Murder Marsh

CHAPTER XI. SPYING EYES

Two days had elapsed since the murder of Merle Cray. The county prosecutor and the coroner had approved Philo Halthorpe’s theory that the murderer had come to get the detective. It was believed that the killer must have fled along the old road that led to the mansion, there to escape in a waiting automobile. No further trouble was anticipated.

Wildemar Brent’s chill was over. Enthused by the presence of Professor Darwin Shelby, the naturalist had begun a new search for signs of those mysterious lights known as the ignis fatuus. It was after sunset; Brent and his esteemed guest had both taken to the marsh.

Twindell answered a ring at the door. It proved to be Nicholas Rokesbury. The engineer smiled as he saw Dorothy seated in front of the fire place. He entered the great hall and sat down beside the girl.

Twindell went upstairs.

“Where is your uncle?” queried Rokesbury, of Dorothy. “Out on the marsh with the professor?”

“They are both out on the marsh,” laughed the girl, “but not together.”

“Scientific jealousy?”

“Not at all. Uncle decided that by separating, they would have better chance of spying the will-o’-the-wisp. The professor seemed to approve the idea. So uncle drew diagrams of paths that he has discovered in the swamp and they each chose a separate course.”

“I hope they see the marsh lights,” chuckled Rokesbury. “But I doubt that they will. I faked that story about the watchman noticing them. I used it as an edge to get friendly with your uncle.”

“I thought so,” responded Dorothy. “Well, last night was unexciting. I hope that our troubles are at an end. Mr. Halthorpe seemed to think so. He stopped in last night.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He talked over financial matters with Uncle Wildemar. You see, Mr. Halthorpe has charge of the Thaddeus Culeth estate. No new heirs have appeared.”

“Are any likely to?”

“Mr. Halthorpe does not know; but as executor, he must act on the supposition that some one will arrive. For example, he cited the case of Austin Culeth.”

“The son? I thought he was dead.”

“Mr. Halthorpe thinks he is. But he stated that he must deal in possibilities, even though they are remote. He said that if Austin Culeth should happen to turn up alive — as is possible, though improbable — the estate would belong to him.”

“Of course. But how does that alter your uncle’s situation?”

“Austin Culeth — or some other unexpected heir — might want to keep this old mansion. Uncle has made no payments. The heir who agreed to the sale, Hector Lundig — is dead.”

“So what did Halthorpe suggest?”

“He decided that my uncle should move out shortly; that the house could remain vacant until next spring.”

“How did your uncle take that?”

“He was agreeable. You see, the first frost should come within a few weeks. When that occurs, there will be no use in further search for the ignis fatuus.”

“I see. The marsh lights would not show up in winter. Is that the idea?”

“I am not sure; but I do know that the phenomenon is frequent chiefly in warm weather. Autumn is almost here. Uncle Wildemar did not intend to remain here more than a few weeks longer.”

“Then who will own the house?”

“The estate; but my uncle will hold an option on it. As soon as we move, Mr. Halthorpe will have the place completely repaired and renovated.”

“Who will pay the bill?”

“The estate. Mr. Halthorpe says that he has authority to use funds for that purpose. I believe that he intends to do a thorough job. Uncle Wildemar seemed pleased. This morning he began to go through the house, tapping the walls, looking all about.”

“For what purpose?”

“To make a list of repairs that should be done. Uncle Wildemar is quite cagey at times. He is sure that the house will eventually be his and he apparently intends to get the full benefit when the repairs are made.”

“I wonder” — Rokesbury had arisen. He was pacing by the fire place — “if that prowler did come here to murder Merle Cray.”

“Why else could he have come?” questioned Dorothy.

“He was here before,” asserted Rokesbury. “At least he might have been that same bearded fellow whom you saw before.”

Dorothy nodded.

“Both went into the cellar,” reasoned Rokesbury. “You heard no tapping the night that Cray was killed; but maybe the fellow had no chance.”

“That is true. You are right, Nicholas. The murderer could have had some purpose other than killing Cray.”

“He was here looking for something, Dorothy. I believe that this old house holds some secret which no one suspects.”

THE girl stared as she nodded her agreement to Rokesbury’s belief.

“Searching the cellar,” mused Rokesbury. “But there is nothing down there. The secret must lie on this floor. Has your uncle looked about here yet?”

“No. He was on the second floor to-day. But what makes you think that the secret is on this floor, Nicholas?”

“My men searched the cellar two nights ago. While Halthorpe was looking for clues. There were three of them and I told them to be thorough. I am worried, Dorothy.”

“Why?”

“Because that prowler may come back. Of course, we will be ready for him; but he seems to be a dangerous character.”

Rokesbury paced about. He studied the walls of the great hall. He strolled over toward the door that led into the tapestried room. He beckoned to Dorothy. The girl approached.

“This door was open,” declared Rokesbury, in a low tone. “We found it that way — after Cray was killed.”

“Mr. Halthorpe thinks that Cray went in there.”

“If he did, it might have been because the prowler had been in the room before him.”

Rokesbury looked about. Twindell was not in sight. The engineer stepped through the door and turned on the light. He studied the oak panels that framed the tapestries. He looked at the baseboard; then to the molding.

“There might be a hinged panel here,” he said, “but I have another idea about it.”

“Some secret entrance?”

“Possibly. But the panels are too solid. Look at the molding and the baseboard. If those screws were taken out, the panels could be removed from the walls.”

Dorothy nodded.

“Three walls,” resumed Rokesbury, “for one side is all windows. Three men could take down those panels and replace them in less than an hour. How soon will your uncle be back, Dorothy?”

“Not for two hours.”

“I brought three men over with me. They are outside. I thought I would station them as guards. Dorothy, this room may be the next danger spot. Suppose I have them make a search.”

“You are sure,” queried Dorothy anxiously, “that they could do it in an hour?”

“Easily,” replied Rokesbury, “unless they find a secret opening behind the panels. Then we shall have to take time out to investigate. Let us try it. If these tapestried panels hide a secret, we can anticipate and be ready for coming danger.”

“Uncle is searching,” declared Dorothy, “but in a haphazard fashion. I suppose he would leave this room alone. It is in good condition. Mr. Halthorpe would not touch it, either. Not unless he—”

“Unless what?”

“Unless one or the other suspects that the house holds a secret and is preserving silence.”

Rokesbury pondered. This idea seemed to strike him. He rubbed his brow as he weighed the girl’s statement. While the man was in deep thought, Dorothy spoke.

“Bring in the workmen,” said the girl. “Have them search this room. I shall make sure that Twindell is not watching. It would not be wise to have him know what is going on.”

Rokesbury nodded. He followed Dorothy into the hallway. The girl looked up the stairway while the engineer went out to call his men. She was seated by the fire place when Rokesbury returned. She nodded to indicate that the way was clear. The engineer led his men into the paneled room.

AFTER they had closed the door, Dorothy watched the stairway. She was listening intently for any sounds from above. None came. But the girl failed to glance toward the passage near the far end of the great hall. Hence she did not see the pallid face that was staring from darkness.

Twindell had come downstairs while they were in the room with the tapestried panels. He had sneaked into that far passage. He had caught words of Dorothy’s conversation with Rokesbury. Time moved by; Twindell lingered, watching.

Inside the closed room, Rokesbury and his crew had completed their removal of the large tapestried panels. The electric brackets revealed a barren result. The walls in back of the panels were smooth and whitewashed. There was no possibility of a secret doorway. Rokesbury tapped with his knuckles to encounter solid stone.

The engineer ordered his men to replace the heavy panels. They went to work, while Rokesbury timed them with his watch. Intent upon his supervision, he did not glance toward the window, where he had drawn the blinds. Hence Rokesbury did not see the peering eyes that shone through a tiny crack at the bottom of the shade. Those were the eyes of The Shadow.

The cloaked watcher was standing in the dusk outside the mansion. His form was black against the shaded side of the house. Thick darkness with thin rifts of mist pervaded the bog; The Shadow was a living phantom as he moved farther along the wall. He had seen the failure of Rokesbury’s brief search.

He wanted to observe others within the mansion.

Through the grilled window at the end of the great hall, The Shadow caught the glow of the fire. He saw Dorothy Brent watching the stairway. Then his keen eyes spied the pallid face of Twindell. Lingering, The Shadow saw the servant move back into the passage. The door had opened from the tapestried room.

Rokesbury and his men were coming out. The Shadow faded with the increasing darkness as he moved toward the end of the mansion.

Rokesbury ordered his men to leave. He sat down beside Dorothy. He shook his head as the girl whispered a question regarding the search.

“No luck,” said Rokesbury. “If there are any secret hiding places, we will find them elsewhere on this floor. There were solid walls in back of those tapestried panels.”

“Did you put the panels back in perfect order?”

“Yes. No one will know that they were removed. That room must be watched, Dorothy.”

“Why? You found nothing there.”

“But I alone have made the search. Others” — Rokesbury paused — “like the prowler who came down from the hill — may still think that the room hides a secret. I am going to stand watch to-night, Dorothy. My men will be in readiness at the causeway.”

“You think the prowler will return?”

“Yes. If he knows what is going on here — which is possible — he will lose no time. Your uncle is looking through the house. Halthorpe has stated that he intends to repair it. There is mystery here, Dorothy — deep mystery — but do not fear.”

The girl nodded bravely. She felt confidence because Rokesbury would be on hand at the causeway. She was sure that she could rely further upon this friend who had proven his interest in her welfare.

ROKESBURY arose. Dorothy did the same. They walked to the outer door. Rokesbury’s men had gone back to the causeway. While the engineer stood talking to the girl, just outside the door, a lantern came gleaming from the bushes by the swamp. It was Wildemar Brent, returning from his search through the bog.

“Any luck?” questioned Rokesbury.

“No,” returned Brent.

“Where is the professor?” asked the engineer.

“Following a trail of his own,” replied the naturalist. “Ah! There is his light. Here he comes now. Any sign of the ignis fatuus, professor?”

Shelby came up with a lantern. He was shaking his head in response to Brent’s question. He peered solemnly through his spectacles; then glanced ruefully toward the boots that he was wearing. They were thick with mire from the bog.

“The paths are difficult,” declared Shelby. “Time after time I nearly slipped into the quagmire. My word! This marsh is muckier than many of the fens that I have visited in England. Of course, one is apt to encounter quicksand in the midst of an English fen. That danger is not present here.”

“You had better change your shoes, professor,” suggested Dorothy. “You have been more than ankle-deep in mud.”

“Thank you for the suggestion,” said Shelby, with a bow. “I shall follow it, Miss Brent.”

He scraped mud from his shoes; then entered the old mansion. Rokesbury remained talking to Brent. The naturalist did not seem greatly impressed by the offer of men to guard the house. He grumbled that he would prefer to have Rokesbury keep his workmen on the causeway, where they belonged.

Brent went into the house. Dorothy said good-bye to Rokesbury. The engineer departed; the girl went indoors. She sat down at the fire place, beside her uncle. Professor Shelby had gone upstairs to change his clothes.

Twindell was standing at the far end of the hall. Unnoticed, the old servant threw a glance toward the opened door that led into the paneled room. His face was strained and troubled. Twindell seemed perplexed.

Eyes from without saw that expression; for those eyes were close by the solid window at the end of the hall. The Shadow was peering in from outer darkness. Twindell walked away. The gleaming eyes disappeared.

A swish in the darkness outside the old house. An unseen figure glided toward the marsh. The Shadow was taking a swift shortcut through the swampy land — a route that led to the town of Rensdale. By this path that he had discovered, the trip would require no more than a dozen minutes.

Again, The Shadow had seen. He knew that Twindell had learned that no secret lay within the room with the tapestried panels. The Shadow knew that the old servant was perturbed. New events were brewing upon this night.

Through his agents, The Shadow would anticipate what lay ahead. His plans were made; his orders would be obeyed. The Shadow was nearing the end of a quest as strange as Wildemar Brent’s search for the ignis fatuus. Yet all was not sure yet. Chance could still play its part.

While The Shadow, invisible, was trailing his way through the swamp, another figure was stalking along the road that led by the broad marsh. Philo Halthorpe had started off on one of his long evening tramps.

There was no moon to-night. Complete blackness had settled over town and countryside. It was a night when danger lurked abroad. It was a night suited to insidious crime. But the weird, whispered laugh that sounded in the depths of the marsh indicated another fact.

This was a night to The Shadow’s liking. To the being who battled crime, thick darkness was the cloak that aided his thrusts against men who plotted evil.