The Ghost Of The Manor s-32

by Maxwell Grant

Clark Brosset surveyed his friend’s face. He saw the changing emotions that flickered over Warren’s countenance. He approached and gripped the young man’s shoulder.

  “Buck up, boy,” he urged, in a low, steady voice. “I’m here to help you, Warren. Steady! Let me know what’s happened. Easy, now - from the beginning.”

  Warren nodded. With a quick effort, he regained some of his composure. In an even monotone, he began his story. He told of his arrival at Delthern Manor; of his interview with Humphrey Delthern. Then came the episode of the first death in the dark; Humphrey with the knife jutting from his heart. Warren followed with Wellington’s intervention; the second extinguishing of the lights; and the shot that slew the servant.

  “Go on,” said Clark Brosset seriously. “You left the house then? Did anyone see you?”

  “I don’t think so,” declared Warren. “I found a cab about a block from the Manor. I took it -“

  “A great mistake!” exclaimed Brosset. “That may cause you trouble, Warren. If the taximan saw you when you got out here -“

  “I think I’m all right,” interrupted Warren, as he managed to smile. “First of all, the driver was looking for someone who had left the cab and forgotten his change. He didn’t see my face.

  “Next, I had a hunch, and told him to take me to the station. It was while we were riding there that he mentioned the matter of the money. Said he would give me what was coming when we reached the depot.”

  “When the cab stopped, I watched the driver. I saw him fumbling in his pockets. I told him to keep the change as I stepped from the door; then I ducked past the back of the cab. All he knows is that he took a passenger to the railroad station.”

  “Good headwork,” commented Brosset. The president was pacing the room; he turned and put another question: “How did you come here from the station?”

  “Took a trolley,” answered Warren. “A crowded car. No one could have noticed me. I came in through the side door.”

  “All right,” said Brosset approvingly. “Come now, Warren. Spruce up a bit. Straighten your tie and brush your hair. Mirror in there by the washstand. We’re going down in the grillroom together.”

  “You mean -“

  “I mean that we’re going to be seen together here at the club. I’ve been around the place all evening. Everyone knows that I’ve been here. You were with me up to the time you left. You’ll be with me now.”

  “But those dead men - up at the Manor -“

  “Listen, Warren.” Clark Brosset’s voice was severe. “Did you see the murderer?”

  “No. It couldn’t have been anyone but Jasper - after what I heard him say on the phone.”

  “But did you see him?”

  “Not even a glimpse,” admitted Warren.

  “Well, then,” remarked Brosset, “you’re not going to say a thing about being at Delthern Manor - not until you have to say it - and that will be when the proper time has come. You were here, this evening, at the City Club. With me. Understand?”

  Warren nodded.

  “Where’s your hat?” questioned Brosset.

  “I don’t know,” said Warren suddenly. “I - I may have had it in the cab. No - as I remember it now, I gave it to Wellington. He must have placed it on a rack in a downstairs closet.”

  “Any identifying marks in it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we’ll trust to luck on that point. Unless you left it in the room where the murders were committed you -“

  “I didn’t do that, I’m sure.”

  “All right. Come along downstairs. You look all right now. We’ll talk this over in a quiet corner. Remember, Warren; this is not an alibi. I merely want to allow time for us to look into the matter.”

  THE two men left the office and descended to the grillroom. In company with Clark Brosset, Warren Barringer now felt at ease. As the pair entered the grill, it appeared as though they had probably been together for some time.

  Various club members hailed them; and not long afterward Warren and his companion managed to find a corner table by themselves. Brosset gave Louie two orders for sandwiches and coffee.

  “Young Delthern was around here a few minutes ago,” said the steward, speaking to the president in an undertone. “Thought we were going to have some more trouble with him.”

  “Liquor again?” inquired Brosset.

  “Yes, sir,” said Louie. “He’s been in and out during the evening. Gets his drinks at some speakeasy, I guess. He could hardly stand up when he was in here last.”

  “What did you do about it?”

  “Had a couple of the boys take him to his room.”

  “All right, Louie. Send word to me if you see him behaving badly after this.”

  When the steward had gone, Clark Brosset turned to Warren with a serious expression. First making sure that no one was close enough to overhear what he might say, the club president gave terse advice.

  “You and I,” declared Brosset, “know that Jasper may be the murderer of those two men. If he is, he’s done a lot to establish an alibi. Here - at the speakeasy - well, he’s probably been from one place to the other all evening. Maybe his drunkenness was a bluff at first; chances are he’s well under now.

  “As I see it, Warren, it would be a huge risk to accuse Jasper when the police discover the murders. To do so, you would have to admit your own presence at Delthern Manor. Your own flight would be against you; and you can’t say that you saw Jasper there.

  “If Jasper is responsible, there’s a chance that he will loop his own neck. Let the police suspect him first; wait until they have him boxed. Then you can speak. It would be natural for you, as his cousin, to show reluctance in accusing him.”

  Warren nodded his agreement. He saw the logic of Brosset’s opinion. He decided that he had done well to come to such a friend for advice.

  “Remember,” warned Brosset, in a cautious whisper, “that Jasper, by a clever persistence of innocence, could turn the suspicion on you.”

  “Except for one fact,” mused Warren. “Jasper profits directly from the murder of Humphrey -“

  “And you profit also.”

  Clark Brosset’s frank statement made Warren realize his startling predicament. It was true that he also gained in the division of the Delthern estate. Furthermore, he saw another dilemma ahead of him.

  “Clark,” he whispered, “if Jasper diverted suspicion toward me, it might look as though I had arranged the deaths of both Winstead and Humphrey. Besides that, Jasper could pretend that I had threatened him!”

  Clark Brosset gazed about him as he nodded. Then, sagely, he added another admonition.

  “Up in the office,” he declared, “you told me that Humphrey denounced you as Winstead’s killer. I know perfectly that you would not have committed such a crime. I believe you, because I am your friend. But will others believe you?

  “You told me also that Humphrey became indignant at the thought of his own brother plotting against his life. If it came to a question between you and Jasper, what would people think? I shall tell you, Warren. They would decide that a man would murder his cousin with less compunction than his brother.”

  WARREN BARRINGER clutched the edge of the table. He realized fully that he had placed himself in a serious position by going to Delthern Manor.

  “I see it now,” he said slowly. “Wellington was in on the crime, because I heard Jasper talking to him on the phone. That’s why Jasper killed Wellington also. He has rid himself of the one man who might testify in my behalf. Wellington should have been out of the house. When he showed up, Jasper Delthern decided to take no chances.”

  “You are battling a fiendish schemer, Warren,” decided Clark Brosset. “I am thankful that I know the truth; that I can aid you in this emergency. I know Jasper for a rogue; you for an honest man. I am with you in this crisis.

  “There is only one course for us to follow. We must wait and watch. These murders will probably be discovered shortly. There will be
calls for you and Jasper.

  “Remember: you were here during the evening. Up in the office with me; here in the grillroom. I am going upstairs again. It would be a good plan for you to join a game in the cardroom.

  “Jasper is too wise to be without an alibi. So we will counter with one for you. Simply subordinate the time element. Is that plain?”

  Warren nodded his approval. He felt a surge of gratefulness toward Clark Brosset. Here was one man positive of Warren’s interest. A true friend was priceless in an emergency like this. Warren’s innocence; his knowledge of Jasper’s scheming - these were justifications for the alibi, should it prove necessary. Warren asked one question, to be sure.

  “No one knows that I left the club?” he asked.

  “No one,” returned Brosset. Then, with a frown, he added: “Yes, one man; but he has left town. I forgot to tell you in the excitement. A friend of yours called to see you, and stopped in my office.”

  “What was his name?” inquired Warren anxiously. “I know no one in Newbury outside of yourself -“

  “This man was from New York,” interposed Brosset. “His name was Lamont Cranston. Do you know him well?”

  “Lamont Cranston!” exclaimed Warren. “What was he doing in Newbury?”

  “On his way back to New York,” explained Brosset. “Stopped long enough to see you. He would have waited, but as I did not know how well you knew him, I said that you had gone out of town. 1 thought it best that no one should know you were at Delthern Manor. I feared complications there.”

  “He left for New York, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Warren Barringer breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced toward Clark Brosset with a new expression of gratitude.

  “Lamont Cranston is a good friend of mine,” he stated, “but I would not want him to know of this trouble that I have experienced. With you to count on, Clark, I do not need him. You did the right thing, old man. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it. I used war thinking; that was all. Just a hunch that worked. Come.”

  With the final word, Clark Brosset arose from the table. He conducted Warren upstairs, introduced him to some club members in the cardroom, and waited until Warren had joined the game. Upon departing, Brosset stopped in the lobby and spoke to the operator at the telephone switchboard.

  “I shall be in my office,” he announced. “I expect to be working late. By the way, if any calls come for Mr. Barringer, switch them to me. He is likely to be up there with me; if not, I can communicate with him.”

  DOWN in the gloomy lobby of the City Club, a patch of blackness seemed to shift from the wall. A moment later, a tall, phantom figure traced its way silently through the lobby. The switchboard operator did not see this ghostly form. The men in the cardroom did not observe it as it glided past the door.

  The figure merged with blackness near the stairs. That was the last visible trace of its presence. Yet the haunting form did not depart. Somewhere within the confines of the building it still trod its mysterious way.

  Warren Barringer was in the cardroom. Clark Brosset was in his office. Jasper Delthern had been taken to his own room on an upper floor. Here, at the City Club, were the only three men who could possibly know anything concerning the details of crime at Delthern Manor.

  That was the reason why The Shadow lingered. After his weird evanishment from Delthern Manor, he had come to this place - to the spot where he could watch the men who knew!

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE POLICE THEORY

  THE uniformed policemen were not the only persons who had entered Delthern Manor to find the dead bodies in the upstairs study. With them were three or four neighbors whom Marcia Wardrop had called when she first left the house.

  These men had crowded up the stairs after the officers; now they were down in the living room, consoling Marcia, while they awaited the arrival of police officials.

  A siren sounded in the side drive. A man went to the door and admitted two chunky, square-shouldered arrivals. One was Sidney Gorson, the Newbury police chief. The other was his star detective, Harold Terwiliger.

  Gorson asked a few brisk questions. Learning that none of the persons present knew anything about the crime, he motioned to Terwiliger, and the two ascended the stairs. They entered the room where the bodies lay. Noting two officers here, and none below, Gorson dispatched one of the policemen to the living room.

  The police chief and his detective made a careful examination of the bodies. Gorson, square-faced and sober of demeanor, turned to Terwiliger and observed the solemn, methodical expression which the detective wore.

  “What do you make of it?” questioned the chief.

  “Plain enough,” returned Terwiliger. He turned and pointed to the door. “Somebody sneaked in here and stabbed Humphrey Delthern. Look at that knife. Driven in hard and fast.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’ve given you the answer. He couldn’t get the knife out quickly. The servant must have heard him sneaking up the stairs. He bobbed in, and the killer shot him.”

  “Sounds logical,” agreed Gorson. “You get at things quick, Terwiliger. Odd thing, I took it - one killed with a knife; the other with a bullet.”

  “Well,” said the detective, “I’ve explained it. The murderer used a knife because it wouldn’t make a noise. The servant wasn’t expected. So he had to shoot him, and make a quick get-away. He didn’t figure he’d need two knives; but he probably had the gun for emergencies.”

  The detective picked up the revolver from the floor, examined it carefully, and replaced it.

  “I’ll tell you more,” he declared. “Look at the positions of the bodies. I’ll show you just what happened. First, the murderer came in through the door.”

  By way of description, Terwiliger strode to the door and assumed a crouching position, with one hand tucked under his coat, as though holding a concealed weapon.

  “Delthern was sitting at the desk,” stated the detective. “See how he pushed back the chair? The criminal wanted to catch him unaware; but he wasn’t quick enough. He got across the room in time, though, to stab Humphrey Delthern. But he may have made some noise doing it. Maybe Delthern managed to give a cry. Anyway, the murderer stepped back.”

  TERWILIGER, after having advanced across the room, withdrew with a dramatic gesture, and glared at Humphrey’s body. He was giving his impression of a murderer viewing his handiwork.

  “Then,” continued the detective, “the killer suddenly heard a noise behind him. He turned” - Terwiliger paused to illustrate the action - “and found the servant leaping upon him.”

  Gorson nodded admiringly. He had a high opinion of Terwiliger’s skill at crime detection.

  “The killer had buried the knife,” went on Terwiliger. “There it was, in Delthern’s body. He had no weapon when he met the servant; but he backed away to pull out his revolver. The man jumped upon him; the killer broke loose and fired.”

  Terwiliger’s final imitation was an attempt to reproduce a struggle between two men which finally brought the detective panting, against the wall, staring down at Wellington’s inert form.

  “He must have lost the revolver after the first shot,” decided Terwiliger. “Maybe the servant was fighting him right to the end. But he thought just one thing” - the detective tapped his forehead to indicate the murderer’s inspiration - “that was that someone else might be coming. He had to get out - in a hurry, too. He didn’t want to be seen running with a gun. That’s why he didn’t stop.”

  His oration finished, Terwiliger resumed his natural pose. He became taciturn and wise of expression, displaying the confident manner of a man who is convinced of his own opinions.

  Police Chief Gorson slowly turned over everything that the detective had said. Deliberate and methodical, he rubbed his heavy jaw as though seeking loopholes in Terwiliger’s theory, and finding none. At last, he put forth an important question.

  “What was the motive?”

  A knowing smile a
ppeared upon Terwiliger’s face. The detective swung his arm about the room in an attempt to include the entire building in a single gesture.

  “Burglary,” he asserted. “The best bet in Newbury. A man living here who is the heir to millions. One servant in the house. Everyone in town knows that. Some smart crook came in here for a big haul. He didn’t get it.”

  Terwiliger’s tone was convincing. Sidney Gorson again nodded in agreement. Nevertheless, the police chief felt that the star detective could do even greater work by quizzing the persons below. He ordered the policeman to keep charge; then motioned Terwiliger to follow him. The pair descended to the living room.

  MARCIA WARDROP and the neighbors were gathered in a cluster with the policeman standing beside them. Police Chief Gorson went directly to the girl.

  “You were the first person in here?” he questioned.

  “Yes,” admitted Marcia.

  “Talk to the lady, Terwiliger,” ordered Gorson.

  “Tell me what happened, Miss Wardrop,” said the detective.

  “It began when I was coming home,” began Marcia, in a wistful, hesitating tone. “That is, it began - began when our car stopped just past the driveway.”

  The girl’s words indicated that she had thought of some event previous to the actual arrival. Terwiliger, however, missed that point.

  “Whose car?” he asked.

  “Dorothy Garland’s car,” returned Marcia, “She was taking Harriet Saylor and myself home from a bridge club. They were in the front seat; I was in back. Dorothy went by the driveway before I stopped her. So I stepped out and came up to the side door.”

  “Then what?”

  “I unlocked the side door with my key. I came in, but I didn’t see Wellington.”

  “The servant?”

  “Yes. He always used to reach the door just about the time I came in. I walked through the living room, and called him. There was no answer. Somehow - something” - the girl hesitated, then resumed - “something made me worried. I called Wellington from the foot of the stairs. There was still no answer. I was afraid. I ran out to tell the neighbors.