The Death Giver

CHAPTER III. ONE MILLION DOLLARS

WHEN the next morning dawned, Detective Joe Cardona was again at Felswood station, determined to watch the arrival of the eight thirty-eight. The detective was somewhat nervous — an unusual condition for one so stolid as Joe Cardona.

Mayhew had again been dispatched to the end of the line. He was there now, Cardona knew. This branch of the Suburban Railway terminated at the town of Belgrade, ten miles beyond Felswood.

Mayhew had gone to Belgrade simply because it was the starting-point of the commuters’ train, which left there at eight ten. There was no other reason why Mayhew should be there, in Cardona’s opinion.

Nevertheless, that town of Belgrade was due to play an important part in the activities of both Cardona and Mayhew. For at the very time when Cardona arrived at Felswood — shortly before seven in the morning — new events were shaping in the town where Mayhew had gone.

One of the most imposing residences in Belgrade was the home of Henry Bellew, multimillionaire clothing manufacturer. Henry Bellew, a thin, cadaverous man of sixty years, was a firm believer in the adage of early rising. On this particular morning, as was his regular custom, Bellew was seated at his dining-room table, awaiting his morning course of bacon and eggs.

“The morning newspaper, Barcomb!” ordered Bellew, in an impatient tone.

“Yes, sir.”

The quiet response came from a sad-faced butler. Barcomb, although he was scarcely forty, was a bald-headed man of patient demeanor, who always responded promptly to his master’s bidding. Within a few seconds after Bellew had given his order, the newspaper lay upon the dining-room table.

Henry Bellew glanced at the headlines. His face clouded. He was reading the story of the third death aboard the commuters’ train at Felswood.

That story struck home. It was annoying to Henry Bellew. He had been aboard the train on each day of tragedy. Although he had not been a passenger in the car where death had struck, Bellew had suffered the delay, and had listened to the awed comments of his fellow riders.

“Hm-m-m!” mumbled Bellew. “If this keeps on, no one will ride that train.”

The remarks were addressed to no one. Barcomb had gone from the dining room to get Bellew’s breakfast. The rest of the millionaire’s family were not accustomed to rising at the early hour of seven.

As Barcomb arrived with the plate of bacon and eggs, the front doorbell sounded with a short ring.

Henry Bellew made a motion with his hand and spoke to the butler.

“Get the mail, Barcomb.”

The butler left the room, and returned with a stack of letters. Bellew clutched the mail and ran quickly through each item.

Barcomb watched him closely, though unobserved. He knew that Bellew was looking for a postcard — not for a letter.

FOR three days in a row, Henry Bellew had received postcards, each bearing the same cryptic words.

Puzzled, the millionaire had kept them in his desk.

By now, his curiosity had been aroused; in fact, it had reached a state of alarm. Perplexity mingled with relief as Bellew noted that postcards were absent from this morning’s mail.

Suddenly, Bellew stopped as he was about to lay a letter aside. The written address looked familiar.

Yes it was the same as those on the postcards!

Forgetful of his steaming breakfast, the millionaire tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet within.

There, in capital letters like the typing of a telegram, appeared the same words that appeared upon the postcards previously received.

Below, a simple statement explained the method of interpreting the message. Bellew’s eyes bulged as he scanned the capitalized words again. His hand gripped the newspaper beside him.

Bellew now knew the menace that lay in those postcards which were in his desk. Each one had been a prophecy!

Dazedly, the millionaire read the rest of the letter. In plain, simple language, it explained why Henry Bellew had become the recipient of mysterious messages. It read: From you I expect to receive the sum of one million dollars within two weeks from the present date.

Below the unfinished statement came the signature — words that completed the letter and made Henry Bellew quiver with a sudden chill:

The import of this strange message was evident to Henry Bellew. The millionaire knew that three men had been mysteriously slain aboard the train which he regularly rode. Evidently, this letter meant that the reign of terror was ended, so far as regular deaths were concerned.

Until now, the deaths had been indiscriminate. If another occurred, it would be purposeful. He, Henry Bellew, would be the victim of a strange fanatic who called himself The Death Giver!

What was to be done?

A mingled series of emotions flashed through Bellew’s brain. The millionaire stared about him. Barcomb, in a corner of the room, was apparently unnoticing.

Bellew realized that he faced a tremendous problem. The Death Giver wanted money — the huge sum of one million dollars. But could the mysterious killer back up his threats?

Bellew realized that if he rode the regular train to-day and on succeeding days, he would come within a sphere of death every time the local passed Felswood station. At the same time, Bellew was shrewd enough to doubt The Death Giver’s ability to extend that region of influence.

Death had been dealt at random. Could the murderer kill a specific person aboard that train? Could he reach a person who used the train no longer?

As the chills subsided along Bellew’s spine, the millionaire began to reason shrewdly. He tried to analyze the method that lay behind The Death Giver’s actions.

THREE deaths — news of the latest one shouting itself from the journal on the table. That was good psychology on The Death Giver’s part. It had frightened Bellew. It should suffice to keep him worried for a time. The millionaire realized that his natural procedure would be to wait and say nothing.

With each succeeding day, his apprehensions would increase. Perhaps, by some new atrocities, The Death Giver would add renewed stimulus.

It suddenly occurred to Bellew that there was no time like the present. This very morning was the period when The Death Giver would least expect counteraction from the man whom he had threatened.

This thought came as an inspiration. Bellew was alone in the house, except for servants and family. He felt that he was safe for the present. The police were still bewildered by the deaths that had occurred at Felswood. If there was to be a showdown with the mysterious killer, the time to begin it was the present.

Bellew glanced at the note. He again read the words:

Such communication would be dangerous; but it might be inevitable. The longer that he waited, Bellew felt, the less effective would that communication be. The millionaire sensed the drawing of a mesh about him. He would end it before it was too late.

Disregarding his breakfast, Henry Bellew arose and left the dining room. Upon the table remained the folded note which the millionaire had just read. It was covered by a stack of letters. Barcomb still stood in the corner, alone in the cheery room, where a warm fire crackled in the fireplace. But the butler did not stay idle.

After a short interval, he followed Henry Bellew’s course into the gloomy hall outside the dining room. A closed door at the other side showed where Henry Bellew had gone — to a little room that the millionaire used as a study. Barcomb, treading softly, reached that door and listened.

“Hello — hello—” came Bellew’s muffled voice. “I want the police department in New York City—”

Barcomb swung away from the door. He hurried to the wall. There, on the floor, was a special telephone switch that was no longer used. It had been placed on the baseboard to cut off the telephone bell from Bellew’s study, but the millionaire had never utilized the device. Sometimes the phone was cut off upstairs, but never down.

Stooping to the floor, Barcomb quickly turned the switch. Straightening, he hurried toward the dining room. He heard two sounds as he went: one, a cry from the study; the other, footsteps at the top of the stairs from the second floor.

COINCIDENT with Barcomb’s action at the switch, a tragedy occurred within the study. Henry Bellew, speaking into the mouthpiece of the telephone, staggered backward with a cry upon his lips.

His body was racked with the force of a powerful electric current. He writhed, stumbled against a table, and plunged headlong across it — the telephone smashing away from his paralyzed hands. Toppling to the floor, Henry Bellew lay dead.

The person coming down the steps heard the dying cry and called out in alarm. It was Bellew’s wife; and in her fright, the woman shouted for Barcomb. The butler was standing in the dining room, by the table.

He could not be seen from the hallway. He had reached this spot just in time.

“What is it, madam?” responded Barcomb.

The butler was picking up the letter from The Death Giver, as he called out his reply. Edging toward the fireplace, he tossed both letter and envelope in the flames.

“Something — I’m afraid something has happened in Mr. Bellew’s study!” came the woman’s voice.

“I’ll be right there, madam.”

Barcomb saw that the letter and envelope were already well consumed. Hurrying into the hall, he joined Mrs. Bellew. The two went to the study door. It was locked on the inside. Barcomb called; receiving no response, he began to crash the door.

The noise brought more people to the scene. Bellew’s two sons dashed downstairs. Other servants arrived.

The door went down under added blows. The rescuers entered to see the millionaire dead upon the floor. The sight of the telephone brought a warning from one of the dead man’s sons.

“Don’t touch the telephone! I think father has been electrocuted.”

The warning was heeded. A servant was dispatched to another house to call for aid. One of Bellew’s sons and Barcomb alone remained within the room. The butler’s solemn face seemed sad. Not for one instant did it reveal the man’s true emotions.

For Barcomb, agent of The Death Giver, had put the written threat into execution. Stationed in Bellew’s home, he had been in readiness to bear out the terms of the message which had arrived this morning.

More than that, Barcomb had destroyed the one important item of evidence: the letter which explained the cryptic postcards and also set forth The Death Giver’s threat.

Let the police investigate! Once more they would find the victim of what appeared to be no more than an unfortunate accident!