Tower of Death

CHAPTER XXII SOLVED SECRETS

LAMONT CRANSTON was standing at the inner door of the turret. His tall form cast a strange, elongated shadow across the tiled floor. Sheriff Burton Haggar, entering with two men behind him, stopped short at the sight of this waiting figure.

“Who are you?” challenged Haggar. “Where is Jarvis Raleigh?”

The two men behind the sheriff came in view. One was a tall, light-haired young man whose face showed perplexity. The other was stocky and swarthy-faced. It was he who hastened forward, with outstretched hand.

“Hello, Mr. Cranston!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing out here?”

“Good evening, Detective Cardona,” returned Cranston, with his thin smile. “I happen to be a guest of Jarvis Raleigh. I am the one who should be surprised to see you here.”

“You know this man?” queried Haggar, turning to Cardona.

“Certainly,” returned Cardona, “Mr. Cranston is a prominent man in New York. He’s a famous traveler. Has a home over in New Jersey.”

Lamont Cranston had stepped back into the house. He was glancing to the right as Cardona spoke to Haggar. He raised his hand and beckoned.

“Here comes Mr. Raleigh now,” remarked Cranston. “He seems to be quite all right.”

Jarvis Raleigh was pale as he arrived by the door. He stared at Cranston as though viewing a ghost. Then, turning to Sheriff Haggar, he spoke in a worried tone.

“Quarley is wounded,” explained Raleigh. “I helped him into the dining room—”

“Here is the physician,” interposed Haggar, as a stout man entered the turret from outside. “Will you attend to Quarley, Doctor Meadows?”

The physician nodded and went along the passage. Jarvis Raleigh, peaked of face, kept shaking his head as questions came to him. He nodded when Haggar introduced Cardona; then stared as the sheriff pointed to the light-haired chap who had come with him and the detective.

“This gentleman,” declared Haggar, “is a relative of yours. Stokes Corvin, recently arrived from England—”

“Stokes Corvin!” gasped Raleigh. “Stokes Corvin is dead! There is his body, by the outer door—”

JOE CARDONA had produced a flashlight. He spread a luminous circle about the face of the man who had called himself Stokes Corvin. The dead visage was staring upward. Cardona growled in recognition.

“One mug that never was in the rogue’s gallery,” asserted the detective. “A smart crook that always kept out of sight — it was just luck that I saw him once so I can identify him. I’ll tell you who he is — Rags Wilkey, the brains behind Mallet Haverly, the racketeer.

“An international confidence man, this fellow. He’s been laying low since I heard he was with Mallet. He’s just the bird who could have passed himself as you, Mr. Corvin.”

Cardona reached down and drew out an envelope that was projecting from the dead man’s pocket. He produced the letter and opened it.

“Get this,” announced Joe, “It’s a note from Mallet Haverly to Rags Wilkey. It says that Mallet got cigarette message sixteen from the lawn; that he’ll be ready with the crew at the front; to leave the side door open—”

“That letter came tonight,” exclaimed Jarvis Raleigh. “Stokes — I mean this crook who called himself Stokes Corvin — knew that he would receive his mail unopened—”

“Here’s more of it,” interrupted Cardona. “It says to look out for The Shadow — maybe he knows what Luskin told us. Luskin” — Cardona paused reflectively — “say, there was a fellow by that name put on the spot not long ago—”

“Luskin was a servant here,” interposed Raleigh. “He was in my father’s employ. He must have learned the secret of this tower. The Shadow — could he be the one who was up there?”

Jarvis Raleigh pointed to the turret high above. He added awed words:

“A being in black — who appeared and vanished. He laughed — and it was his hand that felled this villain who was in my house.”

Lamont Cranston stepped forward as Jarvis Raleigh paused. Raleigh seemed bewildered. It was Cranston who took up the story.

“A curious place, this turret entry,” he remarked, in a quiet, even tone, to which all listened. “When I came here tonight, I had a strange sense of danger. I opened the outer door and stepped out to call my car. It had left.

“When I turned back, some one had bolted the door. Jarvis Raleigh is right, there was a mysterious presence in this turret. Then the fighting started. I was forced to take cover by the wall. When the lull came, I hurried into the house.”

Not one person doubted the plausibility of this story. Still playing the part of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow had completely disassociated his own part with that of the supposed millionaire.

“This floor” — Cranston was pointing downward — “might well be a death trap, despite its apparent solidity. Yet the turret itself is even more remarkable. Look upward, gentlemen. Note those walls of solid stone.”

ALL eyes turned upward as Cranston’s hand was raised. The quiet voice continued:

“A cylinder of stone — a vertical shaft that seems to taper — as all shafts do. Yet this one, when I studied it closely, several nights ago, seemed to taper to an unusual degree. Its perspective is wrong. It forms an optical illusion.”

“You may be right, Mr. Cranston,” asserted Cardona, suddenly. “I see what you mean. The wall looks straight; but it slopes inward all the way up.”

“Exactly. More than fifteen feet in diameter at the base. Yet at the top, as I estimate it, the width of this upright tube is scarcely more than six. The cupola, itself, is full size.

“The illusion is perfect; yet there is one way to detect it. That is to study the turret from the outside. It seems shorter when viewed from the outside than it does when we look upward from within.

“I might hazard the belief that there is a hiding place at the top — a circular room, between the outer and the inner walls of the turret. It could be reached from the cupola, should one venture that high.”

“Get a ladder,” ordered Joe Cardona. “We’re going up—”

Turning, the detective paused. He stared toward the inner hall. Barbara Wyldram had appeared. The girl was highly excited.

“Where is Stokes” she questioned. “Stokes Corvin? I must tell him—”

“The man you knew as Stokes Corvin is dead,” interposed Lamont Cranston quietly. “This is the real Stokes Corvin.”

Barbara stared bewildered. She saw Jarvis Raleigh. For once, the owner of Montgard appeared sympathetic. The girl clutched Raleigh’s arm.

“Your laboratory!” she exclaimed. “The door is open; and inside I saw an opened panel in the wall. There was an iron ladder. Leading upward.”

“Let’s go to the laboratory,” ordered Joe Cardona. “That’s where we’ll find the answer.”

WHEN the group reached the laboratory, they discovered what Barbara had reported. A perfectly fitted panel had been removed from the wall, directly in back of the turret. It showed a narrow space with iron rungs leading up to the secret room which Lamont Cranston had decided must exist.

Joe Cardona ascended. He returned a few minutes later. He walked directly to Jarvis Raleigh and silently extended his hand in congratulation. Then he turned to the others.

“Perhaps,” stated Cardona, “you have all heard of The Shadow. As a detective — as a crime fighter — he hasn’t an equal. We owe this discovery to him. He was here tonight.

“As near as I can figure it, he must have scaled the inside of that turret. There’s an opening under the copula, just as Mr. Cranston thought. The circular room is there all right — and from what I could see of money bags and gold ornaments, there’s a million or more that belongs to Jarvis Raleigh.”

“My father’s wealth,” asserted Raleigh. “I knew that it was hidden here. I would never search for it; nor would Quarley. I do not need it. It will go to other relatives — and to charity.”

“Suit yourself, Mr. Raleigh,” returned Cardona. “Anyway, the stuff is there; and it’s what those crooks were after. Luskin must have learned a lot about this place. He was a sap to blab to Mallet Haverly and Rags Wilkey.

“They needed an inside man, to make sure that Luskin was right; a fellow to let them in when they were ready. From your description of the last fight, sheriff, The Shadow must have been here to stop theft before; and he showed up again tonight.”

Cardona paused to point to the opening in the laboratory wall; then, resuming his reconstruction of events, he added:

“The Shadow found this way to the laboratory. He must have come down through and picked up the fight from inside the house. That’s why the gorillas were scattering when we arrived.”

“One question,” stated Jarvis Raleigh, turning to the real Stokes Corvin. “How did you happen to learn that an impostor was here in my house?”

“Odd circumstances,” returned Stokes Corvin. “More than a week ago, I received a mysterious cablegram summoning me to New York. I was told to await further information at the Hotel Metrolite.

“Last night, I received a mysterious letter.” He produced it from his pocket. “Unsigned, it told me to call on Detective Cardona and to request him to come with me to Glenwood, there to introduce myself in person to Sheriff Burton Haggar. I found Detective Cardona; he came with me this evening.”

“And when this fellow introduced himself,” declared Haggar, “I brought him here in a hurry, along with a posse. I knew there was a fellow here who called himself Stokes Corvin. When the right man showed me his passports, I figured that you had a phony staying with you, Mr. Raleigh.”

The physician appeared at the door of the laboratory. He spoke to Jarvis Raleigh.

“Quarley is resting comfortably,” he announced. “He will recover. By the way, is there a gentleman here named Cranston?”

“Yes,” returned Raleigh, “This is Mr. Cranston.”

“Your car has arrived,” stated the physician. “It is waiting in front of the house.”

“I told Stanley to return,” remarked Cranston. “I was not sure that I would stay all night. In view of the extraordinary events that have occurred, I think it would be best for me to return to New York. I shall write you, Mr. Raleigh, arranging another appointment.”

With that, Cranston bowed good night and walked toward the door of the laboratory. He paused; turned and added a suggestion:

“I should advise a further study of the turret entry,” he stated. “The floor strikes me as suspicious. Good night, gentlemen.”

JOE CARDONA pondered. A few minutes after Lamont Cranston had departed, he suggested a trip downstairs. He led the way to the turret. Cranston’s car had gone; the deputies had departed carrying the dead and wounded attackers who had failed to capture Montgard.

“This floor is solid as rock,” growled Cardona, as he stamped upon the tiling. “Yet I’ve got a hunch that Mr. Cranston was right about it. There’s no use tearing it up, unless—”

Cardona stopped abruptly as the floor moved downward. It stopped after a drop of a few inches. Cardona motioned the others back into the house while he sprang for the front door.

While all watched from safety, the floor began to slide in the direction of the living room. Cardona and the others stared as the duplicate floor took the place of the first.

Hardly had it shifted into position before the warning click occurred. The quadrants dropped downward like yawning jaws. Astounded men stared into the abyss.

“Reeves Lockwood!” gasped Jarvis Raleigh. “Merton Helmsford — Sidney Richland — that is where they met their end — like the others who went before them!

“The inscription in the border: ‘Ye living men who love life and hate death; ye who will pass by this spot shall sacrifice to me!’ — I know its importance now!”

The jaws of the trap were closing. They clicked into place, forming what appeared to be a solid floor. Then came the downward shift; the floor that formed the death trap slid beneath the wall while the solid duplicate replaced it.

“The library!” exclaimed Jarvis Raleigh, suddenly. “That’s where the false Stokes Corvin used to stay. This way — this way—”

All followed Raleigh along the passage. The library light was on; the door to the veranda was open. Jarvis Raleigh uttered a cry as he pointed toward the corner bookcase. He sprang in that direction.

The volumes of Dumas had been removed. Behind the spot where they belonged was an opened panel. Cunningly set in the wall, this moving portion had been designed to deceive the keenest eyes.

Beyond the opening were two switches. Their purpose was obvious. One to change the floors; the other to drop and close the trap. This was the final secret of the death trap arranged by Windrop Raleigh — a chasm of doom below the cunning hiding place where the old miser had kept his hoarded wealth.

While amazed men stared, a distant cry came to their ears from far across the lawn. A chilling sound of sinister mirth, it was the climax to the final revelation.

Those in the library stood silent with awe as they heard the laugh of The Shadow!