The Ghost Of The Manor

CHAPTER X AT THE CLUB

SOME time after Horatio Farman’s departure from Delthern Manor, Warren Barringer entered the lobby of the City Club. He inquired for Clark Brosset, and was informed that the president was in his office on the second floor.

Warren went to the designated spot, tapped on the door, and received an order to enter. He found Clark Brosset seated at his desk.

The dignified president greeted his visitor with a quiet smile.

“Good evening, Warren,” he said. “I wanted to meet you in the lounge, but I have been kept busy longer than I expected.”

Brosset swept some account books from the desk and opened a small safe that was set in the wall. He locked the strong box, speaking as he did so.

“You are enjoying your membership here?” he asked.

“Immensely,” returned Warren. “Thanks to you, Clark, I feel quite at home in Newbury.”

“Bothered any more by Cousin Jasper?”

“Not at all. I have seen him once or twice. He just nodded sulkily.”

“He is still sore because I called him down,” declared Brosset. “I’ve had him on the carpet twice since the night I met you. In fact, he was just in here a short while ago, but I refrained from mentioning your name.

“I threatened him with expulsion if he repeated his nasty behavior. That’s why he’s watching his actions. He drinks outside, and keeps steady when he’s in this place. He lives here, you know, and he likes it. In fact, the City Club is the only place where he is accepted at all. Jasper Delthern — the black sheep of the family.”

“I feel sorry for him,” stated Warren. “In fact, Clark, I have felt very sober since the night when Winstead Delthern died. You remember that I talked with you here immediately after I left Delthern Manor.”

“Yes,” responded Clark Brosset, coming from the safe. “You had a pretty stormy interview with Winstead, didn’t you?”

“That’s just it,” admitted Warren. “To think that he died so shortly afterward. Honestly, Clark, it makes me feel a sense of guilt.”

Clark Brosset slapped Warren on the shoulder. The president of the City Club was calm and reassuring when he spoke.

“Forget it, Warren,” he urged. “It’s not wise to let such things prey upon your mind. I’m glad that you did not broadcast the fact that you were at Delthern Manor that evening. If you had, there might be cause for apprehension.”

“I am glad that you are the only person who knows it,” asserted Warren. “Of course, we were talking in the grillroom. Someone may have overheard us.”

“Not Jasper Delthern, at least,” stated Brosset. “The less he knows of your doings, Warren, the better. In fact, he has become very shifty lately. He was not at all straightforward when I talked with him this evening.”

“You don’t think,” questioned Warren, “that he bears me any malice?”

“I hope not,” commented Brosset.

THE two men descended to the grillroom. They ordered sandwiches and coffee as they sat at a corner table. Suddenly, Brosset, who was looking toward the outer corridor, nudged Warren.

“There’s Jasper now,” whispered the president. “At the bottom of the steps.”

Warren looked and saw his cousin standing alone. Jasper’s eyes were turned down the corridor. His lips were moving viciously, as though engaged in silent comment. Warren stared.

“I wonder what’s come over him,” he remarked, in a low tone. “Look at his face, Clark! It’s terrible!”

Brosset nodded.

“I don’t like it, Warren,” he murmured. “I’ve noticed that about Jasper before. There’s something on his mind; that’s certain. You know, he has done some mighty mean things in his time.”

As Brosset finished speaking, Jasper, who had not seen the others watching him, moved rapidly along the corridor. A sharp exclamation came from Clark Brosset’s lips.

“He’s going to telephone!” said the club president. “One of those booths down the corridor. I’d better check up on this!”

He half rose from his chair; then sat down again and looked around the room.

“I’d better not go myself,” he remarked. “It wouldn’t be wise after the bawling out I gave him. Wait — I’ll send Louie, the steward.”

Brosset looked about, but the attendant was not in sight. The president hesitated, about to go himself.

“Maybe it’s better not to send Louie,” he said. “Jasper may be in some mixup. If so, I ought to know about it—”

“Suppose I go,” suggested Warren, rising. “Wait here, Clark. I’ll let you know if anything is up.”

Reaching the corridor, Warren noted that one of the two telephone booths was occupied. He slipped into the empty one, and found that he could hear Jasper’s voice from the next booth.

“That’s right, Wellington,” Jasper was saying. “You keep out of it, see? Like you did the other night… Don’t worry now — I fixed number one, didn’t I?… Leave it to me; I’ll get number two… You’d better be out in the garage, talking with that new chauffeur, Holley. The alibi is your lookout. I’ll take care of Humphrey.”

Warren needed to hear no more. He slipped quietly from the phone booth and hurried back to the grillroom. He threw a glance as he went in the door, and saw a motion at the booth where Jasper was located. Just in time to escape his cousin’s observation, Warren hastened to the table where Clark Brosset was seated.

“What’s up?” came the immediate inquiry. “Warren! You’re white!”

“Up in your office,” whispered Warren. “I want to talk with you, Clark — in private!”

They saw Jasper go past the entrance of the grillroom as they were rising. The two men waited; then went out and ascended to Clark Brosset’s office. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Warren blurted out the news.

“Jasper was talking to Wellington,” he explained. “That’s the servant at Delthern Manor. He spoke about Humphrey Delthern — said that he would take care of him like he took care of someone before. Told Wellington to get an alibi—”

“You mean,” exclaimed Brosset, “that he may be plotting injury to his brother?”

“So it sounded,” admitted Warren. “I didn’t like the way he spoke about the past, either—”

“You mean Winstead!”

“Possibly.”

“Whew! Accidental death. But what reason, Warren, could Jasper have in attacking his own brother?”

“The terms of the estate are still secret, Clark. The division comes in a few weeks. One half to the eldest surviving heir of Caleb Delthern—”

Clark Brosset sprang to the telephone, holding up his hand as interruption.

“Humphrey must be warned at once!” he exclaimed. “I hardly know the man, but I must warn him!”

“Not that way,” objected Warren, taking the telephone from Brosset. “Wellington will answer; he will ask for a message. You won’t reach Humphrey, and Wellington will suspect.”

“Then we must go to Delthern Manor — one of us at least.”

WARREN pondered. He realized the difficulties of the situation. Jasper Delthern, conspiring with Wellington, was a dangerous and imminent threat. A telephone call; the sudden visit of two men; even the appearance of Clark Brosset at the mansion might give the servant the tip that plans had been discovered.

But it occurred to Warren that should he go alone, Wellington would suspect nothing. The servant had heard Warren bait Winstead Delthern on a previous occasion; he would look for another quarrel, this time with Humphrey.

“Let me handle this,” decided Warren. “We’ve let too many minutes go by already. It would have been best to have stopped Jasper.”

“Hardly,” returned Brosset. “A warning to Humphrey Delthern is the logical suggestion. With Humphrey on his guard, Jasper may be trapped.”

“You are right about the warning,” agreed Warren. “I am leaving right away — straight for Delthern Manor.”

“One moment, Warren!” Clark Brosset’s face was serious as his hand gripped Warren’s arm. “Don’t get into an argument with Humphrey. Be tactful — and if necessary, tell him to communicate with me.

“Remember; this may be serious. If any complications should occur, count on me. This is between you and Humphrey alone. Come back here as soon as you can. Rely upon my aid, and my discretion. Don’t be hasty, Warren!”

“I’ll remember, Clark,” agreed Warren, gripping his friend’s hand. “You’re right — the less said the better. No one will know that I am not here at the City Club—”

“And no one will know where you have gone, even if your absence is noted. After you have gone, I’ll tell the doorman that you are with me, in my office.”

Warren nodded his agreement. Clark Brosset accompanied him to the ground floor; after Warren had left by a side door, Brosset spoke to the doorman at the front.

“I shall be in my office,” he said. “If anyone calls for Mr. Barringer, send the visitor up. Mr. Barringer will be with me.”

RETURNING to the office, Clark Brosset opened the wall safe and removed club records, which he took to the desk. The trace of anxiety on his face showed that he was anxious to learn the outcome of Warren Barringer’s interview with Humphrey Delthern.

Brosset was well acquainted with the stubbornness that had long characterized Humphrey as well as his dead brother Winstead.

Brosset became restless. He closed the record book and sat pensively at his desk. Minutes drifted by; then came a rap at the door. Brosset sprang to the portal, expecting to see Warren Barringer. Instead, he found Bosger, the doorman.

“A gentleman to see Mr. Barringer, sir,” said Bosger.

“To see Mr. Barringer,” echoed Brosset. “Who is the visitor, Bosger?”

“A gentleman who stopped here on his way to New York. His name is Lamont Cranston.”

“Show him up,” ordered Brosset, after a moment’s thought. “I shall speak with him here.”

Pacing the floor with a troubled air, Clark Brosset regretted the untimeliness of this visit. He realized that Warren Barringer might have important details to discuss immediately upon his return from Delthern Manor. What if swift action would prove necessary? What if complications involving Jasper Delthern should arrive?

These troubling questions brought Clark Brosset to a quick decision. He planned to send Lamont Cranston on his way with very little delay.