The Ghost Of The Manor

CHAPTER XXI A KILLER SPEAKS

“TONIGHT,” announced Jasper Delthern, “we are holding a meeting in the great reception hall. It will be the only conference before the final meeting at which the estate will be apportioned among the surviving heirs.”

He paused, placed his hands upon the edge of the desk, and glanced narrowly toward his cousin.

“Perhaps,” continued Jasper, “you have learned that there was some question regarding your claim upon the estate. That was due to your absence at the first meeting. You were sustained, by Farman and my brother Winstead.

“However, Warren, it will be essential for you to be at the final meeting if you wish to gain your share of our grandfather’s millions. Should you be unable to be present, you will not share — unless Marcia and I voluntarily waive our rights.”

“That’s clear enough,” returned Warren, as Jasper paused again. “I expect to be at the final meeting. We will all be there — all of us entitled to share in the estate.”

“My brother Winstead will not be there,” remarked Jasper sadly. “Nor will my brother Humphrey.”

Warren Barringer’s hands tightened upon the arms of the chair. He detected a ring of insincerity in Jasper Delthern’s sorrowful tone.

“They were murdered!” added Jasper suddenly. “Murdered — both of them!”

He looked squarely at Warren. Evidently, Jasper’s purpose was to test his cousin’s reaction. Remembering the need for discretion, Warren responded calmly.

“I understood,” he remarked, “that Winstead’s death was accidental.”

“It was not!” declared Jasper coldly. “The same person who stabbed Humphrey and shot Wellington flung Winstead from the head of the stairs. Have you any idea who that person was?”

Warren Barringer did not reply. He watched an evil, fiendish leer appear upon his cousin’s face.

“Can you name the murderer?” queried Jasper, in a persistent tone.

Warren could see no reason for refusing an answer now. He was completely baffled by Jasper’s attitude. The look on the fellow’s face was proof enough that he was gloating over memory of evil deeds.

“I can name the murderer!” retorted Warren, in a low, tense accusation. “I do not need to tell you his name, Jasper Delthern. You killed both your brothers and Wellington!”

“I did,” admitted Jasper coolly. “Nevertheless, there is no one living who will prove it. That includes you, Warren. On the contrary” — Jasper’s tone became thoughtful — “it would not be difficult to prove that Warren Barringer was the murderer!”

THE thrust was delivered with a villainous deliberation. Jasper’s cool admission of guilt had been astounding in itself; this nervy statement aroused Warren’s indignation.

“You can prove nothing!” he ejaculated. “You know well that I am innocent—”

“Softly, softly,” interposed Jasper, with malicious calm. “Someone might be passing in the hallway; someone who would overhear you if you talk too loud.”

Warren settled back in his chair. Jasper grinned. The murderer was filled with confidence.

Warren began to realize his own difficult position. He remembered Clark Brosset’s admonition to give Jasper enough leeway to enmesh himself. Warren resolved to listen until Jasper had finished.

“The proofs are here,” remarked Jasper quietly. “Statements signed and sworn to by my brother Humphrey and his servant Wellington — statements that indicate you may have been concerned with Winstead’s death.

“There is proof also that you came here on the night that Humphrey and Wellington died. Your hat” — Jasper laughed — “remained in a downstairs closet. The police were negligent in their quiz that night. I rather fancy that if they questioned my cousin Marcia they could learn more concerning your movements on that evening.”

The warning!

It flashed back through Warren Barringer’s mind. Had Marcia Wardrop divined Jasper’s plan? Was she helpless also? Was this a hopeless trap?

Warren could rely only upon Clark Brosset. There was a friend who could help — yet well did Warren recall the need for caution that Brosset himself had expressed.

“You are thinking of my telephone call from the City Club?” questioned Jasper. “If so, let me inform you that I expected you to overhear it. I saw you approach the phone booths. I did not talk to Wellington that night. I faked the call to bring you here.

“Wellington dead was better than Wellington alive, after he had entered the room. In fact, he was a nuisance all along. I was thinking of your welfare, Warren” — Jasper held up his hand as Warren flashed a look of indignation — “because I had no quarrel with you. I preferred that no one should discover a murderer in the Delthern family.”

Jasper’s evil statement had a twofold meaning. It signified that he did not want crime pinned upon either himself or his cousin. A smile of feigned solicitude replaced the leer on Jasper’s countenance.

“Come,” he said, as Warren preserved absolute silence. “Let us discuss terms. You are in a serious position, Warren. Remember, if we each declare the other as a murderer, the cards are stacked against you. One would suspect a cousin as a killer more readily than one would suspect a brother.

“Moreover, you as well as I have profited by the deaths of Winstead and Humphrey. You could profit further by slaying me. Suppose I should accuse you of threatening my life?”

Warren smiled scornfully. He had regained his wits, now that he saw the game. He was determined to meet Jasper’s calmness with equal unconcern.

“This is interesting, Jasper,” he remarked. “But where does it get you? Am I to assume that things are getting a bit too hot for you?”

“Not too hot for me,” retorted Jasper. “Too hot for you, Warren. The detective on this job — a dumb cluck named Terwiliger — is out for business. He’ll get the murderer, he says — and in characteristic fashion, he’ll pick the wrong man. That ought to worry you, Warren!”

IT did worry Warren Barringer. The young man had no knowledge of the happenings that had taken place in Delthern Manor on the night before. Nevertheless, Warren felt sure that Jasper was leading up to some proposition. He wanted to find out what it was. Jasper saw his quizzical expression and laughed again.

“I’m going to make it easy for you, Warren,” he declared. “That is why I called this meeting for tonight. When we confer with Horatio Farman, you will state that you have found it necessary to leave for California. That will naturally bring up the subject of your share in the estate.

“At my suggestion, Marcia and I will agree, in writing, not to dispute your claim. Your portion will be forwarded to you upon the date of settlement. You will keep one half of it.”

“And the rest?” queried Warren calmly.

“You will split with me,” decided Jasper. “That is a fair break. You get one eighth — the share originally yours. You have lost nothing. Your quarter share is really of my making; therefore half of it rightfully belongs to me.”

In tone and manner, Jasper Delthern had calculated well. His words had carried no great threat; indeed, they had shown a marked expression of welfare toward Warren Barringer. But the menace was there; now, Jasper chose to reveal it.

“Follow my instructions, Warren,” ordered Jasper, in a harsh tone, “and you will come out of this uninjured! When I receive my split of the money that goes to you, I will destroy all the evidence against you. If necessary, I will send it to you that you may accomplish the destruction.

“But if you refuse; if you remain here any longer — that will mark the end of all your hopes. I will see that the police gain the evidence. You will be marked as a murderer. You understand?”

Warren nodded. He saw the meaning behind Jasper’s game. He put the matter bluntly, so that his cousin would know he comprehended.

“My present share,” considered Warren, “is more than four million dollars. Should I be eliminated, that amount will go to Marcia Wardrop. You would not gain a penny of it, for you are limited to your half.

“But if I agree to your plan, we will split that amount of money — about two million dollars each. An excellent thought, Jasper!”

WARREN was smiling; playing a cagy game as he pretended to agree with his cousin’s scheme. He saw a chance to deliver a subtle stroke; and changed his tone accordingly.

“If I refuse, however,” asserted Warren, “I may win out by staying here. Suppose you are discovered as the murderer, Jasper? That might lead to your elimination. That would give me one half share in the estate.”

“Try it!” snarled Jasper, rising from his chair. “You will lose out. The cards are stacked against you. I can bluff it through!”

“If I run away,” remarked Warren, “it will make it look as though I were the murderer.”

“Not if you do it sensibly,” growled Jasper. “I will stick to my part of the bargain. Why not? It will mean two million dollars. But I tell you, Warren, your refusal will cook your goose.”

Warren was on his feet also. The two men glowered at each other across the big desk. Each was holding back. Jasper had not told what had happened to Terwiliger. Warren had not stated his reliance upon Clark Brosset.

Thoughts of the detective made Jasper overanxious to win his point. Terwiliger’s disappearance might bring a troublesome investigation. Hope of aid from Clark Brosset made Warren ready to bring his fight into the open.

“Well?” snarled Jasper. “Do you accept my terms?”

“No!” retorted Warren. “I’m calling for a show-down!”

“You’ll get it, then!” jeered Jasper. “Right now! Police Chief Gorson is downstairs. I can tell him plenty in a hurry. When he gets here, he’ll find evidence of murder. I’ll show it to him—”

Jasper’s statement broke off. His unfinished words were to prove prophetic — in a way that Jasper had not anticipated. The lights went out. The study was plunged in darkness. Jasper’s words ended in a stifled cry.

WARREN BARRINGER stood petrified with horror. This had happened on that other night. Why had it happened again? What was the answer?

A revolver roared through the darkness. A dazzling spurt of flame spat in the direction of the desk. Another shot; a second flash. Warren Barringer dropped instinctively to the floor. He thought that the shots were meant for him; that Jasper Delthern had resorted to some cunning trick.

The lights came on. Warren clutched the edge of the desk. He peered over the top. He saw a body lying on the floor.

Warren gasped. He was staring at the dead form of Jasper Delthern!

The young man stared wildly about the room. The door was still closed, the key turned in the lock; yet he was alone in the room with Jasper’s body. There, on the floor, lay the man who had admitted murdering his brothers; aside from that dead form, and Warren Barringer’s living body, the room was empty!

Jasper Delthern was a murderer. He, in turn, was murdered. But this new deed of evil was shrouded with a veil of mystery. As on the night when Humphrey and Wellington had died, Warren Barringer had seen no human assassin.

Again, he stood in a room where death had struck in darkness. This time, the cards were truly stacked against him. A glittering revolver was lying on the floor not far from Warren’s feet. People would be here — with them Police Chief Gorson — before he could escape.

They would find Warren Barringer alone — a weapon at his feet — the body of his murdered cousin sprawled upon the floor!