Fingers of Death

CHAPTER III. ADAMS GIVES ADVICE

HURLEY ADAMS was seated alone in the inner office of his suite. With hands resting idly upon the glass-topped surface of a mahogany desk, the lawyer was staring from the window.

His keen eyes peered across the irregular buildings of the thriving city of Holmsford, toward the hillside beyond, where the roof of a large mansion showed its toylike chimneys from amid clustered trees.

Hurley Adams was picturing the interior of that large homestead. Here, in broad daylight, his mind was picturing the scene of a few nights ago. The lawyer was visualizing the death of Josiah Bartram.

The old contractor was dead and buried. His remains now lay within the walls of the mausoleum on the hillside. Josiah Bartram had died as he had lived — planning for the future. Hurley Adams, now the executor of Bartram’s estate, had carried out the old man’s wishes to the letter.

In this work, Adams had been aided by both Grace Bartram and Doctor Felton Shores; also, in a measure, by Mahinda, the old man’s servant. The Hindu, ever faithful to his master, had been a willing helper in the simple duties that had occurred after the passing of Josiah Bartram.

No one had been admitted to the mansion. The death of the wealthiest man in town had been an important story for the newspapers, and Hurley Adams had given forth the details. Grace Bartram had talked with the few friends who had expressed condolences. Doctor Shores had attended to the funeral arrangements.

All this had been in accordance with the instructions given by Bartram to Adams before his death. Josiah Bartram had always hated ceremony. There had been none of it after his passing. Adams and the others had seen to that. Yet the lawyer, despite the fact that all had been followed to the letter, felt a keen sense of worry.

His thoughts were constantly reverting to the night when Josiah Bartram had died; and through his brain kept throbbing the phrase that had been unexpected, and which was still unexplained.

“Fingers of death!”

NO one had mentioned the words after they had been uttered. Nevertheless, Hurley Adams knew that they must have impressed themselves upon the others as well as himself.

The words held a mystic significance for Hurley Adams. The lawyer was wondering, now, what they had meant to the rest of the persons present!

Felton Shores had been Josiah Bartram’s physician. Grace Bartram was the old man’s niece. Mahinda had long been a faithful and trusted servant. The nurse, alone, was a nonentity.

Hurley Adams felt that he knew more regarding Josiah Bartram’s past than any of the others. Was he correct in this assumption? That question was perplexing, and a source of worry to Hurley Adams.

Fingers of death!

Certain persons, Hurley Adams believed, might have felt the strange shivers that he had experienced when he had heard Josiah Bartram’s maddened death cry. But neither Doctor Shores, Grace Bartram, nor Mahinda were among the few whom Hurley Adams had in mind. Hence, vague speculation was a dominating matter in the lawyer’s reflective consideration.

Reveries came to an end as a secretary entered the lawyer’s office. Adams, turning with an unrepressed shudder, received the announcement that Willard Saybrook was in the reception room. He told the secretary to send him in.

A few minutes later, Adams arose to greet a well-attired, frank-faced young man who entered the door.

“Glad to see you, Saybrook,” said Adams. “When did you arrive in town?”

“Last night,” was the reply. “I would have been here sooner, had I heard of Josiah Bartram’s death. Unfortunately, I was traveling, and the news reached me later than it should have.”

“You stayed at the house last night?”

“Yes. I shall remain there for a while.”

“How is Grace?”

“In excellent spirits, considering the ordeal that she has undergone.”

A short silence followed; then Adams asked a question pertaining to Saybrook’s visit.

“I suppose,” smiled the lawyer, “that as Grace Bartram’s fiance, you naturally thought it well to call upon the executor of Josiah Bartram’s estate.”

“No,” responded Saybrook, “I had no such idea in mind. I merely dropped in to see you because you were a close friend of Josiah Bartram.”

“I knew him well,” admitted the lawyer. “His death was a great blow to me, Saybrook. I was present when he died.”

Another pause; then Saybrook came forth with an unexpected statement.

“I was not present when Josiah Bartram died,” he said. “Nor was I present at the funeral. I have talked with Grace — who was there at both events. That is why I thought it well to talk with you.”

“With me?” asked Adams, in a puzzled tone.

“With you,” said Saybrook calmly, “and later, with Doctor Shores. I thought that perhaps one of you might give me some inkling as to the cause of Josiah Bartram’s death.”

A SLIGHT frown crept over the face of Hurley Adams. The lawyer saw a challenging light in Saybrook’s eyes. He looked squarely at the young man, and gave a direct reply.

“The cause of death was a heart attack,” said Adams.

“So I understand,” returned Saybrook, “and the funeral was held immediately afterward because—”

“Because Josiah Bartram’s instructions were to avoid all ceremony and unnecessary procedure.”

“Grace told me that also,” responded Saybrook dryly.

“Then why are you discussing the matter with me?” asked Adams testily.

“Grace seems worried,” explained Saybrook mildly. “Not about the funeral and all that, but about the suddenness of her uncle’s death. So I, to be different, began to worry about the funeral.

“I just wondered a bit if Josiah Bartram actually made the plans, or if they were suggested to him by some one else.”

“The plans were his own,” declared Adams. “He made them several years ago, when he completed his mausoleum.”

“A strange idea,” mused Saybrook. “A man builds an ornate mausoleum — a token of pride in showiness after death — yet wants none of the pomp that goes with a large funeral.”

“That is easily explained,” vouchsafed Adams. “If you had really known Josiah Bartram, you would have understood.”

“I should like to understand now,” returned Saybrook.

“Very well,” Adams offered, “I shall tell you all about it.

“Josiah Bartram was a peculiar man. He made a fortune here in Holmsford; yet he always detested the town. A few years before he retired from the contracting business, he became open in his criticism of this city, and later began to ridicule the community. That, quite naturally, made him unpopular.

“I recall when Bartram planned his mausoleum. I think his original intention was to be showy — to have a fine funeral when he died.

“He talked about putting the mausoleum in the center of the cemetery; and people began to find fault with him for spending so much money on such an edifice. They thought it would be better if he put the funds into a public monument that would be of benefit to the living.”

“And what was Bartram’s response?” queried Saybrook.

“I am coming to that,” declared Adams. “Bartram became involved in a controversy. He said that the most imposing monument in town was the Spanish War monument at the entrance to the cemetery. That had been erected through subscribed funds.

“His critics answered that the war monument was sufficient. So Bartram countered by erecting his mausoleum on his own property, instead of in the cemetery. He declared that Holmsford was a dead town; therefore, when he would be dead, he would prefer to be in Holmsford than in any other place.

“He added to that remark by stating that the citizens of Holmsford were so unenterprising that the only public events of consequence were funeral processions. So he intended to disappoint all those who might be anticipating his death by having no procession at all. He announced that those who lived in Holmsford could look at his mausoleum after he was in it; but that he would deny them the pleasure of attending his funeral or seeing him carted to his grave.”

“That sounds typical of the old man,” admitted Saybrook, with a dry smile. “He did not like to make friends. I was very fortunate to gain his good will.”

“That explains the subject under discussion,” concluded Hurley Adams. “Josiah Bartram’s death was unexpected; but his interment, under the direction of Doctor Felton Shores, was quite in keeping with his own wishes.”

“Let’s go back to the death, then,” suggested Saybrook, in a significant tone. “You must admit that it was quite unusual.”

“In what way?”

“In the manner of his dying. In the words that Josiah Bartram uttered just before he fell back upon the pillows.”

A SUDDEN nervousness came over Hurley Adams. The gray-haired lawyer began to clench and unclench his fists in unwitting action. He suddenly noted that Willard Saybrook was glancing at his moving hands. Adams dropped his arms to his sides.

“Fingers of death!” said Saybrook softly. “Fingers of death! Can you explain those words, Mr. Adams?”

“Grace told you?” questioned Adams sharply.

Saybrook nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “Grace Bartram told me her uncle’s dying words. They have preyed upon her mind. She did not mention the fact to you or to Doctor Shores. She expected that one or the other of you might bring up the subject; since you did not, I decided to question you regarding it.”

“I heard the words,” admitted Adams. “They puzzled me, and then worried me. To be frank, Saybrook, I have thought about them since. But, after all, they may not have had significance.”

“I believe that they are significant,” declared Saybrook, rising from his chair. “Those words lead me to one assumption, and I have come here to state it. I believe that Josiah Bartram was murdered!”

A look of consternation appeared upon the lawyer’s countenance. It quickly turned to a shrewd, reserved expression. Hurley Adams, the moment that his surprise was ended, became a man of cautious, restraining action.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” asserted Saybrook. “There’ll be no halfway measures about this, Adams. I’m going to break things loose. If necessary, I’ll demand that the body of Josiah Bartram be exhumed immediately for autopsy—”

Hurley Adams was upon his feet. Stepping forward, he clutched Willard Saybrook by the arm. There was a dynamic force in the old lawyer’s expression. He suddenly gained a dominating control over Willard Saybrook.

Whatever might have been troubling Adams, it was clear that he could no longer deal with Saybrook in a lulling manner. Hence the lawyer became direct in method and his new tactics swayed the man before him.

“Saybrook” — Adams spoke in a tense, effective tone — “you are merely voicing a thought which I have held; yet which I have mentioned to no one. I tried to belittle the situation a few minutes ago, merely because I wanted to see how strongly you had been impressed by what Grace Bartram had told you.

“Like yourself, I believe that Josiah Bartram may have died an unnatural death. But it was my duty to follow his instructions. The burial was actually in accordance with his plans. Nevertheless, there is nothing to be gained by hasty action. We may both be mistaken.”

“Let us find out the truth, then!” blurted Saybrook.

“Let us find out the truth,” agreed Adams, “but not by the method you suggest. It would be a mistake to exhume the body. It would cause so tremendous a sensation that the murderer — if there is one — would have time to make his escape. No, Saybrook, precipitous action could accomplish nothing. It is far better to wait.”

“And let the murderer walk away?”

“No. Watch while we wait. See if we can divine the murderer’s purpose. You have made a great mistake already, Saybrook.”

“In what way?”

“By mentioning your suspicions to me. I am glad, now, that you have done so; but they must go no farther. Certainly not to Doctor Shores.”

“You do not suspect him!”

“I suspect no one. I merely know that we may be encountering a great mystery here. Thoughts unvoiced are thoughts unlearned. Keep this between ourselves, Saybrook.”

“Perhaps Shores has suspicions, himself—”

“If so, let him mention them. I would be the first to whom he would come.”

Willard Saybrook sat down and became pensive.

THERE was logic in the old lawyer’s advice. Since Adams had made the frank admission that he, too, believed that Josiah Bartram might have been murdered, Saybrook was ready to listen to reason. Adams had used the right tactics with him.

“I’ll try to follow your advice,” agreed Saybrook. “But at the same time, Adams, I cannot see the wisdom of undergoing long suspense. If Josiah Bartram was killed, it is our duty to go the limit to uncover the murderer. If his death was natural, we are foolish to be governed by such maddening thoughts.”

“Saybrook” — Adams was speaking in a fatherly tone — “I am as anxious as you; indeed, more anxious, to learn the truth. It concerns me more directly than it does you.

“I was Josiah Bartram’s legal adviser. I know the problems which confronted him. If murder is involved, we are dealing with a game that must be handled cautiously.

“There is only one possible cause for which Josiah Bartram might have been murdered. I can tell you with assurance that if murder is involved, the criminal will most certainly follow with further actions that will be obvious to me. If new events do not occur, I shall be positive that Josiah Bartram was not murdered.

“Why not wait and be prepared? I have been watching. I am willing to wait. Avoid precipitous steps. That is my advice.

“If you are worried about Grace, I can assure you that I see no possible danger to her. Yet, foolish action on your part might turn a new menace in your direction — and therefore bring danger to Grace also.”

Willard Saybrook arose. These last words settled his policy. He held out his hand to Hurley Adams, and the old lawyer received it warmly.

“I’m keeping mum,” announced Saybrook. “For the present, anyway. You’ve got the right idea. I’ll see you again; and I’ll wait until you give the word.”

When Saybrook had left the office, Hurley Adams breathed a long gasp of relief. Seated at his desk, the lawyer thrummed the glass surface with his fingers as he stared thoughtfully through the window.

Fingers of death! Saybrook, too, had seen significance in those dying words. Saybrook would keep silence, now, in answer to a reasoning plea. Hurley Adams had won his point.

But why did the old lawyer seek such secrecy? His words, his actions, had indicated a subtle, personal reason that Willard Saybrook had not noted. What did Hurley Adams have at stake?

The answer lay in the lawyer’s brain — along with the fantastic words that a dead man had cried forth before his passing. The face of Hurley Adams was tinged with worry; but it was also colored with determination. It gave no token of the thoughts that lay behind it.

Time alone would tell what Hurley Adams knew about the strange death of Josiah Bartram!