Out came the white-clad form of Mahinda.

The servant went through the hall, and Saybrook realized that it was too late for him to get back to his book. So he waited in the darkness of the pantry. The door of the workroom opened a minute later. This time, Felton Shores emerged.

With prompt thought, Saybrook let the door of the pantry close. He hurried across the room and raised the pantry window. He dropped out upon the lawn, circled to the front of the house, and began to rap at the front door. Mahinda opened it. Saybrook could see Shores standing in the living room.

Saybrook did not deign to give Mahinda a direct explanation. Instead, he spoke nonchalantly to Doctor Shores.

“Stepped outside for a whiff of fresh air,” he explained. “Too much reading makes me groggy. Forgot all about the latch.”

“Late reading is tiring,” observed Shores, in a professional tone.

Saybrook picked up his book, closed it, and laid it aside. He removed his coat and vest, and made himself comfortable for a chat with the physician. They talked of minor matters, but through the conversation, Saybrook could see that Shores was nervous. The physician’s mind was unquestionably worried.

Mahinda stalked in and out, according to his usual fashion. At last, Doctor Shores prepared to leave.

Saybrook had just lighted a cigarette. He walked to the door with his visitor, and bade the physician good night.

Standing coatless in the illuminated doorway, Willard Saybrook stared out into the night and kept his eye fixed upon the departing physician. Behind him, also framed in light, Mahinda, a gleam upon his dark face, was watching Saybrook.

A strange combination. Shores was leaving, oblivious to the fact that he was being studied by Saybrook, who in turn did not know that he was under the observation of Mahinda!

Saybrook finished his cigarette. He flicked it toward the lawn. He turned back into the house. By this time, Mahinda was gone.

Saybrook went back to his book. He saw Mahinda appear and bolt the front door. The servant’s work was ended for the night. As Saybrook watched him walk away, he felt sure that Mahinda was retiring.

ONE thought dominated Willard Saybrook. Tonight — as Saybrook had previously suspected — Doctor Shores had come here on a pretext. His purpose had presumably been a friendly call. Actually, the physician had come to confer with Mahinda.

Saybrook now had evidence that the two had talked together. He knew their secret meeting place — the old, unused workroom that was always locked. An ideal spot for an unnoticed conference.

This answered a question that had been baffling Saybrook ever since the night of Arthur Preston’s death — the night that Doctor Shores had sent Mahinda for a glass of water, and then himself disappeared.

Vague conjectures swept through Saybrook’s brain.

Doctor Shores and Mahinda were plotters. What had brought them together? Josiah Bartram’s death? If so, it was logical to suppose that they could have engineered that death?

Other deaths had occurred in Holmsford. Saybrook suspected Doctor Shores as the murderer, with Mahinda his accomplice!

Saybrook realized that his own presence in this house was something that Doctor Shores could not logically have foreseen. If Shores were a criminal — and Mahinda knew the fact — it was only likely that the physician should choose this place as his secret headquarters, figuring that Grace Bartram would suspect nothing.

Shores had been here every night that a murder had occurred — always at an hour following the crime.

Sometimes he had been here earlier.

Had another killing transpired tonight? Morning would tell; and in the morning, Willard Saybrook would, himself, hold a conference — with Adams.

In the meantime, Saybrook decided that a very definite step would be advisable. Perhaps some evidence lay within that room where Shores and Mahinda had met. The door was probably locked; and entrance might be difficult. Nevertheless, it was worth trying.

Stealthily, Saybrook left the room and prowled through the rear portion of the hall, which was dimly lighted. He reached the darkened passage toward the parlor. He stopped at the door of the workroom.

Beyond lay a secluded door that opened to the outside of the house, through a narrow vestibule, situated between workroom and parlor. Saybrook did not go that far. He wanted to enter the workroom, and as he turned the knob at the foot of the steps, he was surprised and pleased to find the door yielding to pressure.

A moment later, the young man stood within a narrow, low-ceilinged apartment. A match flickered in his hands. Saybrook saw a lamp, and turned it on. He noted that the room was quite small, and had no windows. A table stood in the center, set upon an old, dark rug.

BACK by the door, Saybrook dropped the burned match on the steps. Confident that the glow of the lamp could not be seen beyond the confines of the passage, he went to the table in the workroom and began a careful survey of the place.

His eyes were keen, his ears were intent. Yet Saybrook did not hear the stealthy approach of a man who entered the room behind him. His first knowledge that he was not alone came when a form plumped upon him from behind.

As a fierce arm twisted itself about his neck, and his breath came in a harsh choke, Saybrook, trying to wrest himself free, peered squarely into the dark face of Mahinda.

The Hindu’s eyes were blazing with a glow of fury. He had gained the advantage in the fray, and he intended to keep it. Saybrook was strong, but he found himself no match for the Hindu.

Twisting backward, Willard Saybrook slumped against the table. Black hands gripped his throat. His head was thumped against the table; then, as he subsided, Saybrook received another heavy jar as his head banged the floor.

After that, all was black. Bereft of consciousness, Willard Saybrook lay helpless in the Hindu’s grasp.

Mahinda arose then and extinguished the light. Long minutes crept by, while vague, mysterious sounds occurred. The door to the steps closed as Mahinda stole away. Once more, the room was empty — and locked!

The strange and unexpected attack had been witnessed by no one. Mahinda had deliberately lured Willard Saybrook into betraying himself. No better spot could have been chosen for such swift and certain action.

Mahinda’s footsteps stole upstairs, but not until after the servant had put out all lights on the ground floor.

The house was completely dark within — and the all-pervading silence extended even into the empty workroom, where Willard Saybrook had been overpowered and where he no longer lay!