The Shadow - Death Turrets Part 3

The girl remembered that Lenley had asked about the revolver at the time when Fant had begun his pounding at the front door.

GEORGE led the way to an obscure room on the ground floor. It lay behind the pa.s.sage to the side door, and it was one room that had ceiling lights.

George pressed a switch to show paneled walls that were covered with old spears, maces and other weapons of ancient warfare.

"Lionel's trophy room, I suppose," remarked George. "All this junk was here when we took over the house. Bob Lenley and I use it as an office."

There was a desk among the old furniture. Allard's eyes observed the case of a portable typewriter standing beyond it. There was a file cabinet also, a rather small one. George opened the lowest drawer on the right, remarking that the revolver was probably in there. Sheriff Cravlen found it.

The gun was a .38 of well-known make, a common type of weapon except for its handle, where the initials "G. B." were engraved. George remarked that he had brought the gun from California, that he had used it only a few times, to shoot at some weasels when they visited an old chicken coop in back of the house.

The gun was unloaded, but the sheriff found cartridges in a small box.

Cracking the revolver open, he looked through the barrel. George had not bothered to clean it very well, after the last time that he had used it. The sheriff kept the gun and cartridges, along with the telegrams.

"Any more weapons?" he questioned.

George shook his head. So did Lenley. That brought a scoff from Rufus Fant. The lawyer pointed to the wall.

"What do you call those?" he demanded. "Aren't those spears weapons? And what about that big mace?"

George looked at the mace. It looked like a clumsy, overlarge ax head on the end of a long handle.

"That mace," expressed George, "wouldn't even be worth using to chop down a tree."

"It's a lethal weapon," insisted Fant. "I demand that you make a note of that, sheriff."

George leaned over and plucked up Fant's cane, which the lawyer had rested against the desk, while he looked at the revolver. He hefted the cane; found it heavy. He handed it to the sheriff.

"Make a note of this," suggested George. "It's heavy enough to batter out a man's brains. Put in your notebook that Mr. Fant carries a lethal weapon."

Fant s.n.a.t.c.hed at the cane. George withdrew it. He looked toward the window, where the sweep of the rain was coming in a torrential burst.

"This deluge," said George, "has probably wiped out all traces of footprints on the ground. Still, sheriff, you might find some marks of Fant's cane. Why not look for them around the house?"

"Go ahead," snapped Fant. "I admitted that I walked around the house.

Make the search, sheriff!"

UNDER the double insistence, Cravlen decided to make a brief search. He told Allard to remain in charge, and take the others into the living room if they wished to go there.

Taking t.i.tus along with a flashlight, Cravlen went out carrying the cane, to see if it fitted any marks outside the side door.

The trophy room was chilly. Lucille suggested the living room, so theywent there. Soon, the sheriff returned, shaking water from his coat as he handed it to t.i.tus.

"Hang these up," he told the servant.

"Then get Mr. Allard's hat and coat. Allard"-Cravlen swung to The Shadow-"I'd like you to drive down to the bridge. Bring back some of the men there-about three of them-for deputies.

"Send another to town in my car, to find that station agent. Have him bring the originals of those telegrams, if he's got them. If they were actually sent from Sunnyside, he may tell us something about them."

Fant had a testy question, that he found a chance to ask: "What about the cane marks? Did you find any?"

"No," reported Cravlen. "They were washed out, if there were any."

"And where is my cane?"

"I must have left it in the trophy room," replied Cravlen. "t.i.tus and I stopped there. That's where I started to take off my hat and coat. You can get the cane any time you want it. I'll bring it, if you don't want to go after it."

Cravlen was s.h.i.+vering; he tried to warm himself beside the fire. The cold rain had evidently penetrated his coat, for his clothes were damp and he showed the chill.

"How about some brandy, sheriff?" suggested George. "I have some upstairs. All right if I get it?"

The sheriff nodded. During that brief conversation, one man strolled from the room. The fellow was Lenley; the bearded inventor had been pacing just inside the doorway. Allard noticed Lenley meet t.i.tus in the hall.

The inventor said something and the servant nodded. George had scarcely started upstairs before t.i.tus arrived with Allard's hat and coat.

It was then that Cravlen noted Lenley's absence. Quickly, the sheriff demanded: "Where's Lenley?"

"He went down to the laboratory, sir," replied t.i.tus. "He told me to tell you that he would be there. If you wish me to get him-"

"I'll find him myself."

t.i.tus was opening the front door. The sheriff motioned for Allard to start. As Allard walked out through the door, the sheriff was setting forth to look for Lenley. Alone, moving through the bl.u.s.tery darkness toward his coupe, Allard became an almost obliterated figure.

A LOW laugh toned the windy gloom. It was the mirth of The Shadow. He welcomed these temporary circ.u.mstances, during which the sheriff lacked deputies. It had given Lenley an opportunity to show his hand. The bearded man was probably worried about something in the downstairs laboratory. It was best to let Lenley show himself as a suspicious character.

So had The Shadow decided. His decision was based upon keen observation, and usually The Shadow struck the right note in such matters. But tonight, as he drove away from the bleak walls of Five Towers, The Shadow was allowing too much leeway.

He had left an opportunity behind him; a chance to trap a murderer whose thought was further crime, rather than the covering of a previous deed.

Death was ready to take second toll. When The Shadow returned, the walls of Five Towers were to hold another victim.

CHAPTER VI.

THE LETHAL WEAPON.

THE final move that set the stage for further murder took place after The Shadow had left the house. Had the supposed Kent Allard remained a few minutes longer, he would probably have delayed his departure on account of the added circ.u.mstance.It was Rufus Fant who provided it. The irkish lawyer was in the living room with Lucille Merrith and her Aunt Augusta, alone with them, because t.i.tus had not returned from the hall. Fant did not mind being with Lucille, even though she had not liked his accusations of George Brendaw.

The person who annoyed Fant was Augusta Merrith. Though she kept her lips tight shut, she stared at the lawyer, with eyes that glowered constantly.

The gla.s.s-eyed moose was staring also, but Fant didn't mind it. He wished that it was Augusta's head that hung there, stuffed, above the mantel. He would rather have had the moose as a living companion with whom to contend.

Fant arose impatiently. He met Augusta's cold stare, then turned to Lucille. Testily, he told the girl: "I am leaving for a few minutes. You will recall that the sheriff gave me permission to get my cane, before he told your enemy, young Brendaw, that he could go upstairs after brandy.

"So if the sheriff should return and ask questions, I trust that you will remind him that my case is different from Lenley's. That chap, I recall, went without permission."

Fant strode through the deep darkness of the hall. His long steps showed that he did not need his cane. When he reached the trophy room, Fant found the door open and the lights still on. His cane was resting upon the desk where the sheriff had left it.

Fant's dour grin showed that he was pleased to be alone a while. More than that, he was glad to have this private view of the trophy room. This was where old Lionel Brendaw had probably sulked during his last years. Broken by long years in prison, the profiteer had lacked the energy to seek revenge on the men who had outwitted him.

It was well for Lionel Brendaw that he had tried nothing. Fant had sewed matters up tightly for himself and Artemus Talroy. Revenge had waited for another generation. It was George Brendaw who had taken it out on Roderick Talroy.

So, at least, Fant firmly believed. Others might have doubted Fant's accusations, but they could hardly have continued to do so, if they had viewed his actions in the trophy room.

Fant had closed the door behind him. He began an eager, breathless search through the drawers of the desk, in hope of turning up some evidence against George Brendaw.

FANT'S urge was twofold. He was thinking of his own safety. George's thirst for revenge was probably unquenched. It would be best to have the fellow behind bars as soon as possible. Moreover, the future was very rosy for Fant. With Roderick Talroy dead, there was no obstacle to Fant's handling the estate in his own fas.h.i.+on.

The greatest service that any one could have done Rufus Fant was that of murdering Roderick Talroy. But crime would have to be pinned on the right man, for Fant did not like it at all, being placed under even temporary suspicion.

It would be good, thought Fant, if George tried to murder Lucille Merrith, for that might give his game away very promptly. Fant hoped that George's schemes of vengeance would include the girl's moose-faced aunt. It would be most pleasant to have Aunt Augusta under the sod.

It occurred to Fant that by leaving the women in the living room, they might be alone when George returned there. Picturing George as a crazed fanatic, Fant half believed that the fellow would take the opportunity for a double killing.

Fant forgot how he himself stood in the matter. He was so eager as he rummaged through the desk, that he failed to feel the slight draft that went through the room. Likewise, he did not hear the barely-audible noise that sounded like a door latch.

Something stirred near Fant. There were creeps upon the floor. Oddly, Fant's first sensation that something was wrong proved to be an indirect one.

The lawyer happened to glance up toward the wall, where the huge mace hadhung. His eyes blinked beneath their heavy brows.

The mace was gone; some one had removed it from the wall!

The stir was close, behind Fant's back. The lawyer made a frenzied grab for his cane; turned about to deliver a slash with it. He was too late.

Looming upon him was a man whose face Fant recognized, in the moment of life that remained to him. Thick-gloved hands were above the attacker's forehead. They were gripping the handle of the mace.

The ax head glittered as it drove downward. Fant instinctively leaned back upon the desk, making a futile, frantic ward with his cane. The mace struck full upon the lawyer's skull. Constructed to hack through iron helmets, the weapon brought instant death when it clove a bare head.

Rufus Fant spilled from the table, a ma.s.s of gore. While his body still was settling on the floor, the murderer reached the wall switch and turned off the lights. There were creeps in the darkness; the snap of a latch. Then, utter silence.

FIVE minutes had ticked off by the big grandfather's clock when George Brendaw entered the living room, carrying a bottle of brandy. There was a wadded paper in the neck, serving as cork. George explained it to Lucille.

"The corkscrew was too weak," said George. "I had to hack the cork out with a knife. I hope the sheriff appreciates all the trouble I had. Say- where is the sheriff?"

Lucille had no need to answer. Sheriff Cravlen came storming in from the hall, when he saw George, he demanded: "Where is that fellow Lenley? I've been looking all over the cellar for him. t.i.tus said he was in the laboratory."

"No wonder you didn't find him," returned George. "His lab is off in the far corner of the cellar, and the door is fitted tight, so the smells can't get out. That's why you couldn't see the light. Better send t.i.tus for him."

Stepping to the hall, George called t.i.tus. The servant appeared from the kitchen, bringing a trayload of freshly made coffee. Cravlen told him to leave the tray and find Lenley.

"That won't be necessary, sir," informed t.i.tus. "I heard Mr. Lenley on the cellar stairs, when I came past. Here is a gla.s.s, sheriff, for your brandy."

Lenley joined them, all apology. He hadn't wanted to worry any one, he said, but he had left a mixture stewing over a Bunsen burner, before dinner.

He had remembered that it needed attention; might have caused a fire if left too long.

The sheriff looked dubious. He was questioning Lenley further, when Allard arrived. With him were two men from the bridge. They brought the news that temporary timbers had been laid across the gully, so that a light car could pa.s.s. The station agent had been sent for, and would probably arrive shortly.

Sheriff Cravlen swore in the two men as deputies. Since Allard's expression was quizzical, Cravlen decided to explain matters to him. That was logical enough, since Allard was the equivalent of chief deputy.

"They've been playing hide and seek around here," growled Cravlen.

"First, Brendaw goes upstairs, to get some brandy-"

"With your permission, sheriff," inserted George, with a smile. "Don't forget that detail."

"But at your own suggestion," retorted the sheriff. "I didn't ask for the brandy. Thanks just the same for it. But Lenley, here"-Cravlen eyed the bearded man-"decides to go downstairs to the laboratory. Which takes me on a wild-goose chase, without ever finding the place."

t.i.tus began to say that he had offered to go after Lenley. That brought another tirade from the sheriff, this time directed at the servant.

"And where were you all this time?" demanded Cravlen. "In the kitchen, making coffee! You weren't told to do that."

"I thought, sir-""Don't think! Not unless I order it." Cravlen looked from person to person, as though the order was a general one. "If any one gets the wandering habit again, they'll answer to me! That goes for every one!"

ALLARD'S eyes had studied the group ahead of Cravlen's. He had detected Fant's absence, and was waiting for the sheriff to discern it. Cravlen's pause indicated that he had counted faces. Abruptly, the big sheriff demanded: "Where's Rufus Fant?"

"He went to get his cane," declared Augusta Merrith, in her dry contralto, "as you told him he could, sheriff. It was good riddance, his leaving Lucille and myself alone here. If any one in this house is a murderer, I would choose Rufus Fant!"

"How long ago did he leave?"

"Soon after you had gone downstairs."

The sheriff turned; he happened to look at Allard.

"You had time to drive down to the bridge and back," declared the sheriff. "That's given Fant a long while in that trophy room. He could be prying into things there. Come! We'll see."

Every one followed the sheriff through the hallway. Not only were they impelled by curiosity, but Cravlen's order had indicated that they were to stay together. The sheriff reached the trophy-room door and opened it. He stared into blackness.

"The light was on here," he remarked, "when I came in from the side door. Who turned it off?"

No one answered. Cravlen pressed the light switch. He stared; then bounded into the room with a hoa.r.s.e exclamation. Others followed. George Brendaw stopped suddenly, to throw his arm across the doorway. He wanted to bar Lucille and her aunt from the sight.

Cravlen didn't have to p.r.o.nounce the word "dead," when he saw Fant's gory body stretched by the desk. Nor was there any doubt as to the manner in which the lawyer had died. The murderer had left the huge mace beside the victim. t.i.tus, shaky and mechanical, stooped to take up the big ax.

"Stand back!" roared the sheriff. He pushed t.i.tus away. Lifting the mace with one hand, he planked it heavily upon the desk. "No one is to touch anything in this room without my order!"

Grimly, the sheriff reached to his hip, to draw a .38 that he carried in a holster. He held the gun while he looked around the group.

It took steel nerves to view that gruesome sight upon the floor, and the sheriff had them. But his expression told what others were thinking: that a killer who could deal such ugly death was far more formidable than had previously been supposed.

Cravlen's tight grip on his revolver was a warning that if any person made a false move, the sheriff would shoot. It told that he, too, was sensing the horror that must have possessed all the suspects. Sheriff Cravlen had seen many ugly sights in his time, but none as terrible as this.