The Ghost Of The Manor s-32

by Maxwell Grant

  “Jasper is right,” argued Humphrey to Farman. “Warren Barringer has failed to appear. He loses his right to share in the estate.”

  Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw the disdain on the girl’s face as she looked at her wrangling, avaricious cousins. Here was one supporter. Farman studied Winstead Delthern; then made his appeal to the new head of the family.

  “The settlement of the estate,” declared Farman, “comes one month from tonight. The time element was allowed so that all relatives could arrive after being summoned. I called you all, as was provided, and expected all to be present if possible.

  “In the case of Warren Barringer, presence was impossible. Caleb Delthern died less than two weeks ago. I cabled Warren Barringer in Hongkong. He is on his way home. He authorized a proxy, by cable.

  “I received word from a man in New York, named Lamont Cranston. He stated that Warren Barringer had requested him to appear as the proxy. I replied that this first meeting would be purely a preliminary one, and advised Cranston that a proxy was unnecessary, although he might attend this meeting if he chose to do so. I promised that I would sustain Warren Barringer’s rights.”

  “A proxy!” rasped Humphrey Delthern. “Preposterous! The truth is self-evident, Farman. Warren Barringer loses his rights by not being here tonight.”

  IT was apparent that Humphrey and Jasper both figured the million and a half that they might usurp as being far more important than a spirit of fair play. Horatio Farman, however, met Humphrey’s challenge with promptitude.

  “You are not the one to make a decision,” remarked the lawyer sternly. “You forget that I am the administrator of the estate.

  “If any one of the heirs has a right to demand such an interpretation of the will, it is Winstead Delthern. He is the head of the house; furthermore” - Farman’s note was ironical - “he has no selfish interest involved, as his proportion of the estate is already established. I leave it to him, therefore, to agree with me.”

  This statement shifted the attack. Both Humphrey Delthern and Jasper swung to Winstead.

  Horatio Farman suddenly realized his mistake. Neither Winstead nor Humphrey were on good terms with their brother Jasper, but their own sour dispositions were somewhat mutual. There was every reason why Winstead would favor brother Humphrey in preference to an unknown cousin, Warren Barringer.

  The oldest of the Deltherns held up his hand for quiet. He studied the situation thoughtfully. The lights flickered throughout this gloomy room, and showed the faces in grotesque light.

  Winstead was pondering; Humphrey and Jasper were silently gloating; Marcia Wardrop was biting her lip in indignation. Horatio Farman looked on with anxiety. He expected the question that was coming.

  “How much weight,” questioned Winstead Delthern, “will my decision carry?”

  “A great deal,” admitted Horatio Farman frankly. “The documents which your grandfather left place considerable authority in the hands of the eldest survivor. They also stipulate that all possible heirs be decided upon at this meeting.”

  “Then if I decide in favor of Warren Barringer,” declared Winstead, “there can be no further question.”

  “None at all.”

  “And if I decide against him?”

  “It will be difficult for him to prove his case.”

  Humphrey Delthern shot a significant glance at his chief brother. Horatio Farman saw that Winstead was about to weaken. The lawyer ejaculated a quick warning.

  “Remember, Winstead!” he exclaimed. “Your grandfather placed great trust in you as the eldest of the Deltherns. You are in the home that was his - in the hall where he believed his fathers dwell! This meeting is held here tonight because Caleb Delthern actually believed that he would attend it in spirit if not in flesh!”

  The lawyer’s words sounded impressive amid the flickering light of the gloomy room. Winstead Delthern paled noticeably. Humphrey’s eyes became cold. Jasper, alone, broke the tension with an ugly chuckle. The sound made Humphrey smile.

  “Ghosts,” he said to Winstead. “have no part in this procedure. We await your opinion, brother. Say, rather, your decision.”

  WINSTEAD DELTHERN cleared his throat. He nodded, and it was plain which way he intended to turn. His own rights safe, he was ready to favor Humphrey’s claim.

  “Farman,” declared Winstead coldly, “I can see but one possible decision. I shall make it with emphasis. Warren Barringer’s rights are not -“

  The slow tones ended. Winstead Delthern’s face became frozen. Words stopped upon his lips as a strange, uncanny sound came to his ears.

  The others heard it also - a rising sigh that seemed to spring from the very air of the room. While every person in that great room sat as solid as a statue, the weird sound broke into a mighty shudder.

  Then, from unseen lips, came the sound of an eerie laugh that chilled the listeners. The sinister mirth broke like a crashing wave. The candle flames seemed to waver as the burst of ghostly mockery swept through the gloomy hall.

  As the laugh died, weird echoes took up the cry. The sardonic tones reverberated from the very walls of the room, coming in breaking waves that might well be the merriment of a horde of invisible demons.

  A myriad of gasping taunts resounded; then, through the gloom came the final touch - strange sibilant gibes that swept along the passages of the whispering gallery.

  Faces filled with frozen fear surrounded the table in the center of the room. None of the persons assembled there dared move. Stark terror ruled.

  Those weird echoes had come as the laugh of a ghost!

  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 wor
ds 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.