The Ghost Of The Manor s-32

by Maxwell Grant

  Thoughts of the detective made Jasper overanxious to win his point. Terwiliger’s disappearance might bring a troublesome investigation. Hope of aid from Clark Brosset made Warren ready to bring his fight into the open.

  “Well?” snarled Jasper. “Do you accept my terms?”

  “No!” retorted Warren. “I’m calling for a show-down!”

  “You’ll get it, then!” jeered Jasper. “Right now! Police Chief Gorson is downstairs. I can tell him plenty in a hurry. When he gets here, he’ll find evidence of murder. I’ll show it to him -“

  Jasper’s statement broke off. His unfinished words were to prove prophetic - in a way that Jasper had not anticipated. The lights went out. The study was plunged in darkness. Jasper’s words ended in a stifled cry.

  WARREN BARRINGER stood petrified with horror. This had happened on that other night. Why had it happened again? What was the answer?

  A revolver roared through the darkness. A dazzling spurt of flame spat in the direction of the desk. Another shot; a second flash. Warren Barringer dropped instinctively to the floor. He thought that the shots were meant for him; that Jasper Delthern had resorted to some cunning trick.

  The lights came on. Warren clutched the edge of the desk. He peered over the top. He saw a body lying on the floor.

  Warren gasped. He was staring at the dead form of Jasper Delthern!

  The young man stared wildly about the room. The door was still closed, the key turned in the lock; yet he was alone in the room with Jasper’s body. There, on the floor, lay the man who had admitted murdering his brothers; aside from that dead form, and Warren Barringer’s living body, the room was empty!

  Jasper Delthern was a murderer. He, in turn, was murdered. But this new deed of evil was shrouded with a veil of mystery. As on the night when Humphrey and Wellington had died, Warren Barringer had seen no human assassin.

  Again, he stood in a room where death had struck in darkness. This time, the cards were truly stacked against him. A glittering revolver was lying on the floor not far from Warren’s feet. People would be here - with them Police Chief Gorson - before he could escape.

  They would find Warren Barringer alone - a weapon at his feet - the body of his murdered cousin sprawled upon the floor!

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE SHADOW ORDERS

  WARREN BARRINGER staggered toward the door. He leaned against the barrier that separated this scene of crime from the outside world. He listened. His only hope was that the shots had not been heard.

  Long minutes passed. Each was a moment of horrible waiting. At last, vague footsteps sounded in the hallway. Someone tapped upon the door. Warren gave no response.

  “Mr. Farman is here, sir,” said the voice of Holley. “Do you wish him to come up?”

  Warren ventured no reply. He felt a momentary relief. The shots had evidently passed unheard. That was quite logical. If all the people had been in the living room, the thickness of the door, the great distance to the floor below, could easily have kept the shots from ears below.

  “Mr. Delthern!” Holley rapped sharply on the other side of the door. “Mr. Delthern! Are you there?”

  Warren tried to suppress his heavy breathing. He stared wildly toward Jasper Delthern’s body, as though expecting it to rise and cry out to the knocking servant.

  “Mr. Barringer!” Holley was crying Warren’s own name now. “Has anything happened?”

  Warren offered no response. He could sense that Holley was listening for some sound. Then stumbling footsteps went hurrying along the hall, and Warren could hear Holley’s shouts to those below.

  What could be done now? The others would be here - Gorson and Farman - and Holley was outside blocking the only avenue of escape. Warren leaped to the revolver and plucked it from the floor. For a moment he was determined to fight his way out of here; then he realized that such a course would change his innocence to guilt.

  Confronted by an incredible dilemma, Warren could only grope mentally until he found a middle course. He would remain here, hoping for the best. But he would not let the invaders through the door!

  The young man’s mind was dazed. He wanted to seize the telephone and call Clark Brosset; but now he heard new footsteps in the hall. To call Clark might incriminate his friend.

  “Open this door!” Police Chief Gorson was shouting as he pounded on the portal. “Open this door! In the name of the law!”

  Still holding the revolver limply in his right hand, Warren advanced step by step, moving like a somnambulist. He paused as he neared the door, sensing rather than hearing Gorson’s new shouts.

  AGAIN, the room was plunged in darkness. It came so suddenly that Warren merely accepted it as a natural occurrence. The clock on Jasper Delthern’s desk had ticked a full ten minutes since shots had echoed through this room; but Warren’s groping brain had no sense of the time that had elapsed since the former period of darkness.

  “Open the door!”

  A light switch clicked close by the spot where Warren stood. Turning, the young man staggered in new terror. Standing before him was a tall being clad in black! Like a ghost, this phantom shape had appeared. Warren, bewildered, took it for a living portion of the blackness that had remained after the dark was gone.

  Sensing a menace, Warren raised the hand that held the revolver. A long arm shot forward. A black-gloved hand gripped Warren’s wrist. Finding himself staring into a pair of blazing eyes that glowed from beneath a broad-brimmed slouch hat, Warren let the revolver drop from his clutch.

  The Shadow had arrived. Heedless of the pounding blows that were falling upon the door, the black-cloaked master calmly released Warren Barringer’s wrist. He drew the glove from his left hand. Upon a long white finger, he revealed a glittering gem that shone in sparkling hues.

  Warren Barringer tottered. The scene seemed to shift. He fancied almost that he was back in Lamont Cranston’s curio room. For he was staring into the ever-changing depths of the spark-emitting girasol, that mysterious stone that could never be forgotten by anyone who had felt its spell!

  A low voice whispered into Warren’s ear. Its tones were commanding. The sight of the girasol made Warren know that a friend had come to aid him. The words impressed themselves upon his brain as effectively as if they had been his own secret thoughts.

  “Be calm.” The Shadow’s tones brought confidence. “Whatever has happened, speak the truth. Protest your innocence. Demand that Clark Brosset be brought to testify in your behalf. His presence - the facts he knows - they alone can aid you.”

  The whispered voice paused as a shattering stroke shook a panel in the heavy door.

  “Remember,” resumed The Shadow. “Have Clark Brosset aid you. Here, in this room. At once. Insist upon his help to prove your statements. When I have gone, open the door. Submit to arrest without a struggle.”

  Warren Barringer nodded. Staring at the girasol, he saw the black glove slide over the finger that wore it. He turned his gaze upward after the strange gem had gone from view. He watched the eyes of The Shadow; but in his range of vision, he could see a black-gloved hand reach for the light switch.

  Darkness. The swishing of a cloak, audible despite the heavy pounding on the door. Warren Barringer’s ears caught the tones of a whispered laugh that crept weirdly through the blackened room.

  On came the lights. Moving mechanically to the door, gripping the key with one hand, and the knob with the other, Warren Barringer prepared to admit the men who were pounding from the opposite side.

  But his eyes were wandering about the room, wondering as they looked for the strange personage who had worn the talismanic ring of Lamont Cranston - the circlet with the mystic girasol.

  There was no sign of The Shadow. The black-clad master of darkness had vanished completely with the coming of the light!

  CHAPTER XXIII

  EVIDENCE OF MURDER

  JASPER DELTHERN’S study had become an inquest room. Police Chief Sidney Gorson was standing just within the door.
Before him, seated in front of the desk, was Warren Barringer, head bowed and hands cuffed.

  Two uniformed policemen were present. Horatio Farman, pale of face, was seated in a corner. On the floor, the gruesome body of Jasper Delthern still stared upward in mute testimony of murder.

  The revolver was lying on the floor where Warren had dropped it when The Shadow had been here. Police Chief Gorson was constantly shifting his gaze from the weapon to Warren Barringer.

  “Well,” growled Gorson, “we’ve got the goods on you, Barringer! You say you don’t know how this happened, but it looks plain to me. Come along now - are you going to talk?”

  “I’m waiting for Clark Brosset,” responded Warren.

  Chief Gorson laughed. It was the twentieth time that Warren had made that statement.

  “He’ll be here shortly now,” promised the police chief. “We sent for him when you insisted. It’s not going to help you, Barringer. There’s only one man who could have killed Jasper Delthern. That man is you.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Three men appeared: a policeman, Holley, and Clark Brosset. Warren Barringer raised his head, and his eyes gleamed hopefully. Brosset, serious of expression, approached and tapped him on the shoulder. Then, noting Jasper Delthern’s body, the president of the City Club stepped away in momentary horror.

  “What’s this, Warren?” he queried. “You - you haven’t killed him?”

  “No,” responded Warren.

  “Here are the facts, Mr. Brosset,” informed Gorson, taking the floor. “Warren Barringer came up to this room with Jasper Delthern. The servant came to summon them downstairs. He found the door locked. No answer. I was below. He called me and others. We hammered at the door, and Barringer opened it. We found him and Jasper’s body.”

  “I didn’t do it!” cried Warren. “I didn’t kill him! There was a shot in the dark -“

  “He asked for you,” inserted Gorson, speaking to Brosset. “Said he wouldn’t talk until you came. We can’t see what that has to do with it.”

  “Tell them, Clark!” pleaded Warren.

  “I KNOW why Warren Barringer wanted me here,” declared Clark Brosset frankly. “He told me some time ago that he suspected Jasper Delthern of murder. He overheard Jasper talking on the telephone at the City Club.”

  “To whom?” queried Gorson.

  “To Wellington, the servant here,” responded Brosset. “Warren Barringer came here immediately. Afterward, he returned and told me that Humphrey Delthern had been murdered.”

  “Wait a minute!” Gorson was on his feet. “You mean that on the night when Humphrey Delthern was killed, Warren Barringer came here -“

  “Yes,” broke in Warren. “I was here. In this room. Someone turned out the lights, and when they came on again, Humphrey was dead. Wellington came in; he grabbed for me. The lights went out again, and someone shot Wellington.”

  “What did you do then?” inquired the police chief, in a sarcastic tone.

  “I left,” admitted Warren. “I went back to the City Club and told Clark Brosset that Jasper Delthern was a murderer.”

  “Ah! You saw Jasper here?”

  “No,” admitted Warren slowly, “I knew he was coming here -“

  “You did, eh?” Gorson was derisive as he turned to Clark Brosset. “Did you know that Jasper was coming here that night?”

  “Only because Warren Barringer told me,” declared Brosset. “You see, Warren confided in me as a friend. He only came here twice. First, to see Winstead -“

  “To see Winstead Delthern?” broke in Gorson. “When? On the night that Winstead fell down the stairs.”

  “Yes,” admitted Brosset, in a hopeless tone.

  “So, now we’ve got it!” growled the police chief. “Frankly, I’m sorry about this, Brosset. You’ve let this murderer play you for a sap. We’ve been looking into these killings, Terwiliger and I. Now comes Jasper’s murder. Here we find out that Barringer was up here twice before. Did you ever think, Mr. Brosset, that your good friend Warren Barringer might have bumped off Winstead and his brother Humphrey?”

  “I trusted Warren Barringer,” declared Brosset, in a serious tone. “I can’t believe that he is a murderer. Surely - if what he says is true - there must be something that can prove it.”

  “Jasper Delthern killed his brothers,” asserted Warren suddenly. “He told me so, himself. Tonight -“

  “Look around,” suggested Brosset. “Have you searched the desk? Maybe Jasper left something there. I can’t believe this about Warren -“

  Police Chief Gorson was acting on the suggestion. He yanked open the top drawer of the big desk. He found an envelope. He opened it. He read two papers within.

  “Look at these,” he said grimly.

  Clark Brosset took the papers. Gorson spoke while Brosset was reading.

  “Just little statements,” he declared. “Sworn to by Humphrey and Wellington before their deaths. Statements that Warren Barringer was here the night that Winstead died. Can you guarantee those signatures, Mr. Farman?”

  The old attorney took the documents. He nodded sadly.

  “Yes,” he said, “they are genuine. I knew about those affidavits, Chief Gorson. Humphrey wanted me to keep them for him. I refused to do so.”

  “Jasper must have found them,” grunted Gorson. “Poor chap. I guess he wouldn’t believe it. Look at what he got.”

  TURNING toward Warren Barringer, the police chief became savage in his denunciation.

  “You might as well confess to it, Barringer!” he said. “You see how far your bluffing has gotten you. Three murders - four - that’s what we’ve got you for!”

  Warren looked pleadingly toward Clark Brosset. He saw a look of anguish on that friendly face. He turned to Horatio Farman. The old attorney was solemn and challenging. Warren clutched at the last straw.

  “Marcia Wardrop!” he cried. “Maybe she can tell you that I’m innocent. Maybe she knows -“

  “Send for the girl,” ordered Gorson. “I wanted to make it easy for her, but if she knows anything about this, we’d better find it out.”

  A few minutes later, Marcia Wardrop appeared in the room. The girl shrank back with a frightened gasp when she saw the body of Jasper Delthern. She looked toward Gorson; then stared at Clark Brosset. The president of the City Club stepped forward to catch the girl as she began to totter.

  Marcia regained her nerve as she felt Clark Brosset’s grasp. Then Horatio Farman was beside her. The old lawyer took charge of the girl, while she looked toward Warren Barringer.

  “What do you know, Marcia?” questioned Warren anxiously. “Help me - please

  -“

  “On what other occasions,” interrupted Chief Gorson, “did Barringer come to this house?”

  Marcia Wardrop looked for friendly eyes. Clark Brosset stared sympathetically in her direction.

  In a dull, frightened tone, the girl spoke:

  “He was here - here the night that Winstead died. When Humphrey and Wellington were killed, I saw him again. He - he was in a taxicab on the boulevard. He - he - I noticed him because he had no hat. The - the hat is here - in the closet downstairs. Don’t ask me any more - please - that’s all I know. I couldn’t believe it - really - I couldn’t. I thought - I thought - I don’t know -“

  “Take her downstairs,” said Gorson to Farman. “Stay in the big room - the place with the candles. That’s all she knows.”

  Horatio Farman helped the sobbing girl from the room. Chief Gorson turned to Warren Barringer, while Clark Brosset stood to one side, his chin buried in his hand.

  “Come on, Barringer!” growled Gorson. “We’ve got the evidence of murder. Give us your confession!”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  A DEAD MAN TELLS

  HOPELESSLY, aimlessly, Warren Barringer persisted in his declaration of innocence. Still seated in the chair close beside the dead body of Jasper Delthern, Warren refused to make the false confession that Sidney Gorson demanded of him.

&nb
sp; “I didn’t kill him,” asserted Warren. “I didn’t kill the others. Jasper, himself, told me he was the murderer.”

  “Who did it, then?” demanded Gorson. “You were here; you ought to know.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “A ghost, perhaps. There’s supposed to be one around here.”

  Warren stared with startled gaze. A ghost! Was that what he had seen? He thought of the figure in black; that reassuring phantom form that had shown him the sparkling girasol. The glitter of the flashing fire opal seemed to appear in vivid glow before Warren’s eyes.

  A terrible theory suddenly asserted itself. That being in black had come here in some miraculous fashion. Could he have been here before?

  For a moment, Warren held the wild thought that The Shadow might be the murderer!

  Then his thoughts shifted. Warren realized that no killer would have revealed himself as The Shadow had done. There could have been no purpose in such action. Warren remembered The Shadow’s words - only through a call for aid to Clark Brosset could Warren hope for a way out of his dilemma.

  Yet Brosset was here, and his coming had served only to clinch the proof of guilt against Warren Barringer. With pleading look, Warren turned to Brosset now. He saw the club president shake his head sadly.

  Warren understood. In the face of this terrible evidence, with the body of Jasper Delthern upon the floor, Brosset could only believe that Warren had deceived him in the past. That ended the last chance of aid from the only person in Newbury whom Warren had regarded as a friend.

  Prison; conviction for murder - these were the future that Warren Barringer faced. The evidence was all against him, and his clouded brain began to regard The Shadow purely as an apparition.

  Warren realized that his nerves had been tense. Some flash-back to his night at Lamont Cranston’s home had probably made him fancy that he had seen a black-cloaked visitor here.

  To speak of such a personage could do no good. To turn to the theory of a visitor who appeared and vanished would savor too much of the ghost talk which Chief Gorson had just derided.