Fingers of Death

CHAPTER XVIII. THE CHAMBER OF DOOM

CONSCIOUSNESS returned to Willard Saybrook. The young man gasped as he felt himself in a pall of total darkness. He had a sinking feeling that he had gone blind. For a moment, a terrible dread seized his heart.

Recovering from the momentary fear, Saybrook felt the package of matches that was in his trousers pocket. With fumbling, weary fingers, he scratched a match and let the flame flicker in his hand. Profound astonishment gripped him.

Willard Saybrook was in a small, stone-walled chamber. Propped in a corner, he had scarcely room to move. To stand or to lie down would be impossible. As he shook the burning match away from his scorching fingers, Saybrook realized both the strangeness and the desperate condition of his situation.

He had been buried alive within this tiny room!

Saybrook’s breath came in short, hard gasps. He lighted another match, and held it above his head. He saw a crevice at the top of the room. Throwing the match aside, he raised his body and pressed his weight upward. The roof refused to budge. Willard Saybrook knew that he was entombed beneath an immovable slab.

There was no use to cry for help. None would come to this dark, hidden place. Even Saybrook’s gasps were hollow echoes. Desperation — anger — a medley of emotions flocked through the victim’s brain.

Saybrook subsided on the floor.

He recalled that he had been in the workroom off the passage when the menace that brought him here had struck.

Mahinda!

The servant was the one who had attacked him. This was the price he had paid for his desire to investigate. Saybrook rubbed his throat, where Mahinda had gripped it. He remembered the clutch of those fingers.

Could they have been the fingers of death? Was it possible that he had discovered the truth?

No — tonight they had failed to kill. Yet had they failed? What hope could come to Willard Saybrook here? Buried beneath the Bartram mansion, in a hidden spot which only Mahinda could have known, there could be no chance for life.

Breathing seemed difficult. Willard Saybrook lighted another match. He noted that the flame began to die away very quickly. He repeated the experiment, with the same result.

The obvious conclusion came forcibly to mind. The air supply of this limited space was becoming useless.

The oxygen would soon be exhausted. That meant death by suffocation!

In a mad fit of mingled agony and fury, Saybrook raised himself and beat against the relentless slab above. It had been placed there all too firmly.

Well did Saybrook know that Mahinda had brought him here; that the Hindu had left him to die. A simple way to dispose of a body of a victim, with no bloodshed or proof of murder. In this forgotten spot, escape was impossible.

The end was near. Gasping, Saybrook knew that his futile efforts had merely served to exhaust more oxygen. Bravely, he resolved to die in quiet repose. Leaning back against the stone wall, Saybrook closed his eyes, and made no further effort.

Breathing was difficult, and a strange ringing filled Saybrook’s ears. Its sound increased; then came a new and unexplainable noise. A peculiar scratching sounded from above. It changed to a dull grating.

In a last effort, Saybrook managed to rise and press against the slab above his head. To his joyous amazement, he felt the stone barrier yield!

HIS strength faded, and Willard Saybrook wilted upon the floor. His last grasps of breath came in long attempts to gain fresh air. Then, a breeze puffed downward, and Saybrook panted in relief. The barrier had been opened.

Was this a rescue? Or did it mean the beginning of a new ordeal?

A brilliant spot of light glowed into the room of stone. Willard Saybrook was revealed by the rays of a small flashlight.

The young man tried to rise from the chamber of doom. His fingers clawed against the wall. Half up, Saybrook slipped; but at that instant the light went out, and hands caught him beneath the arms. A powerful grasp raised Saybrook upward. Despite his inability to aid, Saybrook was drawn clear of his prison.

The grasp released, and Saybrook sprawled upon a stone floor. The light reappeared and glimmered weirdly down into the vault that now was empty. The glow then showed along the floor.

Saybrook, staring, saw black hands at work. For an instant, he feared Mahinda; then he noted that the dark hue of these hands was due to the gloves they wore.

The hands moved a heavy slab of stone. The object settled into place; once more forming the ceiling for the chamber of doom. The fingers pressed a bar in place. The steel object accounted for the fact that Saybrook had not been able to raise the barrier.

The hands, however, were not yet finished with their task. The floor was made of small stone blocks, and a portion of these formed an upper slab. This had been removed, and now it moved back where it belonged.

Saybrook could see that the entrance to the death chamber was covered with a cunningly contrived layer that human eye could scarcely have discerned.

Who was the mysterious rescuer?

Saybrook could see nothing of the man beside him. He was too weak to even rise. He saw the light glimmer in a wide sweep, and discerned that he was at the foot of a short flight of stone steps that terminated in a wooden trapdoor at the top.

Across from the steps, the short passage ended in a solid barrier which the light also disclosed. Saybrook realized that the wall might mark the presence of another chamber beyond.

The young man had no time for further speculation. The light went out, and invisible hands raised him to his feet. He felt himself being aided up the stone steps. The trapdoor was pressed upward.

With a final urge, the hands pushed Saybrook through the opening, and the young man crawled out upon the floor of the workroom, where Mahinda had seized him!

So this was the secret of the locked room! Saybrook had a glimmering now. Josiah Bartram had evidently built the special cellar as a place to store valuables. The chamber of doom would have been an ideal vault. Saybrook saw that the trapdoor was in the spot where the table had been.

The lamp had been lighted, and the room was gloomily illuminated. Thus Saybrook saw and realized that Mahinda, as Bartram’s trusted servant, would logically have known of the strong room.

So it had been reserved as a place to store a troublesome intruder like himself!

Had Mahinda acted of his own volition? Saybrook wondered if the order had come from some one else.

From Doctor Shores?

Perhaps.

Had Mahinda shown the place to the physician?

Wondering, Saybrook dully conjectured who else might know of the place.

Grace Bartram?

No, she would probably have mentioned it to him.

Who else?

A sudden thought impressed itself on Saybrook’s mind.

If Josiah Bartram, when living, had told any one of this subterranean chamber, his confidant would have been Hurley Adams!

Challenging thoughts pervaded Saybrook’s mind. He was free. He would go to Adams He would demand an explanation. He would make the truth public -

The reflections ended. Saybrook realized suddenly that he was not his own master. Still staring at the floor, he saw the trapdoor close. Looking up, he found himself gazing into gleaming eyes that shone from a hidden face.

FOR the first time, Saybrook saw his rescuer — a man garbed completely in black. He stared in amazement at the flowing cloak, with its upturned collar that obscured the rescuer’s face. Only the eyes showed — and they were eyes of dominating power.

Willard Saybrook was in the presence of The Shadow. The superman who warred with crime had found the secret trap; he had descended to the stone passage, and there he had discovered the hidden slab. He had arrived just in time to save Willard Saybrook from doom.

Safe, but dazed, Saybrook wondered who this rescuer could be. He saw the tall form of The Shadow cross the floor. He saw the door open. He heard a whispered voice; then some one entered.

A moment later, Saybrook was amazed to see the face of Harry Vincent bending over him.

“Vincent” — Saybrook was dumbfounded by the presence of this man whom he had met but recently — “you — you came to help me?”

“I was ordered here,” responded Harry, in a quiet tone. “I am ready to help you if you will agree to my instructions.”

“I agree,” said Saybrook.

“You are supposed to be dead,” informed Harry.

Saybrook nodded.

“Therefore,” Harry continued, “it is wise that you should still be considered dead — for a short while. We are going away from Holmsford, but we will be close at hand. We shall be ready for the time of retribution.”

Saybrook nodded his agreement. He realized that Harry Vincent was under orders from the rescuer in black. He could see the tall form of The Shadow, standing by the closed door. A sudden calmness came over Willard Saybrook. The man who had drawn him from doom would not let murder go unavenged!

Harry Vincent helped Saybrook to his feet. The two approached the door, and it opened to hide the form of The Shadow. The lamp went out as the two men made their exit. Saybrook was leaning upon Harry, and he managed to move quietly, without great effort.

The rays of a tiny flashlight were ahead, guiding the pair toward the little door between the workroom and the closed parlor. That door opened. Saybrook and Harry reached the outside air. Moving easily across the lawn, they gained Harry Vincent’s car.

As the coupe slid gently through the darkness, Willard Saybrook stared toward the Bartram mansion. He heard Harry’s quiet voice telling him that he need have no fear; that Grace Bartram would be safe there.

Saybrook realized the truth of the words.

Supposedly buried alive, it was best that he should leave Holmsford until he could learn more. Harry Vincent’s connection with his rescuer convinced Saybrook that it was his part to obey instructions.

These men — Vincent and the amazing personage in black — had saved his life. He was with Harry now — and Harry Vincent was the only man whom he could safely trust!

The Bartram home remained dark after the car had rolled away. But the place still harbored a mysterious presence. The Shadow was back at the spot where he had gone to find the slab that covered Willard Saybrook.

His flashlight was playing upon the walls beneath the workroom. A soft laugh resounded there. The tall form stalked up the steps.

In the darkness of the workroom, The Shadow replaced all as he had found it. His metal instrument turned the lock of the door. His hand closed the exit by which Harry and Saybrook had left.

Later, the window of the living room descended. It was silently fastened by hands that worked from outside. The Shadow had left the house; but now his weird figure stalked the grounds. Up the slope it went through darkness, to pass the whiteness of the mausoleum and disappear into the night.

Afterward, far from earshot of the Bartram premises, The Shadow laughed again. This time his tone was louder, and the harrowing chillness of his mockery presaged the doom of crime!