The Ghost Of The Manor

CHAPTER III THE SHADOW DECIDES

MINUTES after that ghoulish mirth had swept through the great reception hall of Delthern Manor, Horatio Farman spoke. The lawyer, despite the pangs of chilling fear that had swept over him, was the first to regain his voice. It was fitting that he should restore calm to the gathering, for it was he who had invoked this ghostly aid.

“Winstead Delthern,” spoke Farman calmly, despite the trembling of his lips, “we are still waiting the conclusion of your remarks regarding Warren Barringer.”

Winstead Delthern held up his hands pathetically. He was quivering from terror. He could not speak. He turned toward Humphrey on his left. In his brother’s face he saw the same unmistakable fright. Winstead buried his face in his hands.

Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw that the girl was trying to be brave, despite the pallor on her countenance. The lawyer turned to Jasper Delthern.

Here, again, Farman saw a face that betrayed fear. Yet, in Jasper’s eyes was the gleam of challenge. Jasper caught Farman’s glance and laughed huskily.

“What is this?” he growled. “Some trick you’re playing on us, Farman?”

Winstead Delthern heard the words. He groped his way to his feet. Clinging to the table, he faced his youngest brother and tensely answered Jasper’s words.

“Do not mock the dead!” gasped Winstead. “Be silent, Jasper! Be silent!”

The ugly smile remained upon Jasper’s lips, but the youngest Delthern made no reply. Winstead, eyes staring and lips trembling, spoke pitifully.

“It was the voice of the dead!” he asserted. “For years — for decades — they have said that the spirits of our fathers met, invisible, within this very hall. My grandfather believed it; but I was a doubter. I confess it.

“Now, I believe. I know why it is that every Delthern, upon his deathbed, has ordered his heirs to meet in this great hall. I, too, shall follow that example. There is no need to fear the shades of those who have gone before us, so long as we honor their memory and their wishes.”

Winstead Delthern paused impressively. Horatio Farman was amazed at the light which shone in the speaker’s eyes. He noted that Humphrey and Marcia — even Jasper, to a degree — were listening solemnly.

“You ask me,” declared Winstead, in a voice now steady, “to conclude my statement regarding Warren Barringer. I recall the words that I was saying when the strange phenomenon occurred; that weird manifestation that we all heard. I shall complete my statement now.

“Warren Barringer’s rights are not to be disregarded! He — like my brothers and my cousin Marcia — is a lawful heir to his proper portion. I sustain your opinion, Farman. My decision is final!”

His words ended, Winstead Delthern slumped back into his chair and rested his face between his hands. He stared directly at Farman, who nodded his accord.

“Our business is finished,” asserted the lawyer, in a quiet tone. “Our meeting is ended. One month from tonight, we shall assemble again to arrange the final settlement of Caleb Delthern’s will.”

ONE by one, the heirs rose unsteadily from the table. Horatio Farman walked steadily to the door and drew it open. Wellington approached from the outer hall. The glow of electric lights gave new courage to the group.

Winstead Delthern, with the air of a man who has discharged a momentous duty, turned to the others and announced that he intended to take up his residence in Delthern Manor.

“Such is the provision of the will,” he said. “I shall carry out every term to the letter. You, Marcia, intend to remain here?”

The girl nodded.

“You, Humphrey?”

The second of the Delthern brothers paused thoughtfully. He glanced cautiously about the huge reception hall; then stared toward Winstead.

“I shall live here,” he agreed. “It — it may be my duty also.”

“Jasper?” questioned Winstead.

“Live here?” responded the youngest brother, with a forced laugh. “Not a bit of it! Say — I’m glad that you and Humphrey are between me and the top. I don’t want to hang out in this old place. The club will be all right for me.”

“That is your privilege,” declared Winstead, in a cold tone. “I am leaving now. I shall return to occupy this home tomorrow.”

Winstead stalked across the outer hall; Humphrey followed him. Horatio Farman was talking with Marcia Wardrop. Jasper Delthern stood by the door of the reception hall, watching the departure of his brothers.

As soon as the elder Deltherns were gone, Jasper swung toward the lawyer.

“Look here, Farman,” he demanded, “what was the idea of this hokum tonight? What’s your game? Trying to make Winstead play the way you want?”

“Jasper!” interrupted Marcia, in a tense tone. “It is not right for you to insult Mr. Farman. Remember, this is still my home!”

“Jasper,” said Farman quietly, “if you are referring to the strange laughter that we heard tonight, I can assure you that I am quite ignorant of its cause.”

“You believe in the ghost stuff, eh?”

“No. I do not. Nevertheless, I know that Caleb Delthern believed that strange manifestations could occur in this great room. We have had the proof of it. It is unexplainable — that is all that I can say.”

“Grandfather told me the same,” interposed Marcia Wardrop, in an awed tone. “He told me — many other things, Jasper. I–I know that this is a weird old house. It frightens me sometimes; but, after all, I do not see what harm can come to me here. I–I don’t know whether to believe in ghosts or not—”

“I’ll find out about the ghosts!” snarled Jasper. “If some smart stuntster pulled that laugh on us, he’s in here yet. I’m going to look around and see.”

JASPER swung into the candlelighted room, and prowled from one end to the other. Horatio Farman watched him with interest; Marcia Wardrop with alarm. A cursory search failing, Jasper spied the circular staircase that led to the whispering gallery.

“Maybe it came from up there!” he growled. “I’m going up to see.”

With a scowl toward the others, Jasper ascended the circular steps. A few moments later, his head and shoulders showed above the rail of the balcony. Jasper turned to face the people below.

“It’s dark as pitch up here!” he snarled.

Sibilant tones responded. Mimicking voices caught up Jasper’s words. The investigator gripped the rail of the balcony.

“It’s dark as pitch up here — dark as pitch — up here — up here—”

Echoing whispers lisped along the gallery. Jasper stood dumfounded at the effect which his words had created. Turning, he sped down the steps and reached the floor of the reception hall. As he neared the door, he regained his composure.

“Say” — Jasper’s comment was gruff — “that’s a spooky sort of place, that whispering gallery. Do you know, my voice seemed to come back louder and louder.”

“Perhaps that explains what we heard,” remarked Farman. “A small sound could be greatly amplified, perhaps. But that laughter — it was uncanny.”

Marcia Wardrop held up her hand for silence. Wellington was coming across the hallway.

“Say, Wellington,” greeted Jasper, “get a flashlight. I want you to come up in the gallery with me. Want to look around a bit.”

“I–I’d rather not, sir,” protested the servant. “I don’t believe a flashlight is available, sir. You might take one of the candles if you wish to go—”

“I want you to go with me.”

Wellington glanced in protest toward Marcia Wardrop. The girl explained the reason for the servant’s unwillingness.

“Grandfather never let anyone go in the gallery,” she said. “That included Wellington. I don’t think — that even now — Wellington would want to disobey grandfather’s orders. You may go, Wellington.”

Jasper Delthern thrust his hands in his pockets. He laughed as he saw Wellington departing. He started to stroll away; then turned and spoke parting words to Horatio Farman and Marcia Wardrop.

“Have your ghosts!” he growled. “Believe in them if you want — like those goofy brothers of mine. You’re welcome to the whole house. Why should I worry? I’m getting my cut out of the estate — even though Barringer is grabbing a slice that should belong to me.

“I’ll take the club — that’s where I’m going now. Place where I can get a drink when I want it — and after this crazy house, I’ll need a couple pretty quick.

“Since you’re the lawyer for the whole shebang, Farman, I’ll leave it to you to remind me of the meeting a month from tonight. I might forget it even if I was due for the big money that Winstead is getting.”

With these remarks, Jasper Delthern left. A few minutes later, Horatio Farman bade good night to Marcia Wardrop. The girl went upstairs.

ONE door of the great reception room remained open. A vague motion occurred upon the balcony. The slight swish of a garment sounded from the spot at which Horatio Farman had imagined he had seen burning eyes.

As the swish moved along the rail, each of the candles flickered, one by one. More than forty of the glowing flames responded in this singular fashion.

Shortly afterward, blackness loomed at the foot of the circular staircase. It became a solid mass. It developed into the figure of a living being.

Had any of the persons who had heard the ghostly laugh been there to see this strange phenomenon, they would have believed that a ghost of Delthern Manor was materializing itself into substance!

The strange shape took on the form of a man clad entirely in black. From his shoulders draped the folds of a cloak; over his eyes was the brim of a slouch hat. The headpiece concealed the stranger’s features; but they did not hide the glow of the eyes that looked about the room.

Even the hands of the strange visitant were garbed in black. Gloves showed as those hands rested upon the table where the conference had been held.

Now, from hidden lips, came a strange echo of the weird laugh that had been heard before. Low and sibilant, it was a fanciful reminder of that terrible sound. It wafted through the room; its tones reached the gallery above. There, they were sent back in shuddering whispers that came to a repeated, sighing close.

Here, in the great reception hall of Delthern Manor, stood the amazing being whose laugh had been taken for a ghostly manifestation. He was a personage of whom neither Horatio Farman nor the Delthern heirs had heard, yet whose name was well known and highly feared by denizens of New York’s underworld.

The Shadow!

Master of darkness, a supersleuth who fought with crime! He had been here tonight. His eyes had watched the assemblage. His lips had uttered that astounding mockery that had made Winstead Delthern quail.

Within the range of the flickering light that came from the candelabrum on the table, The Shadow’s silhouette made a long, sinister blotch of darkness upon the door. A weird setting for so mysterious a personage — this antiquated room in Delthern Manor!

FOOTSTEPS sounded beyond the open door. The Shadow moved silently and swiftly to the side of the reception hall. His figure merged with gloom, as Wellington entered the room, carrying a long candle-snuffer.

Using this antiquated implement, the servant walked around the hall, extinguishing the lights one by one. Wellington’s gaze was always upward.

The servant passed within three feet of the spot where The Shadow had merged with the blackness beneath the balcony. But Wellington kept on, ignorant of the fact that a living presence was concealed within the apartment.

With the hundred-odd candles extinguished, Wellington went to the center of the room and snuffed out the lights of the candelabrum. A few seconds later, the door of the reception hall slid shut. Total darkness remained.

Again, the laugh of The Shadow sighed softly through the room and woke echoes that whispered back ghoulish sounds to the summons of their master. Before the weird reverberations had completely died, the door of the room again slid open. The hall beyond was darkened now, for Wellington had gone upstairs. The Shadow, invisible, moved through the blackness.

The door was closed behind his departing presence. The old reception hall of Delthern Manor remained silent and grim, filled with memories alone. But in all the history of this strange apartment, nothing had ever rivaled the occurrence of this eventful night, when the ghostly cry had echoed through the huge room.

There, with his terrible laugh which had brought fear to Winstead Delthern, The Shadow had decided in favor of Warren Barringer. No ghost from the past, but a living presence, had caused the eerie echoes that had made Winstead agree with Horatio Farman’s plea for justice.

The Shadow was gone, but his mission at Delthern Manor had been accomplished. Hidden in the blackened confines of the whispering gallery, The Shadow had served as proxy for Warren Barringer!

Soon the absent heir would reach America. Then he would meet the personage who had acted in his behalf. But Warren Barringer, like the other legatees to the Delthern millions, would remain in ignorance of The Shadow’s presence on this night.

Delthern Manor loomed gray in the dark night. The living presence that had been ghost as well as proxy was no longer within the mansion’s stony walls!