The Ghost Of The Manor

CHAPTER II WEIRD ECHOES

WHERE Horatio Farman had been seated alone, a small group now surrounded the table. The old lawyer, resting back in his chair, surveyed the visitors as he tapped his lingers upon the papers that he had taken from the portfolio.

Clearing his throat, Farman addressed a man who was seated at the end of the table opposite him. This individual was nearly fifty years of age; and his cadaverous face and long, broad-bridged nose, showed a quibbling, discontented nature.

“You, Winstead Delthern,” announced Horatio Farman, “now occupy the head of the council table. You are the eldest survivor of the Delthern family. You occupy the place which formerly belonged to your grandfather, Caleb Delthern.”

After this comment, Farman fumbled with the papers. He made a brief consultation, then removed the spectacles that he was wearing, and spoke as though from memory.

“The terms of Caleb Delthern’s will,” stated the lawyer, “are as follows:

“One month following the conference here tonight, the estate shall be divided among all his grandchildren who may then be living.

“This is a simple proviso, particularly so as the grandchildren are few and easily traceable. Despite the fact that Caleb Delthern had three children of his own — all now deceased — and lived to the age of ninety-seven, there are only five grandchildren, and no great-grandchildren.

“You know this fact as well as I; but in order to be precise, I shall name the descendants who are entitled to share in the apportionment of the estate.

“First, the three sons of Howard Delthern, son of Caleb. Those three sons are Winstead Delthern” — Farman indicated the man at the other end of the table — “Humphrey Delthern and Jasper Delthern.”

Farman completed this statement by pointing twice to his right. He paused to study the men whom he had indicated.

Humphrey Delthern, seated near Winstead, was the counterpart of his sour-faced brother. Jasper, the youngest of the three, was a thick-faced man of a more active type, although he bore the Delthern features.

“Next,” continued Farman, “comes the one child of Caleb Delthern’s daughter Marcia. I am speaking of Warren Barringer, who is not present with us tonight.”

Farman looked toward a vacant chair as he spoke. Finally, he studied the only woman present — the quiet-faced girl who sat beside the empty seat.

“The youngest of the heirs,” remarked Farman, “is the one child of Caleb Delthern’s second daughter. You, Marcia Wardrop, are the last of the grandchildren.

“I may mention, however” — the lawyer’s tone became sentimental — “that your grandfather felt an especial bond of affection toward you, Marcia, due to the fact that you lived in this house since childhood. In fact” — Farman’s tone now became critical — “you were the only relative whom Caleb Delthern saw during the final years of his life.”

NO one commented as the lawyer paused. Winstead Delthern, sour and expressionless, simply stared at Farman. Humphrey Delthern copied his brother’s glance. Jasper, however, indulged in a smile that added no pleasantness to his puffy, ugly lips.

“I have enumerated the descendants,” resumed Farman. “I shall list them again, in order. Winstead Delthern, Humphrey Delthern, Jasper Delthern. Then Warren Barringer and Marcia Wardrop. That is the order of progression, from the eldest to the youngest.”

Something in the lawyer’s tone brought an anticipative smile to the thin lips of Winstead Delthern, who was watching opposite. The new head of the family sensed that the mention of age might have an important bearing on the will. The surmise proved correct.

“The estate of Caleb Delthern,” said Farman, “first involves the bestowal of Delthern Manor, this ancestral home. It is to become the property of the head of the family; to remain so until his death, then to pass to the next in line. This is in accordance with the Delthern custom. I may remark, in passing, that all members of the family preserve the right to live in this home.”

No comment followed from the listeners. The statement had been expected. All were tensely awaiting the decision concerning the funds of the estate.

“Caleb Delthern,” stated Farman, “left approximately thirteen million dollars. The division of this wealth is to be made — as I remarked before — among the surviving heirs, one month from tonight.

“To the eldest survivor, one half of the estate. To all others, an equal apportionment of the other half.”

Horatio Farman replaced his spectacles upon his nose, and sat back in his chair. He studied the expressions upon the faces of those who had heard the final statement.

The mention of thirteen millions, Farman knew, had brought exultation to the listeners. The lawyer knew well what the reaction would be among them, now that the actual division had been stated.

Winstead Delthern was wearing a thin smile. Why not? He was to receive six and one half million dollars.

Humphrey Delthern, however, was glowering. Jasper Delthern showed a sneer. Farman knew the reason.

Instead of sharing equally with all, or having provisions made as second and third in line, these two men would each gain only one eighth of the total wealth. Something over a million and a half would be the individual share that each would receive.

Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. The girl displayed none of the resentment evidenced by Humphrey and Jasper. She was satisfied with this ample legacy. But Farman knew Humphrey and Jasper for what they were — men who wanted all that they could gain.

“LET me ask you a question, Farman,” blurted Humphrey suddenly. “When and how does this division take place — and why the delay?”

“I shall answer that,” returned the lawyer, referring to a paper. “All the heirs must assemble here again — one month from tonight. They must be present to be eligible. The time provision is to allow liquidation of the estate — a matter which is in my hands.

“I shall, however, follow the advice of Winstead Delthern in my activities. There are many provisions to be discussed in detail. I have merely given those which express the exact apportionment—”

“Just a minute,” interrupted Jasper, in a gruff voice. “You sent word to me that I would have to be here at midnight, tonight. You said it was important. What if I had not been here?”

“I summoned you,” returned Farman quietly, “to represent your own interest. I sent the same word to all the other heirs. I cannot see where your supposition of absence has any bearing upon the terms of the will.”

“Did it specifically mention that I must be here?” persisted Jasper.

With an annoyed glance, Farman picked up a document and read:

“Wait a minute!” blurted Jasper. “That’s what you should have done in the first place — given us a reading of the document. It is addressed to the heirs here assembled, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” retorted Farman. “That is why I made it urgent for you to be here.”

“Then,” said Jasper shrewdly, “if I hadn’t shown up, I would have been out. Well, I’m here, so I’m in. But Warren Barringer isn’t here. That lets him out. The split is between Humphrey, Marcia, and myself.”

Farman rose to his feet and pounded the table indignantly. The lights in the candelabrum flickered, and gobs of wax dropped upon the polished table.

“Outrageous!” exclaimed the lawyer. “Outrageous! You have misconstrued the meaning of the will entirely!”

“To my lawful heirs here assembled,” mocked Jasper, repeating the phraseology of the document.

Humphrey Delthern had been eying Jasper suspiciously. It was plain that there was no brotherly love between them. But now, with the point at issue, a spreading grin appeared upon Humphrey’s lips.

“Jasper is right,” argued Humphrey to Farman. “Warren Barringer has failed to appear. He loses his right to share in the estate.”

Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw the disdain on the girl’s face as she looked at her wrangling, avaricious cousins. Here was one supporter. Farman studied Winstead Delthern; then made his appeal to the new head of the family.

“The settlement of the estate,” declared Farman, “comes one month from tonight. The time element was allowed so that all relatives could arrive after being summoned. I called you all, as was provided, and expected all to be present if possible.

“In the case of Warren Barringer, presence was impossible. Caleb Delthern died less than two weeks ago. I cabled Warren Barringer in Hongkong. He is on his way home. He authorized a proxy, by cable.

“I received word from a man in New York, named Lamont Cranston. He stated that Warren Barringer had requested him to appear as the proxy. I replied that this first meeting would be purely a preliminary one, and advised Cranston that a proxy was unnecessary, although he might attend this meeting if he chose to do so. I promised that I would sustain Warren Barringer’s rights.”

“A proxy!” rasped Humphrey Delthern. “Preposterous! The truth is self-evident, Farman. Warren Barringer loses his rights by not being here tonight.”

IT was apparent that Humphrey and Jasper both figured the million and a half that they might usurp as being far more important than a spirit of fair play. Horatio Farman, however, met Humphrey’s challenge with promptitude.

“You are not the one to make a decision,” remarked the lawyer sternly. “You forget that I am the administrator of the estate.

“If any one of the heirs has a right to demand such an interpretation of the will, it is Winstead Delthern. He is the head of the house; furthermore” — Farman’s note was ironical — “he has no selfish interest involved, as his proportion of the estate is already established. I leave it to him, therefore, to agree with me.”

This statement shifted the attack. Both Humphrey Delthern and Jasper swung to Winstead.

Horatio Farman suddenly realized his mistake. Neither Winstead nor Humphrey were on good terms with their brother Jasper, but their own sour dispositions were somewhat mutual. There was every reason why Winstead would favor brother Humphrey in preference to an unknown cousin, Warren Barringer.

The oldest of the Deltherns held up his hand for quiet. He studied the situation thoughtfully. The lights flickered throughout this gloomy room, and showed the faces in grotesque light.

Winstead was pondering; Humphrey and Jasper were silently gloating; Marcia Wardrop was biting her lip in indignation. Horatio Farman looked on with anxiety. He expected the question that was coming.

“How much weight,” questioned Winstead Delthern, “will my decision carry?”

“A great deal,” admitted Horatio Farman frankly. “The documents which your grandfather left place considerable authority in the hands of the eldest survivor. They also stipulate that all possible heirs be decided upon at this meeting.”

“Then if I decide in favor of Warren Barringer,” declared Winstead, “there can be no further question.”

“None at all.”

“And if I decide against him?”

“It will be difficult for him to prove his case.”

Humphrey Delthern shot a significant glance at his chief brother. Horatio Farman saw that Winstead was about to weaken. The lawyer ejaculated a quick warning.

“Remember, Winstead!” he exclaimed. “Your grandfather placed great trust in you as the eldest of the Deltherns. You are in the home that was his — in the hall where he believed his fathers dwell! This meeting is held here tonight because Caleb Delthern actually believed that he would attend it in spirit if not in flesh!”

The lawyer’s words sounded impressive amid the flickering light of the gloomy room. Winstead Delthern paled noticeably. Humphrey’s eyes became cold. Jasper, alone, broke the tension with an ugly chuckle. The sound made Humphrey smile.

“Ghosts,” he said to Winstead. “have no part in this procedure. We await your opinion, brother. Say, rather, your decision.”

WINSTEAD DELTHERN cleared his throat. He nodded, and it was plain which way he intended to turn. His own rights safe, he was ready to favor Humphrey’s claim.

“Farman,” declared Winstead coldly, “I can see but one possible decision. I shall make it with emphasis. Warren Barringer’s rights are not—”

The slow tones ended. Winstead Delthern’s face became frozen. Words stopped upon his lips as a strange, uncanny sound came to his ears.

The others heard it also — a rising sigh that seemed to spring from the very air of the room. While every person in that great room sat as solid as a statue, the weird sound broke into a mighty shudder.

Then, from unseen lips, came the sound of an eerie laugh that chilled the listeners. The sinister mirth broke like a crashing wave. The candle flames seemed to waver as the burst of ghostly mockery swept through the gloomy hall.

As the laugh died, weird echoes took up the cry. The sardonic tones reverberated from the very walls of the room, coming in breaking waves that might well be the merriment of a horde of invisible demons.

A myriad of gasping taunts resounded; then, through the gloom came the final touch — strange sibilant gibes that swept along the passages of the whispering gallery.

Faces filled with frozen fear surrounded the table in the center of the room. None of the persons assembled there dared move. Stark terror ruled.

Those weird echoes had come as the laugh of a ghost!