The Creeper

CHAPTER VII. THE CREEPER MOVES

NOON the next day. Two men were standing in the city morgue. One was Tobias Clavelock, dry-faced and solemn; the other a stocky, swarthy-faced man from headquarters. This was Acting Inspector Joe Cardona, long recognized as the ace of New York detectives.

The two were viewing the dead body of Myram, stretched on a sliding slab. Clavelock was nodding as he studied the rigid face, distorted from the pangs of sudden death. The lawyer was sure of the murdered man’s identity.

“That is Myram,” he announced. “He was the servant who was dismissed from the Doyd household. I should like to know who murdered him, inspector.”

“So would I,” grunted Cardona. “We’ll get a trail on the killer, now that you’ve assured us that robbery was the motive. It didn’t look like robbery when we found the body this morning. Money in the dead man’s pocket — a cheap, poorly furnished room—”

“But no sign of the ebony casket.”

“None. Of course, there’s still a chance that Myram may have gotten rid of it some time ago; or even a chance that he never did have it. Just the same, the odds are that robbery was the game. Myram may have sold some stuff he stole from old Mr. Doyd. Anybody seeing it might have thought he had more.

Maybe he was flush with dough at times. If you could describe any of the missing articles, outside of that casket, it would help us.”

“Perhaps I shall be able to do so, inspector. I shall talk to Miss Theresa Doyd, when I visit the house this afternoon. You may expect a telephone call from me later.”

IT was after three o’clock when Clavelock arrived at the Doyd mansion. The day was cloudy and dull; the front of the old building looked like the bulwarks of a gloomy fortress. Wilfred admitted the lawyer; Clavelock stepped into a hallway that was already lighted, so somber was the interior of the mansion.

Architects had been stingy with windows during the decade when this house had been built.

Clavelock asked for Theresa. Wilfred ushered the lawyer into the reception room; then departed. Some minutes later, Theresa entered to greet the visitor. Clavelock came abruptly to the business that had brought him here.

“Myram is dead,” he announced. “Found, murdered, on the third floor of a cheap rooming house on the East Side. I have seen the body; no one else will be required to identify it.”

The girl stared aghast. The thought of Myram’s death made her pity the dishonest servant. She made no comment; it was Clavelock who brought up the subject of the ebony casket.

“There was nothing of value found in Myram’s room,” stated the lawyer. “No sign of the ebony casket. I talked with a police inspector; he wants a description of any other articles Myram may have stolen. Can you recall any of them, Theresa?”

The girl shook her head.

“No,” she replied, slowly. “Grandfather kept most of those trifling curios locked away in his room. I seldom saw them; I merely knew that he owned them. Odd cuff links, antique bracelets — other trinkets of that sort. I believe he had some silver statuettes; but I do not know what they represented.”

“Would Wilfred know about those objects?”

“No. I asked him. Like myself, he seldom saw them. Myram must have found the key to grandfather’s closet; and also learned how to open the drawer of the large table.”

“Too bad, Theresa, that we can give the police no further information. However, they intend to search for Myram’s murderer; and they may be successful in finding him. I am going out of town this afternoon, so I called that reporter chap, Burke. He has promised to write a story about Myram’s death; of course, it will be mentioned that the fellow was once a servant here, but Burke will see to it that Myram’s thefts are not mentioned in the newspapers.”

Clavelock bowed himself from the room. Theresa followed to the front door. As Clavelock started down the steps a coupe pulled up to the curb. A horn honked; the lawyer looked about to see Donald Shiloh alighting from the car.

The two men joined Theresa at the front door. After brief greetings, Clavelock told Shiloh the facts that he had mentioned to Theresa. The lawyer went his way; Shiloh and Theresa entered the house and went into the reception room. The girl stared about as she entered; then pressed her finger to her lips and motioned for Shiloh to close the sliding doors. That done, Theresa pointed to the door at the back of the room. It was ajar. Shiloh closed it.

“YOU were in here with Clavelock?” he questioned, in a whisper. “Do you think that some one could have been eavesdropping?”

The girl nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “I do not recollect that door being partly open. Some one could have been listening, Donald. I may be mistaken; but— but—”

She buried her face in her hands and tried to restrain convulsive sobs. It was plain that Theresa’s nerves were on edge. Shiloh approached and spoke quietly, his tone comforting.

“You heard the footsteps again?” he inquired softly.

“Last night,” nodded Theresa. “Creeping, all about the house. They stopped abruptly, Donald. After that, I did not hear them again.”

“Mark Lundig was here?”

“Yes, but he retired early. Uncle Egbert was asleep, also. That is, both of them may have been asleep; on the contrary, either one may have been awake.”

“Where was Wilfred?”

“On the third floor.”

“Has he heard the footsteps?”

“I have not asked him. I think he would have mentioned the creeping to me, though, if he had heard it. But Wilfred is somewhat deaf.”

“Yet you depend upon him? With his deafness?”

“Of course. Wilfred hears loud sounds quite easily. He always answers the doorbell promptly; and I can summon him at any time by pressing any of the bell-buttons that connect with his room. There are several of them, you know.”

“Where is Lundig, at present?”

“He went out somewhere. Probably to meet those detectives whom he has hired. He has been very mysterious lately; acting wisely, as if he thought himself to be a sleuth.”

“And Uncle Egbert?”

“He is somewhere about the house.”

Shiloh paused, just as he was about to make another statement. He raised his hand for silence. Theresa listened. To their ears came a creaking sound, from somewhere in the hallway.

“Is that the creeping?” whispered Shiloh.

Theresa was intent; for a moment she hesitated. Then she shook her head as the sound came closer.

“I— I don’t know,” she gasped. “No — it sounds different from the creeping that I heard last night. This noise is coming closer. Listen, Donald! It sounds as though it is on the stairs!”

Shiloh sprang to the sliding doors and shoved one open. He stepped out into the lighted hall, to see a figure on the stairway. It was Egbert Doyd; the sickly-looking uncle turned about and stared at Shiloh.

“HELLO, Egbert,” greeted Shiloh. “We thought we heard you going by. Just wanted to tell you that Clavelock had been here. With news about Myram. The fellow was murdered.”

“Has the ebony casket been found?” inquired Egbert, sharply.

“No sign of it, uncle,” replied Theresa, coming from the reception room. “I am sorry you were not about when Mr. Clavelock was here.”

“I was asleep in the library,” snapped Egbert. “You should have called me. Bah! No one thinks of me about this house.”

With that, Egbert turned and made his way upstairs. His gait was fairly rapid; if he had been responsible for those slower footsteps, it must have been a sign that he had moved slowly past the reception room door, perhaps to listen there.

As Egbert Doyd reached the top steps, he passed Wilfred. The servant had been standing there unnoticed. Both men disappeared from sight. Theresa spoke to Shiloh; the young man followed her back into the library.

“Those were not the footsteps,” assured Theresa. “But I feel sure, Donald, that the creeping is deliberate. The same person could easily make shuffling sounds instead. But there is something else that I must tell you. Come — look here in this tiny desk drawer.”

The girl went to an old-fashioned secretary desk and opened a drawer. She brought out folded sheets of paper. Shiloh stared as he saw the typewritten lines.

“The missing code list!” he exclaimed. “The one that Clavelock could not find! Who put it here, Theresa? How did you discover it?”

“Yesterday evening,” explained the girl, “Mark Lundig was in here alone when I entered. I saw him hastily close this drawer. He did not realize that I had seen him. After he had gone upstairs, I investigated. I found the list.”

“So Lundig filched it. Hm-m-m. Look, Theresa. He has marked it. Evidently trying to figure out some answer for himself.”

“What shall I do about it?”

“Say nothing. Leave the list here. If you have any trouble with Lundig, call my apartment. If I am not there, Jeffrey will be. One or the other of us will come at once.”

Theresa replaced the list. She and Shiloh went out into the hall. They passed the reception room and arrived at the front parlor. Suddenly Theresa stopped short and stared into the front room. A man was seated there, reading. It was Mark Lundig.

THE fellow looked up, pretending surprise; but it was evident from the suspicious look in his eyes that he had heard the two approaching.

He laid the book aside and nodded to Theresa as he arose. Then he shook hands affably with Shiloh.

“I just came in,” remarked Lundig. “Wilfred admitted me, and I stopped in here to look through this old art portfolio. A most interesting volume. Most interesting! Well, Theresa, I shall see you later. I am going into the library.”

Lundig went back through the hall. Shiloh opened the front door. Theresa followed him to the steps; there, the girl expressed new suspicions.

“He has gone to the library,” she whispered, “to make sure that his precious list is still there. What is more, Donald, I do not believe that Wilfred admitted Mark. We would have heard the ring of the doorbell.”

“Then how did Lundig get into the house?”

“Through the side door, in back of the hall. It leads off beyond the library.”

“Is it unlocked?”

“No. But there are several keys to it. What is more, the lock is an old-fashioned one. There used to be a bolt; but it became so rusty that Wilfred removed it. The bolt has never been replaced.”

Shiloh pondered. Theresa looked quizzical. Seeing the girl’s expression, the man smiled.

“I was wondering,” he stated, “just when Lundig did come in. It was probably while Uncle Egbert was still in the library. That is why Lundig went toward the parlor.”

“Then it was he whom we heard passing?”

“Perhaps. Or he may have passed too softly for us to hear his footsteps. He must have watched from the parlor.”

“To see us go into the library?”

“Yes. That is why he waited longer in the front room.”

The matter settled, at least to partial satisfaction, Shiloh went his way. Before departing, he again assured Theresa that he would be ready in time of need. The girl watched the coupe roll from the curb; then went back into the house.

She went first to the library. Mark Lundig was no longer there; the girl decided that he must have gone to his room. Theresa went to her own room on the second floor, found a book and began to read.

Two hours passed. It was nearly six o’clock and the cloudy afternoon had darkened into dusk. The girl heard some one coming down the stairs from the third floor. She looked out of her room to see Wilfred passing. The servant was going to the kitchen to prepare dinner, for Wilfred was a competent chef, as well as a capable serving man.

Wilfred did not see Theresa. The girl watched him descend to the ground floor. She heard his footsteps fade. A somber silence pervaded the old house; then, from below, the girl detected a new sound. It was the creeping again, faint, almost inaudible; impossible to locate.

Theresa shuddered. The creeping ended abruptly. The girl listened tensely for a full five minutes; then went back into her room, closed the door and tried to resume her reading.

But she could not forget the ominous sound that she had heard. Through her mind kept flashing a name — the only title by which she could identify the person with those strange footsteps. The Creeper.

Theresa repeated the name aloud. Her own voice made her shudder as she said the name:

“The Creeper!”

AT last, Theresa settled down to read her book. She became engrossed; she forgot the passage of time, until the closing of a door on the second floor suddenly aroused her. The girl glanced at a clock on the bureau. It was nearly seven. That was the dinner hour.

Leaving her room, Theresa went to the stairway. Halfway down, she paused. Again she heard the creeping, more distinctly than before. An hour had lapsed since she had heard the sound before. The Creeper had moved about; then stopped somewhere. Again, he was prowling below.

Where was he? Theresa could not guess. The uncanny footsteps might have been anywhere on the ground floor — anywhere except near the parlor, for the girl could see the entrance to that room. She decided that the sound must be in the library, or in the hall that led beyond it. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the creeping ended.

Gathering nerve, Theresa went downstairs. She passed the doors of the reception room. They were shut tight. She went on through the rear hall; she reached the side door and tried it, to find the barrier locked.

Oppressed by the gloom, Theresa hurried back and entered the library. The room was lighted; it was also empty.

A sound made Theresa turn. The girl repressed a gasp as she saw Mark Lundig standing in the doorway of the library. The fox-faced man smiled. His expression indicated that he had not noticed the girl’s surprise.

“Dinner nearly ready?” inquired Lundig.

“I–I guess so,” stammered Theresa. “When did — I mean, did you just come downstairs?”

“Just this minute. My watch said seven, so I left my room. Ah! There is the dinner gong.”

Melodious chimes were sounding from across the hall. Theresa and Lundig left the library, to enter the dining room, which was the room located directly in back of the reception room. As they crossed the hall, Theresa stopped, noting that one of the reception room doors was slightly opened. Lundig saw the direction of the girl’s gaze and spoke promptly.

“I looked in there for Egbert,” he remarked. “Sometimes the old chap drops in there for a doze. I noticed that the door was slightly open; but I did not see Egbert.”

Footsteps came from the stairway. Egbert appeared; the old uncle smiled as he saw Theresa. His sickly face looked less yellow than usual; in fact, it was tinted with a slight flush.

“My nap did me good,” chuckled Egbert. “But I was sleeping like a cat all the while. The dinner gong awakened me. Well, well! For once I really feel like eating.”

They entered the dining room. Wilfred appeared as soon as they sat down and solemnly began to serve them. Both Mark Lundig and Egbert Doyd ate with relish; but Theresa had little taste for food. She was troubled, wondering about the insidious mystery that dominated this old house.

The Creeper!

AGAIN the name flashed through Theresa’s brain. The girl glanced toward Mark Lundig. He could be The Creeper. He could have visited the library an hour ago, worked on his stolen list, then started back upstairs. Hearing Theresa coming down, he could have gone into the reception room and waited there until she had passed; then come to join her after she had entered the library.

Theresa gazed at her Uncle Egbert. He was oddly active to-night, more so than Theresa had ever believed he could be. He could be The Creeper. He might have come down; gone into the reception room; then returned upstairs — silently — before Lundig had come down.

Theresa realized suddenly that she might not have heard new footsteps had they occurred while she was in the rear hall.

Wilfred was moving noiselessly about. He was a well-trained serving man, always quiet when occasion demanded. A new suspicion startled Theresa. Had Wilfred been The Creeper?

He had gone downstairs at six. He could have prowled then; and later, shortly before seven, when Theresa had heard the strange footsteps for the second time. Wilfred could have gone through the dining room to the kitchen. That would account for the sudden finish of The Creeper’s footsteps.

Baffled, the girl felt troubled. One lone determination gripped her. The next time she heard The Creeper’s footsteps, she would call for promised aid. From the telephone in her own room, Theresa would summon Donald Shiloh, bringing him here at once to help her solve the weird and terrifying mystery.