The Ghost Of The Manor s-32

by Maxwell Grant

  “They didn’t want to enter unless they were sure something was wrong. Mr. Townley called the police station, and the two officers came. They were the ones who went upstairs.”

  Terwiliger turned to Townley. The neighbor corroborated the girl’s story so far as it concerned him. The detective again questioned Marcia.

  “You are sure you saw nothing? Here in the house, I mean - or in the driveway?”

  “Nothing at all,” declared the girl, in a firm tone.

  Terwiliger began to talk with the men who were present. His indication that he had no further questions for Marcia gave the girl sudden courage. She turned to Police Chief Gorson.

  “Would it be all right,” she asked, “for me to call Mr. Horatio Farman? He is our lawyer, you know.”

  “Certainly,” responded Gorson. “It would be a good idea to have him come here.”

  MARCIA left the living room, remarking that the telephone was in the central hallway. She reached a closet near the foot of the stairs. There, out of earshot, she picked up the telephone and gave a number in a low, steady voice.

  Her tones became a whisper as she heard the response that she had expected. While she spoke, she kept a furtive eye upon the distant living room.

  “This is Marcia… Yes… At home… Something terrible… Humphrey has been killed - and Wellington… I have been questioned, but there was something I didn’t tell… Listen… Coming up the avenue, we passed a taxi that was going in the opposite direction… Yes, on the avenue… Warren Barringer was in it… I was sure he had been here… Yes… Yes… I understand… Say nothing… Yes, I promise.”

  The girl paused; then, quickly, she added:

  “Someone is coming. I’ll call later.”

  Marcia clicked the hook with her thumb just as Chief Gorson appeared from the living room. The man saw the girl at the telephone.

  “Haven’t you gotten Farman yet?” he queried.

  “I’m still trying the number,” returned Marcia. “Operator - operator, please -“

  The response came, and Marcia gave the number, repeating it in an annoyed tone. Chief Gorson stood by, watching.

  “This is Marcia,” said the girl. “I - I’ve been trying to get you, Mr. Farman… Yes, I am at home… Humphrey Delthern has been killed. Mr. Farman… Yes, the police are here… No… Wellington was killed also… You will come at once?”

  The girl hung up the receiver and nodded to the police chief. She managed to smile as though she had heard good news.

  “Mr. Farman is coming right away,” the girl announced. “He can tell you anything that is important.”

  “Nothing is important but the name of the murderer,” returned Gorson grimly.

  TWENTY minutes later, Horatio Farman arrived. The old attorney came by taxicab, instead of walking in this time of urgency. He found only Gorson, Terwiliger, and Marcia - a silent trio, seated in the living room.

  The lawyer’s first concern was for the girl. He asked if she had been questioned; receiving an affirmative reply, he wanted to know if she would be needed further. Gorson looked at Terwiliger. The detective was doubtful.

  “What do you want to do about her?” he asked Farman.

  “I want to see that she is with friends,” declared the old lawyer. “This is no place for the girl. Where could you go, Marcia?”

  Terwiliger offered a suggestion as Marcia hesitated.

  “How about the girl friends that brought you home?” he asked. “Could you get in touch with them? I’d like to know if they heard anything after they left here.”

  Marcia went to the telephone to call Dorothy Garland. Gorson and Terwiliger suggested that Farman view the scene upstairs. The detective remained, while Gorson went with the lawyer to the study.

  Dorothy Garland arrived with Harriet Saylor just as the attorney and the police chief reappeared. Terwiliger asked Marcia’s friends a few questions. He finally told Gorson that it would be all right for Marcia to leave with the others.

  Horatio Farman looked toward Marcia as the girl was about to leave.

  “There is nothing you wish to say to me, Marcia?” he asked.

  “No,” replied the girl. “I - I have told everything that I know. Thank you for coming, Mr. Farman. I - I’m sorry I was so abrupt over the telephone; but it was so important for you to know that -“

  “Quite all right, Marcia,” interposed the lawyer. “Try to forget this horrible affair tonight. Don’t worry, my dear. Just try to ease your mind.”

  “What about the other relatives?” questioned Sidney Gorson, turning to Farman after Marcia had gone. “Where are they?”

  “Jasper Delthern, the brother, lives at the City Club,” explained Farman. “Warren Barringer stays at the Century Hotel.”

  “Hm-m-m,” mused Gorson. “Why aren’t they living here, Mr. Farman?”

  “Caleb Delthern, the grandfather, lived alone,” stated Farman, “except for Marcia, who has been here ever since she was a child. It is customary for the head of the Delthern family to dwell at Delthern Manor. Winstead, then Humphrey, followed that procedure.”

  “Call the hotel and the club, Terwiliger,” ordered Gorson. “How about old Caleb’s estate, Mr. Farman. Who was to get the money?”

  “All the grandchildren shared,” stated Farman. “The estate has not been settled; but every apportionment is considerably over a million dollars.”

  Terwiliger was listening with one ear while he held the other to the telephone receiver. He heard Farman mention that Caleb Delthern had been very wealthy. But neither the detective nor the police chief noted a reserve in the attorney’s manner.

  Horatio Farman, as legal representative for all of the Delthern heirs, was anxious to avoid too close a questioning. The mention of large sums for all the heirs spiked further queries on the part of Gorson, and enabled Farman to avoid a clash between police demands and the ethical right of an attorney to keep the affairs of his clients strictly to himself.

  Gorson, leaning toward Terwiliger’s theory of attempted burglary, held very little suspicion regarding Jasper Delthern and Warren Barringer. His vague thoughts in that direction were ended when Terwiliger completed his efforts at the telephone.

  “Just talked with Clark Brosset,” announced the detective, approaching the two men, who were now at the entrance to the living room. “He’s the president of the City Club. Jasper Delthern was on a bender down there tonight. They had to carry him up to his room. Warren Barringer is at the club, too. Been with Brosset all evening; playing cards there now.”

  Police Chief Gorson turned to Horatio Farman. This information from a reliable source eliminated all consideration of either Jasper or Warren as persons who might have known of the crimes.

  “Suppose,” said Gorson, “that you go down there and break the news to them.”

  “Gladly,” agreed Farman. “You will remain here?”

  “Yes. Terwiliger and I will search for clews.”

  When the lawyer had gone, the police chief and the detective returned to the study. Gorson watched Terwiliger rummage about the room. The police chief was well satisfied with the detective’s efforts.

  Burglary that had resulted in murder. That was Terwiliger’s idea, and Gorson liked it. The police had accepted it as the proper theory.

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE SHADOW’S PRESENCE

  SEVERAL nights had passed since the deaths of Humphrey Delthern and Wellington. Jasper Delthern was seated at the big desk in the upstairs study of Delthern Manor. His heavy bulk made a better impression in the huge chair which his older brothers had occupied before him.

  An evil smile flitted over Jasper’s face. The new head of the Delthern family, the heir to one half of the thirteen millions, Jasper Delthern was well satisfied with the turn of affairs.

  No one had advanced the theory that Winstead Delthern had been murdered; nor had the police changed their opinion regarding the deaths of Humphrey and Wellington. Detective Terwiliger was still trying to obtain some trace
of a mythical burglar.

  The telephone rang on Jasper’s desk. The leering man picked up the instrument, and broadened his smile as he heard the voice at the other end. He engaged in a short conversation which terminated suddenly as he heard footsteps in the outer hallway.

  It was Holley, the former chauffeur, who had taken over Wellington’s duties. The servant had come to announce that Police Chief Gorson was downstairs with Detective Terwiliger.

  “Send them up,” ordered Jasper. Then, half aloud, after Holley had left: “I wonder what’s on their minds tonight?”

  Jasper’s question was soon to be answered. Gorson wore a serious expression when he entered the study, while Terwiliger strutted with a knowing air.

  “Good evening, Mr. Delthern,” said Gorson. “We came to confer with you. I want you to hear what Terwiliger has to say. He is forming a new theory on this case.”

  Jasper motioned to chairs, and sat back in his own, while he coldly studied his visitors. There was nothing of the wastrel in Jasper’s appearance now. The man was quite sober; in fact, his habits had been temperate ever since he had taken over the control of Delthern Manor.

  “It’s about your brother Winstead,” began Terwiliger. “I’ve been wondering about his death, Mr. Delthern. It struck me sort of odd that he should have died just before Humphrey was murdered.”

  Jasper nodded thoughtfully. “Winstead’s death was very sudden,” he agreed. “But I can’t see how it could have a connection with Humphrey’s murder.”

  “No?” quizzed Terwiliger. “Well, look at it this way. Maybe Humphrey’s murder had something to do with Winstead’s death.”

  “That’s simply putting the question the other way.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to get at the beginning of everything. I’ve just been thinking - suppose that Winstead’s death was murder, too.”

  Jasper Delthern opened his mouth in amazement. He stared from Terwiliger to Gorson. He noted the serious expressions on the faces of both men.

  “You don’t mean” - Jasper’s voice was filled with awe - “that my poor brother Winstead -“

  “I mean,” interrupted Terwiliger, “that Winstead’s death looks mighty suspicious.”

  There was a long pause. Jasper began to nod. Police Chief Gorson motioned to Terwiliger to continue.

  “A fall down the stairs,” said the detective. “Accidental cause maybe. That’s what everyone thought. But if it wasn’t an accident, then there’s more to this affair than I thought.”

  “You mean a plot?” queried Jasper, in an anxious tone. “If that is the case -“

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Delthern,” interposed Gorson. “There’s going to be no more killings while I’m around. We’ll have detectives on hand. Terwiliger wants to stay here himself while he investigates. That’s the first step.”

  “If you are asking my approval,” responded Jasper, in a relieved tone, “you may have it this very minute. You have alarmed me, chief. It is terrible to think that Winstead may have been murdered. But it worries me tremendously to hear you suggest that my own life may be in danger.”

  “No danger,” said Terwiliger methodically.

  “This is very serious,” asserted Jasper, shaking his head. “Something must be done at once.”

  “Leave it to Terwiliger,” insisted Gorson. “He will have a free hand. He can start here, and go wherever he likes. I’m giving him all leeway.”

  The chief’s declaration brought a response from the detective. Terwiliger rose to his feet and thumped his heavy fist against the palm of his other hand.

  “Winstead Delthern was murdered!” he announced. “So was Humphrey. It’s all part of the same game. I don’t know what’s in back of it; but I’ll promise you something. You, Mr. Delthern - you, Mr. Gorson - mark my words! Right here in this room, when both of you are here again, I’ll bring in the evidence that will get the man who was behind those killings!

  “Remember that. I swear to it! I’ll carry the evidence in this fist of mine, and I’ll plant it here before you!”

  The detective was at his best. His square form was drawn to its full height. Chief Gorson was quick to express his approval of the detective’s spirited remarks.

  “Terwiliger means it, Mr. Delthern,” asserted Gorson. “I’ve heard him talk this way before. He’ll come into this room - while you and I are here - and he’ll lay down the evidence. That’s a fact!”

  “I hope so,” said Jasper seriously. “I shall aid you in every possible way, Terwiliger.”

  “I think it would be advisable,” suggested Gorson, “for Detective Terwiliger to remain here from now on. He believes - no cause for alarm, Mr. Delthern - that the murderer may return to this scene of crime.”

  “A very good theory,” responded Jasper. “I shall arrange a room for you, Terwiliger.”

  “I’ll just bunk down in the living room,” said the detective. “I want to look around a bit tonight.”

  He arose, as though assuming that the matter was settled. Chief Gorson followed. Jasper came from behind the desk to join them. The three went downstairs. Terwiliger, stopping in the hallway, looked back at the steps.

  “That’s where Winstead Delthern fell,” he recalled, in a voice that sounded dramatic amid the gloomy setting of the hallway. “That is the way the murderer made his escape. He reached this very spot. Then -“

  The detective turned slowly. He pointed to the living room as a possible avenue to escape; then to the front door; finally to the sliding doors that hid the great reception hall.

  “Maybe through there,” he suggested. “That may be the way the murderer went!”

  “Hardly,” laughed Jasper. “There’s no possible exit from the place.”

  Terwiliger advanced and slid back one door. Jasper and Gorson followed him. As they entered the great room, Jasper remarked that there were no electric lights. He struck a match and lighted the tapers in the candelabrum.

  BOTH Gorson and Terwiliger stared wonderingly about the room. The feeble illumination imparted an impression of vastness. The outline of the whispering gallery seemed sinister as it loomed in the fringe of gloomy light.

  “A spooky place,” remarked Gorson. Even the gruff police chief seemed awed.

  “My grandfather,” observed Jasper thoughtfully, “believed that the ghosts of his ancestors dwelt in this hall. He believed that his own spirit would remain here.”

  “Ghosts do not kill,” growled Terwiliger.

  “I do not believe in ghosts,” returned Jasper, with a short laugh.

  Mirth was lacking in Jasper’s tone. Something about this room made the new master of Delthern Hall tremble.

  Was it the recollection of that night when the heirs had assembled at the stroke of twelve? Or was it some mysterious presence that now inhabited the place?

  Gorson and Terwiliger were leaving. Jasper went to the table and extinguished the candles. He turned to follow the others; as he did so, he fancied that he heard a sighing whisper pass through the room. A grim reminder of that terrible laugh that had cast its knell upon this place!

  So had that laugh begun - in a rising, sibilant tone. Jasper stood stock-still, trembling in anticipation of a mocking burst that might echo from the walls. But the fearful event did not occur; the murmuring whisper drifted into nothingness. Jasper almost fled toward the door. The eerie sound had chilled him.

  Terwiliger planted himself in the living room. Chief Gorson made his departure. Jasper Delthern went upstairs. In the study, behind a closed door, he again picked up the telephone. His tone was guarded as he talked over the wire.

  “That dumb dick is here,” he said to an unknown listener, “parked in the living room. Thinks he’s wise to some plot. Guarding me.”

  Jasper laughed. Then, in conclusion, he added a final statement that was derogatory to Terwiliger.

  “Sure… I’ll forget all about him… I’ll keep my eye on him tomorrow… Just a joke; that’s all he is.”

  Hanging up the recei
ver, Jasper prepared to conclude his work in the study. He went through several desk drawers; then arose and stretched himself.

  IN the living room, Terwiliger, with one eye open, was looking toward the gloomy hallway. The detective was indulging in theory.

  Perhaps it was the occupation of his mind that prevented him from noticing a splotch of blackness that slowly crept from the direction of the great reception hall; perhaps it was the silent slowness with which the dark patch moved.

  Whatever the case might have been, Terwiliger did not observe that the sliding door was opening. He did not see the tall form that emerged from the reception hall. A strange figure stood within the hallway. The sliding door was moving shut behind it.

  The phantom form became motionless, while burning eyes gazed toward Terwiliger. A being garbed in black waited and watched. Terwiliger closed his eyes. Then the strange shape glided toward the front door.

  A few moments later, that door had opened and shut. The same stealthy form was invisible in the outer night. The soft, scarcely audible tones of a sibilant laugh, joined with the creaking of the tree branches above the lawn.

  Once again, The Shadow had been at Delthern Manor. It was he who had provided the great reception hall with a ghostly presence. His strange laugh proved that he had learned the events that had taken place within that mansion on this night.

  Terwiliger had boasted that he would bring incriminating evidence against a murderer. Jasper Delthern had laughed secretly in derision. That was the status of affairs at Delthern Manor.

  The Shadow knew!

  CHAPTER XVIII

  TERWILIGER TALKS TOO MUCH

  DETECTIVE TERWILIGER’S eyes had closed as if in sleep. They remained so for fully four minutes. Suddenly, they reopened. The sleuth stared grimly toward the hallway. Another minute passed. The detective rolled from the couch and came to his feet.

  Walking to the hallway, Terwiliger stared up the stairs. He turned and looked toward the closed doors of the reception hall. He hesitated; then, swinging back to the stairs, he started upward two steps at a time, and did not stop until he reached the closed door of Jasper Delthern’s study.