Tower of Death

CHAPTER XV CROOKS STRIKE

“SO Maria has been seeing ghosts?”

It was Jarvis Raleigh who put the question. Seated at the head of the dinner table, the owner of Montgard was speaking to Quarley.

“Yes, sir.” Quarley’s reply was solemn. “Maria was prowling about in the second story hall. It was in the dead of night, sir.”

“A trivial matter. Nevertheless, you should have mentioned it to me earlier, Quarley.”

“I wished to do so, sir. But you were engaged with Mr. Cranston until he left about one hour ago.”

“Quite so, Quarley. It was well that you did not speak of the matter in Cranston’s presence. He had already been disturbed by that incident of last night.”

Within this reference to the disappearance of Merton Helmsford. Jarvis Raleigh glared toward the other diners. Solemn faces showed in the light of the huge candelabrum that adorned the center of the dinner table.

“Well?” Raleigh’s question was a sour snarl. “Do any of you have anything to say? Speak if you want to.”

“Ghosts do not concern me,” responded Stokes Corvin with a smile. “I think that their appearance would be trivial in comparison with the incident that you have mentioned. The disappearance of a living man is more surprising than the appearance of a ghost.”

“If ghosts are here,” warned Sidney Richland, solemnly, “they are of your bringing, Jarvis! Shades of vanished men should rightfully rise in horror at what has taken place within the walls of Montgard.”

Barbara Wyldram reclined forward to grip Richland’s arm. She could observe the scowl which had appeared on Jarvis Raleigh’s face. She feared a new outburst on the part of the master of Montgard.

“I saw something last night.” Barbara’s voice trembled slightly as the girl tried to bridge the ominous interruption which she had produced. “I came out into the hallway on the third floor. It was when Maria screamed about a ghost. I heard her from my room.

“Quarley was there with his flashlight. He went downstairs. I chanced to look toward the door of the guest room. I was sure that I saw the bolt closing to lock that very door. It was moving, of its own accord, inch by inch, yet no hand was visible.”

“Did you bolt that door last night Quarley?” questioned Jarvis Raleigh.

“Yes sir,” responded the servant. “Immediately after I left Mr. Cranston in his room.”

Silence followed. Jarvis Raleigh wore an ugly scowl. Quarley’s face was firm; one could not have guessed the servant’s thoughts. Sidney Richland, his hands gripping the table cloth, was staring through his glasses in frightened fashion. Stokes Corvin was looking toward Barbara, studying the girl’s face, while his own brow wrinkled.

JARVIS RALEIGH ended the situation. He arose from his chair and stalked silently from the dining room. He paused as he neared the door.

“The evening is warm,” he remarked. “You may leave the veranda open Quarley, for the next hour. I shall depart from my rule of keeping it closed after dark.”

“Very well, sir.”

The tension was broken. Sidney Richland smiled at the thought of a stroll on the cool veranda. Stokes Corvin also indulged in a smile as he considered the sudden turn in the conversation.

“One thing more, Quarley.” Jarvis Raleigh had paused at the door. “Has Jerome found the hound?”

“I do not believe so, sir.”

“Let me talk with him tonight when he comes in from the stable. Rox was a valuable dog.”

Jarvis Raleigh stalked from the dining room. Stokes Corvin arose, and addressed his companions.

“We have one hour,” he remarked. “Suppose that we adjourn to the veranda.”

Ten minutes later, the glowing of cigarettes marked the presence of Corvin and Richland on the open porch. The two men were leaning against the parapet. Barbara Wyldram was seated in a chair which she had brought from the library.

“Another evening,” remarked Corvin, in a jocular tone. “What new events will this night bring to Montgard?”

“None, I hope,” protested Richland. “Last night was terrible, Stokes. To think of it! Any one who enters here is in terror of his life!”

“Not Lamont Cranston,” observed Corvin. “The millionaire seemed to enjoy a pleasant stay.”

“A remarkable fellow, Cranston,” decided Richland. “He looked toward me while I was standing in the passage. Even at that distance, I noticed the clearness of his eyes. They were keen and searching. Cranston is a man of high intelligence.”

“I noticed his eyes,” observed Barbara. “To me, they seemed firm, yet kindly. In studying character, I believe that eyes—”

“Eyes!” A crackly voice uttered the word from the open doorway. “The eyes of a ghost! I saw them last night! They stared at me!”

All turned to see Maria standing in the doorway. The housekeeper was staring out into the darkness as though visualizing glowing eyes in the blackness above the lawn. As the persons on the veranda watched the woman, Maria emitted a crazed laugh and withdrew through the library.

“She gives me the creeps,” gasped Richland.

“Maria frightens me sometimes,” admitted Barbara. “I do not like to admit it—”

“I wonder,” spoke Corvin, thoughtfully, “if Maria did see something last night. You saw a bolt moving in a lock Barbara.”

“I thought I did,” declared the girl. “Yet it may have been only my imagination—”

Barbara broke off as a sound occurred below the veranda. The girl uttered a startled cry. Richland laughed; Corvin spoke soothingly.

“It is only Jerome,” he declared. “Going his rounds, with the Great Danes.”

The spread of a flashlight swept across the lawn. Jerome was heading toward the stable, off in back of the mansion. The blinks ended. Silence and darkness held sway.

MINUTES passed while random conversation ruled. Then came the sound of a wheezy motor from in back of the house. Sidney Richland made a comment.

“Jerome is going downtown,” he declared. “He will be back with the mail in about an hour. He is late tonight.”

The motor throbbed its way along the drive. Silence continued. The tones of conversation were subdued. At last a figure appeared in the doorway. Quarley was here to summon the three indoors.

Jarvis Raleigh’s hour of privilege had ended. Corvin and Richland tossed their cigarettes to the lawn. They and Barbara entered the library.

Shortly after the oaken door had closed, a stealthy figure moved from the lawn beside the veranda. Like a phantom of the darkness, it glided toward the front of the house. It reached the trees beyond the drive. Eyes from the darkness looked toward the windows of Jarvis Raleigh’s rooms on the second floor; those windows that formed panels of light on either side of the huge, darkened turret.

Elsewhere near the huge house, figures were in motion. By the fence at the rear of the estate, Mallet Haverly was talking to his men. Speedy Tyron stood beside his chief.

Mallet disappeared. He was heading toward the large house, choosing the course that led past the vacant dog kennel. The others waited. Long minutes passed. A tiny light glimmered from the side of the house, by the veranda. It was Mallet’s signal.

“All right,” growled Speedy. “Move ahead. Keep together until we reach the house.”

The figures moved across the lawn. The entire gang — a dozen ex-gorillas — was on its way to the objective. The zero hour of crime was approaching.

These mobsters, however, were not the only ones who took that path.

After the crew had all departed, a pair of stealthy men crept from among the bushes. A muffled conversation took place. The voices told the identity of these two who had watched the invaders move to action. The watchers were Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. As if by signal, The Shadow’s agents took up the trail of Mallet’s gang.

Dulled headlights were coming up the drive to Montgard; Jerome was returning in his wheezy roadster. The groundskeeper had left the Great Danes in the stable, in conformity with his usual practice.

Alighting from his car, Jerome approached the house and emitted the odd, half-witted cry that served as his signal. The motor of the roadster was still running. Jerome was halfway between the car and the front door.

A short interval. Then came the opening of the door. Quarley was responding to Jerome’s call. The dull light from the turret revealed the two figures at the doorway.

INSTANTLY, a pair of figures arose in the darkness at the front of the house. Aiming at an angle past the parked roadster, two of Mallet Haverly’s gorillas were about to shoot down the helpless men who stood between them and the entrance to Montgard.

The crooks would have been unseen in the darkness but for another event that occurred with starting unexpectedness. The light from a powerful electric torch appeared suddenly from the trees in front of the house. Its rays, focused with precision, revealed the rising mobsters.

Instinctively, the gorillas swung to meet this unexpected danger. With quick fingers on revolver triggers, they aimed for the blazing light. Their shots never came. From close behind the light, a pair of automatics spurted flame. The Shadow had opened fire on the murderous crooks.

Both gorillas toppled. Their guns dropped to the ground as they went sprawling. Jerome wheeled at the door; he yanked a revolver from one pocket and a flashlight from the other. Quarley produced a revolver.

Logically, the two men should have sprung to safety, closing the door behind them. The Shadow had not counted on their brave response. Revolver shots broke from other spots about the house as new members of Mallet’s crew sought to amend the failure of their felled pals.

Out went The Shadow’s light. Automatics barked as the master fighter, weaving his way among the trees aimed for the spots where revolver spurts betrayed the presence of attacking mobsmen.

Cries came from the darkness. The Shadow’s marksmanship was finding living flesh. Futile shots were returned in his direction. Other bullets, aimed toward the house, were chipping stone from about the doorway of the turret.

Jerome and Quarley were firing wildly. Suddenly Jerome gave forth a cry and staggered. The groundskeeper was hit. The Shadow’s response was a shot toward the mobster who had felled Jerome. A cry came from the dark.

Jerome, his right hand clutching left shoulder, made a frantic dash to the roadster. Leaping into the car, he drove frantically along the driveway, whirling the wheel one-handed. Wild shots followed; they did not manage to stop the get-away.

Quarley, realizing the full danger, leaped back into the turret and slammed the big door. The old servant had received a flesh wound. His action was a timely one.

For a moment, there was silence after echoing shots. Mobsters were blundering away to cover. The howling of hounds arose from the kennels. Then came a new burst of gunfire.

Jarvis Raleigh had extinguished the light in his bedroom. He was on the upstairs balcony, aiming with a rifle at hidden enemies in the dark.

ANSWERING shots came from the side of the house, in front of the veranda. The mobsters had headed in that direction. Like a flash, The Shadow’s light came on. It revealed a cluster of mobsmen. An automatic spoke with tongues of flame.

Gangsters scattered. Only a few wild bullets had been dispatched toward Jarvis Raleigh. The master of Montgard had made himself a target. But for The Shadow, he would have been a simple mark. The gorillas, however, were spreading with their leaders, seeking the shelter beyond the house.

Then came another unexpected turn. The door of the veranda opened. Two men appeared from the library: Stokes Corvin and Sidney Richland. A shout was the response. Mallet Haverly was pointing this new opening to his minions.

The Shadow’s torch swept the lawn. Again the automatic barked. The Shadow had moved toward the side of the house; again he was here as the protector. Stokes Corvin leaped back to safety. He grabbed Sidney Richland and dragged the other with him.

As they disappeared, Mallet Haverly fired. From behind a tree trunk, the mobleader was making the open door his target. He was here to prevent its closing until his minions could gain the parapet of the veranda.

Speedy Tyron had reached the security of a stone well that projected near a clump of bushes, a hundred feet from the house. He was firing toward the light that The Shadow was sweeping across the lawn. A bullet whizzed past the gloved hand. The Shadow clicked out the light.

Then came the tones of the weird laugh that all mobsmen dreaded. In answer to this challenge, The Shadow had chosen full darkness. The tones of his eerie mirth brought a momentary lull.

No one could spot The Shadow. Somewhere in the blackness of the night, The Shadow was moving as a solitary menace. Mallet Haverly, secure behind the thick tree trunk, broke the spell with a fierce snarl. Once again, the mobleader opened internment fire upon the door to the library.

Encouraged, the dwindled crew of mobsters clambered up the rear wall of the veranda. Corvin and Richland had fled from the library. The way was open to enter Montgard. Behind the parapet, these minions knew that they would be safe to gain the open door.

SO they reasoned; but without knowledge of their foe. As the first of the mobsmen leaped over the stone rail; he heard a sinister laugh that came from a spot no more than twenty feet away. A torch blazed. An automatic barked from the hand of the crouching being who held the light.

The Shadow, too, had gained the parapet from the front. On the veranda, he was here to meet the mobsmen the moment they arrived.

The first crook tried to fire. The Shadow’s shot preceded him. With a scream, the gorilla toppled backward from the parapet of the veranda. Another shot; the second climber toppled and fell sprawling to the ground below.

Out went the light. The Shadow leaped for the rear rail. His shots sped through the dark, aimed for scattering mobsmen. Defiantly, Mallet and Speedy aimed for the rail behind which The Shadow crouched. Mallet was behind his tree; Speedy had edged to another vantage point behind the well.

Again the laugh. Its eerie tones were commanding. They were answered. From across the lawn came shots from new guns. The Shadow’s agents, joining the fray, were aiming for the nests which Mallet and Speedy had chosen.

A bullet zimmed against the tree trunk. Another chiseled stonework from the well. Caught by an enfilading fire, Mallet and Speedy left their posts. Trusting to darkness, the chief and his lieutenant dashed for the trees that skirted the far side of the lawn.

Harry and Cliff delivered a final volley toward the stables, where the few remaining mobsters had fled for refuge, seeking to put the rear corner of the house between themselves and The Shadow’s fire. Then came the final silence that marked the end of the swift fray.

The Shadow’s laugh resounded with a peal of triumph. Stalking to the open door of the deserted library, The Shadow swung the barrier shut. Gliding to the parapet, the master fighter dropped to the darkness of the ground.

Crime had come to Montgard — crime from without. Fighting against a fierce horde, The Shadow had worked to save the lives of five men. His covering shots had been designed to protect Jerome and Quarley; then Jarvis Raleigh; finally, Stokes Corvin and Sidney Richland.

The Shadow had driven off the crooks from two points of entry. Mallet Haverly and Speedy Tyron had escaped almost by luck; nearly all of their gorillas had fallen in the fray.

Yet The Shadow’s task was not yet ended. Tonight, he had dealt with crime from without, protecting all who dwelt in Montgard. His newer and more subtle task remained. Later, he must strike at crime that dwelt within those beleaguered walls of stone!

A distant laugh rippled from a spot along the driveway. Hollow and foreboding in its tones, that taunting cry was the aftermath of triumph. It was the token of the coming task which The Shadow had chosen as his work!