Tower of Death

CHAPTER XIV THE SHADOW SEEKS

WHEN Stokes Corvin decided to retire for the night, Barbara Wyldram had already finished reading and had gone upstairs. Sidney Richland was still sulking like a melancholy owl as he watched Corvin replace the volume of Dumas on the shelf.

“Good, night, old top,” said Corvin, cheerily, as he strolled past Richland. “I prescribe a bit of rest. Let’s forget this worrisome matter until the morn.”

“I can’t forget it,” pleaded Richland. “Think of it, Stokes! Two men missing—”

“We can’t explain it, Sidney,” interposed Corvin, gravely. “I can assure you that I am as disturbed as you. Nevertheless, brooding will bring no solution. Cheerio, old fellow. Brace up before you begin to see Maria’s ghosts.”

Sidney Richland shuddered. Corvin smiled in reassuring fashion and walked from the room. As he passed along the angled passage, Corvin’s forehead furrowed. Despite his light manner, this new resident of Montgard was taking matters very soberly.

As he reached the second floor, Corvin saw a light under the door of Jarvis Raleigh’s laboratory. He knew that Raleigh must still he engaged in discussion of his invention. Arriving at the third floor, Corvin noticed an opened doorway. Lighted candles shone in wall brackets. This was evidently the apartment designed for Lamont Cranston.

Entering his own room, Stokes Corvin performed his nightly ceremony of lighting a cigarette from a candle wick. He blew out the lights and strolled through darkness to the window. He opened one of the turning panes.

Silence reigned below. Corvin recalled that nothing more had been said of Rox, the missing hound. He assumed that the dog had not yet been found and that the matter had been dropped. All was quiet outside the huge house; then came a sound within — footsteps on the stairs.

Holding his cigarette behind him, Stokes stole to the door of his room and opened the barrier a trifle. Peering through the crack, he saw Quarley conducting Lamont Cranston to the guest room. Cranston entered. Quarley closed the door. Stokes saw the old servant shoot the outer bolt. He heard the bar click in place. Lamont Cranston, like every new guest at Montgard, was securely imprisoned for the night.

Corvin softly closed his own door. He turned the key in the lock. He strolled to the window and continued smoking until his cigarette had dwindled. He flicked the glowing stump far out upon the lawn; then made his way through the darkness of the room until he reached the bed.

IN the guest room, Lamont Cranston was standing near the door. He had heard the click of the outer bolt. His lips wore their thin smile. Walking about the room, he extinguished the candles, then made his way toward a spot near the window where Quarley had placed his bags.

Slight sounds occurred. A mass of cloth came from a grip. Its enveloping folds slipped over Cranston’s crouching form. A tiny flashlight glimmered. Its guarded rays reached the door as the unseen figure moved in that direction.

A gloved hand came into the tiny circle of illumination. Fingers plucked the key from the hole beneath the knob. A long piece of thin, curved metal came into view before the flashlight’s rays. The end of the pliable hook had a loop.

The flashlight went out as the gloved hand of The Shadow pushed the metal loop through the keyhole. With deft fingers, The Shadow guided the probing loop upward. It scraped gently against the outside of the door, then found its objective.

Twisting the curved metal in adept fashion, The Shadow used it to draw back the outer bolt. Rising, he unloosed the delicate instrument and withdrew it from the keyhole. Softly, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. He closed the door behind him and pressed the bolt without a sound.

A tall figure garbed in black — a dim shape in the dull light of the hall. Such was The Shadow as he moved toward the stairway and descended. The door of the room was bolted behind him. To all appearances, Lamont Cranston was safely imprisoned for the night.

Yet The Shadow was at large. A stalking, ghostlike figure, he was faring forth to investigate affairs within the walls of Montgard. Alone, unhampered, The Shadow was seeking the answer to the strange disappearances that had occurred here.

Until tonight, The Shadow had gained no proof of strange crime in Montgard. He had come here — as Lamont Cranston — to learn the reasons why Reeves Lockwood was apparently staying at Jarvis Raleigh’s home. Arriving before Merton Helmsford, The Shadow had gained no knowledge of the detective’s expected visit until after Helmsford had arrived.

Then The Shadow had learned truth regarding both lawyer and detective; but in that truth there had been no tangible clew to the strange fate that had overtaken these unwelcome visitors.

THERE was a hall light on the second floor; The Shadow, however, noted no glimmerings from under doors. He continued downward and reached the center passage. He advanced until he gained the door to the circular entry.

In the dim light furnished by a single incandescent at the meeting of the passage, The Shadow drew back the three bolts. He opened the heavy barrier and advanced softly into the turret chamber.

Here the flashlight flickered. It passed along the floor, circling about the Egyptian hieroglyphics that formed the outer border. It turned straight upward; its spreading glow revealed the cross beams of the turret. The light went out.

Moving back into the house, The Shadow closed the door and threw the bolts. His tall form making a weird blotch, The Shadow stood intently. He was gauging the actions of Quarley, when the servant had come upstairs to inform his master of a second visitor. He was recalling the deeds of Jarvis Raleigh.

The passage to the library was black; near the end, however, The Shadow could see the glow of a library light through the open door. This was the direction from which Sidney Richland had come, leaving Stokes Corvin and Barbara Wyldram behind.

Was some one still in the library? The light indicated that fact.

The Shadow moved along the darkened passage. He reached the door and peered within. He saw Sidney Richland seated by a table. The man with the pince-nez was staring glumly toward the shaded window.

Footsteps sounded from the direction of the central passage. Stepping along the corridor past the library door, The Shadow became motionless as he stood against the wall. Quarley appeared and stopped at the door.

“It is late, sir.” The servant spoke to Richland. “Mr. Raleigh’s orders, sir.”

“Curfew again, eh?” grumbled Richland. “All right, Quarley.”

Richland paced from the room. Quarley looked about; then extinguished the lights. The servant left and followed Richland’s course to the front of the house. He left the light burning by the front door. That was all. The Shadow could see its faint glimmer at the end of the passage.

The black cloak swished. The Shadow entered the darkened library. His flashlight gave intermittent glimmers as it picked out certain spots. It swept along the rows of bookshelves; paused at the volumes of Dumas that Stokes Corvin had replaced; then moved to the chair wherein Barbara Wyldram had been reading earlier in the evening.

The light fell upon the heavy oak door with its triple bolts. The Shadow studied this barrier; then extinguished the light. For a short while, there was motion in the darkness. Then The Shadow’s form glided from the library and back along the passage to the front door. The spectral investigator took the passage to the dining room. He played his flashlight about that apartment.

DARKNESS again. The Shadow reappeared by the front door. A mammoth shape of blackness, he again loosed the bolts and opened the barrier to the entry. Beyond the portal, he studied the tiled flooring. Once again, his eyes turned toward the Egyptian inscription.

From one hieroglyph to another, The Shadow’s flashlight formed a moving spotlight. Burning eyes surveyed each of the odd characters. The light went out after the circle had been completed.

For the second time The Shadow reentered the house and closed the heavy portal. A soft laugh sounded from his hidden lips as The Shadow completed the sliding of the bolts and then stole along the passage to the library.

Here, without the aid of his flashlight, The Shadow drew back the bolts of the oak door. A puff of fresh air was the token when he stepped to the veranda and stole forward to the parapet. With noiseless skill, The Shadow climbed the stone rail and dropped to the ground beneath. He made his way to the front of the great house.

The Shadow had studied Montgard thoroughly before; but never with the knowledge that he now possessed. Although the place was dark, the clear starlight enabled The Shadow to locate important portions of the house.

The dining room and library, each reached by an angled passage, had windows at the front of the house. With the turret entry in the center, they formed a chain of three rooms.

The Shadow could trace the windows of the bedroom, and workshop on the second floor. The laboratory lay between them, behind the turret. These were the chambers in which Jarvis Raleigh dwelt. Above were the rooms for guests; the servants evidently occupied rear rooms on the second floor.

The Shadow returned towards the veranda. His form became motionless. Some one was groping through the dark, approaching the house. The prowler seemed to crouch along the ground; then his thudding footsteps turned away and dwindled as they passed the vacant dog kennel.

It was Mallet Haverly or one of his henchmen. The evil crew was still on watch. A blundering sound came to The Shadow’s ears. A hound heard it, also; a howl came from one of the kennels. Another dog took up the cry.

Swiftly, The Shadow reached the veranda and ascended the parapet. He reentered the library and bolted the door behind him. He made swift progress down the passage; then turned along the central corridor and gained the stairs. The howling of the dogs continued. Though the prowler had fled, the hounds were keeping on with their cry.

Just as The Shadow reached the second floor, a door swung open. Maria, the old housekeeper, stepped into view, carrying a lighted candle in its stick. The woman stopped short. The candle light, throwing a dull flicker toward the stairway, revealed a mass of living blackness!

FROM that spectral form peered a pair of blazing eyes. Maria stood face to face with The Shadow, not five feet distant from the strange being.

A shrill cry came from the woman’s cracked lips. As Maria’s odd call echoed through the lonely hall, a hand swept forward. Gloved fingers, snapping in the air, extinguished the flame of the candle wick.

Quarley had put out the hall lights. The place was plunged in darkness by The Shadow’s action. Again, Maria’s lips formed a ghastly wail. Another door swung open. Quarley sprang into the hall, carrying a flashlight.

“What is the matter?” queried the servant.

“I have seen it.” Maria’s eyes held their vacant stare. “I have seen the ghost. This old house holds an evil spirit—”

“Be silent!” ordered Quarley, sweeping his flashlight about the hall to make sure that the place was empty. “You will disturb the master. Go back to bed, Maria!”

Sullenly, the woman returned to her room. Quarley, after another inspection of the hall, went to the stairs that led to the third floor. As he reached the top, he found Barbara Wyldram standing in her dressing gown, holding a lighted candle. Her room was closest to the stairway. The girl had heard Maria’s wail.

“What is the matter, Quarley!” asked Barbara, in a whisper.

“Nothing, Miss Wyldram,” returned the servant, in a courteous tone. “Maria has been seeing ghosts. I wanted to be sure that all was well up here.”

“I have seen no one,” stated Barbara. “I came to the hallway as soon as I could find my dressing gown.”

“Maria is crazy,” muttered Quarley. “I hope her cries did not wake the master.”

With that, the servant turned and went down to the second floor. Barbara Wyldram shuddered slightly. She looked about her as she held the candle high. Her eyes fell upon the door of Lamont Cranston’s room.

The girl stared. Something was moving on that door. The bolt, withdrawn, was sliding into place as though sponsored by a ghostly hand. Barbara blinked. The bolt had stopped, fully closed. The girl advanced and touched the cold metal.

Reality belied the past moments. As Barbara Wyldram stood beside the bolted door, she decided that her imagination must have been at work. Holding the wavering candle flame before her, the girl returned to her own room and closed the door.

Silence reigned about Montgard. The wailing of the hounds had died. Quiet persisted within the walls of the massive dwelling. The only sound that disturbed the stillness was a creepy echo of a whispered laugh.

Uttered within the bolted guest room, the tones of that shuddered mirth were unheard elsewhere. The laugh came from hidden lips. Its author was invisible within the room where he now remained.

The Shadow’s search was ended for the night. Guised as Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had come to Montgard. In his garb of black, he had roamed at will within these sinister walls.

The only two persons who had seen evidence of his weird presence had accepted it as something unexplainable. To Maria, The Shadow was a ghost; to Barbara Wyldram, the moving bolt had been a product of imagination.

Tomorrow, The Shadow would depart as Lamont Cranston. Meanwhile his purpose had been attained. He had studied evidences of crime within Montgard as he had examined the evidences that lay without.

Hidden wealth was at stake. Lives were in the balance. The Shadow was prepared to meet the coming thrusts. He was ready to protect those whom men of evil sought to harm.