The Ghost Of The Manor

CHAPTER XIII CRIME UPON CRIME

MOMENTS had seemed very long to Warren Barringer. Now, his numbed brain experienced a reaction. As he gazed at Humphrey Delthern’s body, the young man found a deluge of thoughts sweeping through his mind.

Death had struck. In the confusion of a blackened room, someone had slain Humphrey Delthern. Warren realized that his back had been toward the door. He glanced in that direction. He saw the light switch.

Some daring murderer could have opened that door, extinguished the light, and made the swift attack. Such seemed to be the only explanation. Yet the man had gone as swiftly as he had come — and all his actions, including the murder, had occurred during those moments while Warren had groped and stumbled in the darkness.

The only trace that remained of the killer was Humphrey’s body, a pitiful, scrawny form, with the token of death extending from it. Here was Warren, an innocent person, left in the room with his murdered cousin.

Jasper Delthern?

The brother had plotted murder. Warren had heard him. He must have come up the stairs, listened through the door, and taken advantage of opportunity.

As for Wellington — Warren remembered now. Jasper had told the servant to establish an alibi, and to leave the way clear.

This gave Warren his cue. Winstead Delthern had died in this house after Warren’s departure. Suppose that Warren should be gone again when Humphrey’s body was found? The thought of flight was distasteful; but the menace that lay here counteracted it.

It would be wise to get out before Wellington returned. The servant might be bringing the chauffeur with him, on some pretext. Warren thought of Clark Brosset, back at the City Club.

This was inspiration! Back to the club; a talk with Brosset; there they could decide what might be best. Humphrey Delthern’s safety was of no consequence now. The man was dead.

Warren turned toward the door. He seized the knob, and cautiously opened the barrier. He stopped, fancying that he heard footsteps. He drew back. A moment later, he knew that someone was creeping forward. Before he could take action, Wellington came from the gloom and stood before him.

THE servant’s face hardened. Wellington stared from Humphrey’s form to Warren Barringer. His lips tightened, and Wellington broke forth in accusation.

“You have killed him!” he exclaimed. “You — you murderer! He — he told me to be here. He was afraid of you! But I thought that he was safe!”

With a sudden rage, the servant precipitated himself into the room and clutched at Warren Barringer. The young man flung Wellington to one side, and as he thrust back the servant’s attack, uttered his own defiant challenge.

“You know the truth!” cried Warren. “You — and Jasper Delthern! He is the murderer, and you know it!”

The two locked in struggle. Warren, young and powerful, hurled back the servant, whom he believed to be a traitor. But Wellington was not lacking in strength. The servant fought with a fury that could only come from actual belief that he was battling with the man who had slain his present master.

In the course of their grapple, the fighters jounced against the door and knocked it shut. They swerved across the room, struck the desk, and staggered on. Humphrey Delthern’s body teetered lazily back and forth as the desk was shaken by the conflict.

Sudden chance favored Wellington. As the pair plunged toward the wall, Warren tripped, twisted, and struck his head against the paneling. He grunted as his teeth clicked. He lost his hold upon his adversary.

With a mighty effort, Wellington flung Warren to the floor. Half groggy, the young man rolled to his knees and held up his hands as protection when he saw Wellington towering toward him.

The servant, his face filled with rage, was preparing for a powerful lunge. Warren, despite his swimming head, was ready to receive it. Then, as when Warren had faced Humphrey Delthern, blackness intervened.

This time a slight click impressed itself upon Warren’s brain as the lights suddenly went out. Momentary darkness; then came a muffled roar and a tongue of fire flashed within the room. The report dulled away. Something landed heavily upon the floor in front of Warren Barringer. The young man groped forward. The lights came on again.

Warren found himself staring at the prostrate form of Wellington. The servant, in falling, had twisted on his side. A gaping wound showed in his breast. A revolver lay on the floor beside him.

Half dazed, Warren reached for the weapon. He desisted as his swimming brain made him falter. He stared groggily about the room.

Again, the murderer had come and gone. Swiftly had he entered; swiftly had he left. Picking his target as he extinguished the light, he had slain Wellington as effectively as he had done away with Humphrey Delthern.

The same thoughts as before came drumming through Warren’s brain.

Death! Menace! Need for flight!

That was final. The young man rose to his feet. He moved to the door and opened it. He went unsteadily along the hall; he caught the rail at the head of the stairs, and descended.

The lower hallway was as silent and as gloomy as before. The dull lights of the living room seemed ominous; the closed doors of the great reception hall seemed to be hiding eyes that were accusing, in spite of Warren’s sense of innocence.

Out through the front door, down the flagstone walk. Warren reached the sidewalk, and breathed deeply of the cooling air. His wits came back to him with amazing swiftness. He walked quickly down the avenue.

ONE block from Delthern Manor, Warren spied a taxicab parked beside the curb. The door was open. The young man saw the driver standing at the front of the car, gazing in the opposite direction. For a moment, Warren hesitated; then, on sudden impulse, he stepped into the cab.

The noise caused the driver to turn. He came toward the door as Warren closed it. Calming his voice, Warren ordered the man to take him to the railroad station. The driver clambered to the wheel, and shouted through the open window as he drove along.

“Were you the fellow that was in this cab before?” he questioned. “The guy that gave me the money?”

“Yes,” answered Warren,

“Didn’t see you get out,” explained the driver. “What’s the matter? Weren’t the folks at home?”

“No,” Warren replied.

The driver made no further comment. He sped along a side street toward the broad avenue that led to the depot. Warren, settled back upon the seat, was thinking clearly now. He was planning the next phase of action.

Crime upon crime. Warren Barringer had witnessed double murder in the second-story study at Delthern Manor. He was sure that the killer was Jasper Delthern; but the burden of proof would be his own!