Murder Marsh

CHAPTER XVIII. THE HEIR SPEAKS

“YES, I am Austin Culeth.” The long-faced visitor removed his overcoat as he spoke. The act showed him to be a man of rangy build. “You, Mr. Halthorpe, knew me when I lived in this mansion. These others, I presume, have heard of me.”

“You were classed as dead,” declared Halthorpe. “I have certificates to that effect from Durban, Natal. Yet I was not fully convinced of their accuracy, Austin.”

“They were false,” returned young Culeth. “I arranged to have them sent here in case of any inquiry. I felt sure that they would past muster.”

“You mean that you deliberately planned the hoax yourself? That you eliminated yourself as the principal heir to your father’s estate?”

“Exactly. I have money of my own. I was willing to forgo the tainted funds that my father might have left me.”

“Explain yourself, Austin! This is incredible!”

The young heir looked about the group. Philo Halthorpe seemed challenging. Wildemar Brent wore a quizzical expression. Professor Darwin Shelby appeared sympathetic. Nicholas Rokesbury wore a puzzled frown.

“I suppose,” declared Austin, bitterly, “that you have all noted a resemblance between my features and those of my father’s portrait that hangs in the great hall. Whatever any of you may know about my father, I can tell you that the resemblance is in facial appearance only. In spirit, in deed, my father and I were totally at odds.

“It may seem unnatural for a son to blacken his dead father’s name. But remember: it was my father himself who chose the course of evil. My statements will be pure fact. I merely intend to reveal circumstances which he managed to conceal.”

Philo Halthorpe took a step forward. He raised his hand in interruption. Austin Culeth waved the lawyer back. Nicholas Rokesbury involuntarily tightened his grip on the handle of his revolver; then relaxed.

“My father was a crook,” assented Austin, solemnly. “He shared that secret with a band of dangerous criminals. But he was doubly crafty. Not only did he preserve a false reputation that his associates could not shatter; he also served as the genius of his evil band. It was to him that they brought the profits of their crimes.”

“When did you learn this?” questioned Halthorpe.

“Years ago,” responded Austin. “Before I went away to Africa. I suspected the part that my father was playing. I saw him in conference with men who looked like rogues. I witnessed the transfer of funds from them to him.”

“Did you protest?”

“I did. My father was outraged, in his hypocritical fashion. He accused me of being a sneaky spy. Then, when I persisted in my bold accusation, he mocked me. He said that I was as helpless as the members of his band; that I could never prove anything against him. He said that he intended to make fools of his associates; that I would suffer if I betrayed his game.

“My response was direct. I told my father that I did not intend to expose his evil work. I had money of my own — a small legacy from my maternal grandfather. I left home and went abroad to Africa. In Durban, I decided to relieve myself of the Culeth name — for I considered it tainted.”

“That was the reason for the death certificate,” prompted Clyde Burke, from the doorway.

“I took the name of James Delaman,” resumed the heir. “Austin Culeth was dead; I framed certificates to prove the fact. I lived in South Africa. I prospered. The years passed; during them my father carried out his threats. He double-crossed his associates and hoarded the ill-gotten funds that they had entrusted to him.”

“How did you learn all this?” demanded Philo Halthorpe.

“Through Twindell,” replied Austin. “Before I left home, I told the old servant of my suspicions. Twindell would not believe that my father was a crook. But he remembered all that I had told him and he discovered later that I was right.

“I kept my secret correspondence with Twindell, using the name of James Delaman. Twindell destroyed the letters that I wrote him, so that my father would not find them. But I have his correspondence with me. It is pitiful in parts.”

AUSTIN paused to produce a packet of tattered envelopes, which he held in his right hand. His face had grown more sober than before. The watchers could see a quiver of his lips, produced by the thought of Twindell’s death.

“Poor old Twindell,” said Austin. “He was trapped. My father would have suspected him had he tried to leave the service. Twindell learned that my father made trouble for his former associates. Some were killed; others went to prison. Twindell sent me copies of letters that he found — letters which my father later destroyed. Those copies are with these documents.

“Even more important is a copy of a list that named all the crimes which the band had perpetrated. Moreover, Twindell was convinced that my father had hidden away the stolen wealth that he had gained.

When I received that information, a great thought struck me. Should I inherit my father’s estate, I might recover those funds and restore them to the banks and individuals from whom they had been taken.”

Austin Culeth paused. His face had lightened. Keen enthusiasm showed upon his visage. Philo Halthorpe, hand to chin, watched him narrowly; then put a question.

“If that was your intention,” asked the hard-faced lawyer, “why did you fail to appear at the time of your father’s death?”

“He is coming to that,” put in Clyde Burke. “You’ve only heard half his story, Mr. Halthorpe.”

“Burke is right,” declared Austin, with a nod. “My actions became peculiar; but Twindell’s correspondence will explain them. Twindell wrote to me, some months ago, to relate that my father was living in a state that bordered upon terror. He had two additional servants in the house — strong men who were always armed. He had installed a kennel of dangerous dogs. Those hounds roamed loose at night. Obviously, my father still feared enemies.

“When my father was stricken with paralysis, I happened to be in New York. I received a letter from Twindell, telling me that it would be only a matter of time before my father died. I wanted to come to Rensdale; yet I feared to do so.”

“Why?” Again the question came from Halthorpe.

“Because of my father’s enemies,” stated Austin. “I was sure of two facts. First: that they knew a secret way into the house. Their mysterious visits were proof of that fact. I believed that my father had blocked that secret entrance; but when he died, the crooks would probably have little difficulty in reopening it.

“Second: I was sure that the funds were hidden here. If my father had an enemy, that foe would be part of my heritage. I would have to be prepared for his attack. I needed some protection. I realized that I had it.”

“What was your protection?” queried Brent, suddenly breaking into the story.

“The fact that I was supposedly dead,” answered Austin, promptly. “I sensed that the man my father feared would begin operations after my father died. I wanted to observe what happened. So I came to Rensdale, but I did not enter the town. Instead, I went to the hillside and occupied one of the empty cabins. I disguised myself to resemble one of the hill-folk — a Dalwar.”

“What!” exclaimed Nicholas Rokesbury. “You were the man on the hill all—”

“Yes,” interrupted Austin. “I was the intruder who paid those visits to this house. Twindell was working with me. I came on nights when he signaled with a flashlight from the doorway.”

PHILO HALTHORPE leaned back and delivered a guffaw. His laugh ended, the lawyer turned to Rokesbury. The engineer was standing in total perplexity.

“And you accused me,” snorted Halthorpe. “I said you were a fool, Rokesbury. But you, Austin” — the lawyer scowled as he turned to the heir — “were also a fool. More than that, you are a murderer! In behalf of the law, I must arrest you—”

“Hear him to the finish,” broke in Clyde Burke. “His hands are clean. When he killed, it was in self-defense.”

“When he murdered Lundig?” quizzed Halthorpe, savagely, “and Cray?”

“I did not kill those men,” retorted Austin. “I would have saved them.”

“Listen to the story,” urged Clyde.

“All right,” rasped Halthorpe. “He has already incriminated himself. Let him proceed and build a complete case that the law can use against him. Continue with your confession, Austin.”

“This is not a confession,” responded Austin, hotly. “Listen and learn new truth. When I knew that Hector Lundig was here to claim the estate, I feared for him. When Twindell informed me that Hector was coming to the house, I told him to warn the young fellow. Twindell did.”

“I thought so,” declared Rokesbury. “I remember Hector talking to me in my car.”

“I saw Twindell speak to Lundig,” put in Brent. “It was out in the hallway.”

A slight smile showed on Halthorpe’s lips. The rugged lawyer, however, did not add his statement to the others. Halthorpe could be a man of silence when he chose.

“I learned of Lundig’s death through Twindell,” stated Austin. “Then I feared that others might suffer. I saw one way to prevent further murder. Whoever the killer might be, his purpose was to find the wealth in this old mansion. If I could uncover the spoils, I would end the menace. So I resolved to search the house.

“Twindell and I had held conferences on various evenings. I always came through the marsh, wearing my disguise. I had known the path to the hillside since boyhood. One night Twindell signaled. He left the door unbolted. I entered. He and I went down into the cellar, to begin our search there.”

“That was what I heard!” exclaimed Dorothy. “You were tapping the walls!”

“Yes,” nodded Austin. “I barely managed to escape. Yet Twindell thought that you might have glimpsed me.”

“I did,” said the girl. “I saw your hat and beard.”

“Nevertheless,” resumed Austin, “I came back. I wanted to resume my search in the cellar. Twindell warned me that Detective Cray was in the house; he thought the fellow was asleep in the corner room. I entered the door to the cellar. Cray was down there; he heard me and flashed his light.”

“So you killed him,” sneered Halthorpe.

“No,” returned Austin. “I started back. I heard shots. I thought that Cray was firing at me. As I fled, some one began a struggle with Twindell. The servant fought with him, but the man escaped.”

“I saw the struggle!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I thought it was Twindell fighting with the man who wore the beard — with you, Mr. Culeth.”

“That proves my statement,” declared Austin, with a smile. “These letters are evidence that Twindell was on my side. He would not have battled with me.”

“A good point,” put in Rokesbury, before Halthorpe could speak.

“I WENT back up on the hill,” resumed Austin. “When next I saw Twindell, several nights had passed. I knew that I was running a terrible risk to come here. But Twindell summoned me and I came. We whispered together by the fire place. He told me alarming news.”

“What was that?” asked Halthorpe quickly.

“First, that Mr. Brent was poking about the house. That made me fear that the hidden criminal would act.”

“I was looking for places that needed repairing,” protested Brent. “Mr. Halthorpe said that he was going to have the house gone over after I left.”

“Twindell told me about Halthorpe’s plan also,” added Austin. “That made an even stronger chance that a hiding place might be uncovered. Then he told me that Rokesbury had searched this tapestried room.”

“Ah!” Halthorpe’s eyes gleamed in quick challenge. “So you were poking about, too, eh, Rokesbury? Who gave you that right?”

“I did,” asserted Dorothy. “Nicholas and I discussed the mystery of this mansion. The cellar had been searched by his men. The door to this room was open on the night that Cray was murdered. We thought that this room might hold some secret.”

“So I had my men remove the tapestried panels,” stated Rokesbury. “We found solid walls behind them. We put the panels back in place.”

“Twindell saw you,” put in Austin Culeth. “That was the final reason why he sent for me. We talked things over in the hall. I was in a quandary. I decided it best to leave. I intended to dispose of my disguise; to reveal myself and ask the aid of the law after taking possession of this house. Then trouble started.”

“I began it,” admitted Dorothy. “I heard you downstairs. I flashed a light from the window toward the causeway.”

“Which I saw,” added Rokesbury. “I brought my men; while they surrounded the house, I came in the passage window.”

“We know the rest,” said Halthorpe, tartly. “Go on, Austin. Why did you abduct Miss Brent?”

“Because she saw me,” said Austin. “She would have given me away. I did not know that men were waiting outside. I wanted to carry her away from the house; to explain who I was; to gain her aid. Then I found my path blocked. Men were aiming to shoot me. I fired in return.”

“And killed two of them,” reminded Halthorpe.

“Yes,” admitted Austin, soberly. “My aim was closer than I had intended. When one has trekked the African veldt and battled through the jungle, he is apt to have a quick and ready trigger. I am willing to stand trial for the manslaughter that I committed. Yet I was partly within my rights.”

“How so?”

“The house was actually mine. I had a right to enter it. Those workmen were trespassers. They did not know who I was; but I did not know who they were. They would have killed me instantly but for the girl. I thought they were going to fire anyway, as I neared the marsh. To turn back would have meant certain death. I acted to defend myself and to save Miss Brent.”

“No jury will send him up for that,” assured Clyde Burke. “Don’t let them worry you, old chap. Tell the rest of the story.”

“I was pursued,” declared Austin. “I knew that I would have to make a quick explanation to Miss Brent when I reached the cabin. But before I could revive her, a stranger leaped in from the door.”

“And you fought him!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I remember!”

“I knocked him out,” said Austin. “Then I encountered another intruder at the door of the little room. I sprang upon him. I could not see his face in the dark; but he fought with the strength of a giant.”

“Yet you threw him through the window,” declared Rokesbury.

“I did not,” returned Austin. “We smashed against the window when we struggled. I tried to throw him through. He landed a jujutsu hold. I was the one who went headfirst through the opened window frame. I landed headforemost. Although the ground was soft, I was stunned.

“When I came to my senses, I was lying on the ground above the cabin — in the fringe of the woods. A man was leaning over me. He was the fellow whom I had first knocked out. My beard — my hat — my coat— all were gone.

“The man whom I had first attacked proved to be a friend. He called me by name. Somehow, he seemed to know much about my visits to Twindell. He gave his name as Vincent; and he helped me up the mountain to the shack beneath the airway beacon.”

“And you remained there?” asked Halthorpe.

“Until to-night,” replied Austin.

“When you returned to the cabin,” declared Rokesbury.

“No,” said Austin. “I stayed in the beacon shack until nearly ten o’clock. Then Vincent took me to his car.

He drove me down and around the mountain, into the town of Rensdale. He told me that it was time my story should be known.”

“Why?” questioned Halthorpe.

“I do not know,” admitted Austin. “Nor did Vincent. He seemed to be acting under the orders of some hidden chief, whom I knew only as the superhuman being who had pitched me from the window of the cabin.

“Vincent told me that he had learned of a New York reporter staying at the Hotel Rensdale. He believed the man’s name was Burke. He told me that this reporter would certainly listen to my story; that he might be keen enough to suggest a course of action. So I found Burke. My story convinced him. He believed that it would convince others. So we came out here.”

A PAUSE followed Austin Culeth’s speech. The heir’s story was ended. Austin looked from man to man, again seeking to study their expressions. Conviction was registered upon all faces with one exception.

Philo Halthorpe still looked dubious.

“Your story, Austin,” stated the lawyer, “has the semblance of truth. But it does not account for the murders of Lundig and Cray. Wait! Do not interrupt me!” Austin had been about to speak. “I know that we have only circumstantial evidence to link those deaths with you, as the squatter on the hill.

“But one flaw in a story” — Halthorpe smiled harshly — “leaves it open to doubt throughout. You say that you were the Dalwar — that is, the pretended Dalwar — and you have accounted for all your actions. But your story is not complete. Tell us, Austin, why did you fail to state that you entered the cabin to-night; that you came down through the marsh, once more the bearded squatter—”

“I performed no such act!” exclaimed Austin.

“Then how do you account for these?” quizzed Halthorpe, picking up the hat and beard that lay upon the table. “Two deputies are here to testify that you came upon them in the cabin. One of Rokesbury’s workmen found these on the fringe of the marsh, just outside this house.”

Austin Culeth stared. For the first time, he noticed the incriminating garments. His puzzled, hunted expression proved that he recognized them as the very articles that he had worn while living in the cabin.

“I did not wear those to-night!” exclaimed the heir. “I lost them, the night of the fight in the cabin. They are mine; but I did not wear them to-night.”

“Then who did?” demanded Halthorpe.

“I can answer that question,” came a quiet voice. The lawyer wheeled. He stared at Professor Darwin Shelby, who had risen. “Austin Culeth is correct. Some one else wore that garb to-night.”

“Do you know the man?” snarled Halthorpe.

“Yes,” replied the professor, blinking as he smiled mildly. “I was the man who wore them.”