Tower of Death

CHAPTER VII SHADOWS AT NIGHT

IT was the next evening. Fading twilight showed Montgard, a looming edifice amid the dying glow. Darkened turrets, surmounting forbidding walls, made the place appear as a haunt of ghosts.

The sun had set beyond the old house. The last rays of daylight produced an elongated shadow from the old mansion; a stretch of darkness that seemed to warn all strangers not to enter.

A peculiar, hunched-up man was pacing a balcony that projected from the second story. It was Jarvis Raleigh. At times, the master of Montgard paused in his walk to gaze intently toward the drive that led in from the road. He was staring at the scene before him, apparently watching for intruders.

Yet even the beady eyes of Jarvis Raleigh could not perceive the strange figure that was approaching Montgard. Like a creature torn from darkness, a tall form was stalking beside the trees that fringed the driveway. Unseen, this ghostly visitant reached the blackened shade of the house. There it merged with darkness.

The Shadow had arrived at Montgard. Prowling within close range of the massive stone walls, he was studying the character of the fortlike building. Informed through his agents that men of crime were close by, The Shadow was looking over the objective which they must gain.

Reaching the front wall, The Shadow followed the house itself. His figure was like the blackened stones. Approaching night hid his shape. At times, The Shadow paused, while his sharp eyes scaled the heights above. The rugged stones, though they would afford hold to a climber, could offer no advantage in entering Montgard. Windows above were all of the curious, small-paned type.

The Shadow’s form moved upward. The starting point was directly below the balcony where The Shadow had spied Jarvis Raleigh. Gloved hands gripped stones. Like a human fly, The Shadow made the ascent. His peering eyes came above the parapet about the small balcony.

Jarvis Raleigh had left the upper porch. A heavy door, tightly closed, showed the path which he had taken. That door presented a formidable barrier. Bolted from the inside, it would prevent all entry.

The Shadow moved downward. Increasing darkness hid his form as he circled to the rear of the house. Barely discernible in the afterglow, The Shadow’s figure was no more than a fleeting shade. No human eye would have noticed it.

The Shadow paused. His ears had detected an approaching sound. The tall figure moved upward, taking the rear wall with marked alacrity. One dozen feet above the ground, the moving shape paused and clung in batlike fashion within a blackened spot formed by the clustered branches of a near-by tree.

A GROWL from below. One of the Great Danes was sniffing near the wall. The dog’s eyes moved, upward. Its throat formed a rumble. Still growling, the dog rested on its haunches.

A figure came blundering through the gloom. The voice of Jerome formed a snarl as the caretaker gripped the big dog by its collar.

Looking upward, Jerome could not discern the shape which the Great Dane observed. He dragged the dog away and delivered a vicious slap, which started it ahead of him on his tour around the house.

The Shadow moved slowly upward. His precarious course took him higher and higher. He paused beside the window of a third-story room. His gloved hands examined the iron shafts that separated the panes. A soft laugh sounded from his hidden lips.

The Shadow reached the roof. Here, again, he could find no mode of entry. Moving cautiously along the sloping surface, The Shadow arrived at a sheer wall near one of the end turrets. His eyes peered downward.

There was a first-story veranda on this side of the building. The ground sloped to give the broad porch height. The Shadow’s form seemed to twist upon the sloping roof. His body dangled from the ledge. Firm feet found a hold upon projecting stones; a hand descended and gained a grip. The Shadow continued his descent.

He passed the second story and reached the veranda. Here, crouched under the cover of the high parapet, The Shadow passed another heavy door and peered in through a small-paned window. The lighted room, situated in a front corner of the house, was a library. It was finely furnished and huge bookcases showed along its paneled walls. The library was deserted.

Dropping from the high veranda, The Shadow crossed the lawn. He passed the stonework of an old well. He continued on until he reached a fringe of trees. His course was indiscernible. Ten minutes later, he emerged, as though conjured from space, near a clearing just beyond the iron fence that marked the boundary of the Montgard estate.

A light showed from a lowlying building. The Shadow approached like a ghost. He noted that the shades were drawn in the cottage. His gloved hands stretched upward. A thin instrument of blackened metal seemed to wedge itself between the portions of a window shaft.

The lock turned silently. The sash moved upward. The sound of low voices was audible. The window shade trembled, almost imperceptibly. The eyes of The Shadow peered between sill and lower edge of sash.

THREE men were seated by a rough table on which a gasoline lamp was resting. One was the man whose presence in this vicinity had been reported by The Shadow’s agents: Mallet Haverly. The second was the racketeer’s lieutenant, Speedy Tyron. The third was a rough-faced underling.

Mallet and Speedy were engaged in discussion, while their henchman sat silent. The Shadow, listening intently, could hear their words.

“We’ve got the lay, right enough,” declared Mallet. “So far as we know, Luskin gave us the right dope.”

“But we’re not sure, yet,” returned Speedy, “about the—”

Speedy paused as Mallet raised a warning hand. The lieutenant nodded. He knew that Mallet did not want the third man to hear too much.

“About the way things are fixed inside,” corrected Speedy. “Just because Luskin was right on what we’ve seen doesn’t prove he was right on what we haven’t seen.”

“I know that,” admitted Mallet. “If the guy was bluffing us, he would have told us the straight stuff about the outside lay and used his stall when he talked about the inside.

“But I’m counting on Luskin’s story being right. That’s why we’re waiting here. We’ve got to take time with this job, Speedy.”

“I can’t see that you’re getting anywhere yet,” objected Speedy. “Last night, you went downtown a while; then you came back and took a sneak up toward the house. But you didn’t get very far.”

“I couldn’t,” growled Mallet. “That one hound started to howl. That’s why I’ve sent Bagger up to the place tonight. He’ll fix the dog.”

“What’s one dog?” queried Speedy. “They’ve got a dozen of them around the place. Those big pooches are the worst.”

“The Great Danes? They don’t cut a figure if you’re careful. The squarehead who lives out in the stable takes them in with him after he makes his rounds.”

“Yeah; and I’ll bet he’s got them ready to send out as soon as the hounds start to howl in their kennels.”

“Don’t I know it?” Mallet laughed. “You can’t get near the house between those kennels — at least I couldn’t. One hound started a howl last night; another took it up. That’s why I scrammed.”

“So you’ve sent Bagger—”

“To nab one of the hounds. If he does it neat, that will make an opening. I can go by the empty kennel. I want to look the house over at close range.”

Mallet paused to light a cigarette. He looked toward the henchman who was listening in on the conversation. He uttered a growled order.

“Go on outside, Corky,” he instructed. “Take a look around the clearing. Make sure there’s nobody prowling here.”

“Corky” departed.

SPEEDY TYRON was smiling. He knew that Mallet’s order had a double purpose. The racketeer wanted to get rid of the henchman for the time. The order to search the clearing was a pretense.

“Listen, Speedy.” Mallet’s tone was persuasive. “I know the game I’m playing. I’m the fellow who talked to Luskin. What I learned from him is my business.”

“Sure thing,” agreed Speedy.

“I’ve told you enough,” continued Mallet. “You know that I’m after some real swag. That’s all you have to know. I’m taking it slow, because I want to be mighty sure that the boodle is where I think it is.

“I want to get up around the house and look it over. I’ve got to learn more about the joint — inside as well as out. When the time is ripe, we’ll be ready to hit.”

“But if you can’t get inside,” insisted Speedy, “how are you going to learn what you want to know?”

“I’ll find it out,” declared Mallet. “There’s windows there, aren’t there? I can look through them, even if I can’t get in. Leave that to me, Speedy. I’m going to get the lay of the joint.”

“I see. That’s why you’re having Bagger work tonight. You think that one hound out of the way will be enough?”

“Yeah. For the time. Just so I can keep tabs on a few things up at that house. I’m telling you, Speedy—”

The rest of the sentence was lost to The Shadow. The black-garbed listener was swinging away from the window. His tall form flattened itself against the side of the cottage and edged into a corner by a stone chimney.

Corky was coming by. The gorilla’s flashlight swept the wall. Its angle missed the niche that The Shadow had chosen. Corky went past and turned the corner of the house. His voice came in challenge at the front of the cottage. It was answered.

The Shadow moved back to the window, just in time to see Corky entering with three men who had arrived from the clearing. One, a coarse-faced ruffian with a scar on one cheek, was evidently “Bagger.”

“You got the hound?” The question came from Mallet Haverly.

“You bet,” laughed Bagger, huskily. “That’s one pooch gone where he won’t do no harm. I picked the kennel that you told me about. It was a cinch.”

“Good work.” Mallet arose. “You stay here, Speedy. I’m taking Bagger and Corky with me to stay back by the fence while I do a sneak around the big place.”

Speedy nodded as Mallet started forth. With Bagger and Corky flicking their flashlights to point the way, the chief of the crooks headed toward the woods beyond the clearing.

TEN minutes later, Mallet was on the grounds of Montgard. Moving carefully across the lawn, the racketeer was going toward the kennel which now had no canine occupant. Mallet reached the house and stood there, staring upward toward unlighted windows. Crouching, he waited a while; then, after crawling closer to the wall, he suddenly arose and began to move along the side of the house.

Mallet’s survey was a brief one. The crook studied the wall that fringed the first story veranda and decided that a climb might prove too noisy. Groping through the dark, he retraced his footsteps toward the vacant kennel.

There he paused and craned on tiptoe to study the windows of the library. Shades were drawn. The room was evidently occupied. Mallet continued his retreat. His first visit to Montgard had been a short one.

Something moved by the wall near where Mallet had been. A gliding figure went stealthily to the front of the building and crossed the gravel without a crunching step. The same form became invisible.

Later, a creepy laugh sounded in darkness by the front gates of the estate, a quarter mile from the house itself. A soft sound swished in the darkness.

The Shadow had paid a second visit to Montgard, to watch Mallet Haverly. He had needed no break in the circle of kennels. Drowsy hounds could not scent The Shadow’s presence.

Tonight, The Shadow had studied the fortlike home of Jarvis Raleigh. He had also visited the temporary quarters where men of crime were waiting opportunity to rise to an attack.

The Shadow knew that any onslaught on Montgard would, of necessity, be delayed. Mallet Haverly was playing a waiting game. The stakes were too big to be risked by a futile raid.

Again the laugh. Hollow in the open spaces, its tones were unheard by any but the one who uttered them. The Shadow’s laugh was prophetic.

The time would come for Mallet Haverly’s attack. The foray would be a planned one. Its indications would be plain before it took place. When Mallet and his men broke forth, The Shadow would be ready.

The Shadow, like Mallet Haverly, was playing a waiting game.