The Shadow - Death Turrets Part 8

It was Sheriff Cravlen who started the fireworks.

"I'M laying the cards on the table," announced Cravlen, to George and Lenley. "One of you fellows has a lot to answer for. It's a toss-up which.

From the motive angle, it looks bad for you, Brendaw"-Cravlen held up his hand to interrupt a retort from George-"yes, it looks bad, unless-"

The sheriff stopped short. He swung to Lenley.

"Unless you've got something to cover," snapped Cravlen. "That's what I'm here to find out! We're going to take a look at that invention of yours, Lenley."

It was then that Lenley exploded.

"So that's why the reporter's here!" bawled the inventor. His eyes glared, showing large, white orbs. "You've stalled him on the murder story, by promising him something else! I have my rights, and I'll exert them!"

Lenley's teeth were gritted. They showed fierce between his opened lips as he clenched his fist in the sheriff's face."No one visits that laboratory," rasped Lenley. "That applies particularly to reporters."

Cravlen showed good judgment. He let Lenley's flare burn out; then, with an easy drawl, he suggested that Lenley calm himself.

"Burke hasn't concerned himself with your invention," the sheriff told Lenley. "He's spent his time on other matters, down in Northridge. Just looking up some old records-"

The sheriff checked himself abruptly. George was eyeing him steadily.

Lenley's gaze was full of suspicion. Clyde noted both expressions and realized that they were catching Cravlen's slip. Clyde was relieved when Cravlen quickly covered the subject.

"Old facts about the town of Northridge," said Cravlen. "Background stuff for the story he expects to write later. That was it, wasn't it, Burke?"

Clyde nodded.

"I've got to have a good lead for my story," he said. "You know, the old line. Mystery striking a peaceful, obscure community. I want to be ahead of the rest of the news-chasers when they get here."

Both George and Lenley nodded, but Clyde wasn't at all sure that either fully believed him. The sheriff watched them sharply, and looked doubtful also. One pair of eyes, however, took in everything, and seemed to penetrate to the thoughts behind all faces.

Those eyes were Allard's.

No one was looking toward Kent Allard; hence n.o.body observed the keen glow that betokened the vision of The Shadow. Though he had not yet talked to Clyde since the reporter had delved into facts, The Shadow knew at once that Clyde had uncovered something.

With that knowledge, The Shadow gained a definite impression that the murderer also had some inkling of Clyde's purpose here.

Sheriff Cravlen was quickly back to his former subject: the matter of Lenley's invention. Cravlen's tone was easy; he was handling Lenley as nicely as he had done with George.

"All I want to know is this," insisted Cravlen. "Does your invention work? If it does, you have nothing to cover. If not, I'll have to look into it further."

"It works," returned Lenley, testily, "but it doesn't come up to specifications. I have the fuel and can turn it out cheaper than gasoline, but it's short on results. That's why I'm working on new formulas. You can come down to the laboratory, sheriff, provided you don't bring this reporter."

Cravlen agreed to have Clyde stay in the living room. Lenley invited both George and Allard to accompany him. George had been there before, and Lenley evidently considered Allard as a possible investor in the new motor fuel.

The laboratory was in a remote part of the cellar, distant enough to explain the sheriff's failure to find it on the preceding night. It was located almost beneath the trophy room on the ground floor.

On the way, both George and Lenley apologized for their anger. They asked the sheriff a few more questions regarding Clyde Burke, but Cravlen put them off with brief replies.

IN the laboratory, Lenley pointed out long rows of bottles and a shelf of books that dealt with results of his chemical experiments. In a corner stood a mounted machine that was attached to a small gasoline motor. Lenley produced a large gla.s.s jar that contained a colorless liquid.

He poured some of the fuel into a tank. The odor that filled the lab was somewhat sweetish, entirely unlike gasoline. After priming the motor, Lenley cranked it. A few sputters; the motor began to throb. For a few minutes, it behaved in rhythmic fas.h.i.+on; then it began to skip.

Hurriedly, Lenley adjusted two valves, connected with pipes that came from a paneled part.i.tion at the side of the motor. The engine ran moresmoothly.

"This is the vaporizer," explained Lenley, pointing to the upper pipe.

"The other is the exhaust. I pipe all the fumes out of the house. The main trouble seems to be with the vaporizer."

There was a sputter as Lenley spoke. He made hasty adjustments of the upper valve. He was too late. The motor skipped badly and finally stopped.

Lenley shrugged his shoulders.

"You see?" he said, "That's the trouble-I don't like to demonstrate the fuel until I have corrected it. I have proven, though, that the idea is not a fake."

Sheriff Cravlen admitted that much. They left the laboratory; as Lenley locked the door, Allard looked back. His eyes observed the interior of the part.i.tioned room; his lips showed a smile. In his first visit to the lab, The Shadow had found what he expected.

Unlike the stone-walled cellar, the laboratory had wooden walls. That, in a way, made it uniform with the other portions of the house. Wooden wainscoting and panels were universal throughout Five Towers.

BACK in the living room, the sheriff announced that he was returning to town. He told Lucille and her Aunt Augusta to remain on the ground floor, under protection of Allard and the deputies. Cravlen promised that he would be back within a few hours, and he said it in a tone that indicated there might be something brewing when he returned.

"Meanwhile," added Cravlen, to George and Lenley, "you two can do as you please. I'd advise you, Brendaw"-Cravlen shot a wise look at Clyde-"to a.s.semble certain doc.u.ments, such as your t.i.tle to this house and anything pertaining to your inheritance."

"I'll do that right now," remarked George. "The papers are in my desk, in the trophy room."

"As for you, Lenley," finished the sheriff, "We'll have another demonstration of your fuel later. Let's hope it will be a good one."

Lenley seemed to welcome the suggestion.

"I'll go back to the laboratory," he declared, "and work on the new formula. Is that satisfactory, sheriff?"

"All right," returned Cravlen. Then: "Come on, Burke. We'll start for town." As they reached the hallway, the sheriff looked for Allard, but he had gone. t.i.tus hadn't seen him depart, but thought that he had gone upstairs. Cravlen told Clyde to go out to the car; that he would be along as soon as he had located Allard.

Leaving the font door, Clyde saw George heading for the trophy room, while Lenley was starting in the direction of the cellar stairs. Lighting a cigarette, Clyde went out to Cravlen's darkened coupe.

The night was mild. Clyde sat by the opened window on the right, puffing his cigarette. The window by the driver's seat was open also. From that direction, Clyde heard a strange, sibilant whisper.

It was The Shadow's signal, calling for prompt response.

CLYDE s.h.i.+fted over behind the wheel. He had hardly reached his new position before the door on the left opened. A powerful hand caught Clyde's arm; drew the reporter forcibly from the car.

Clyde almost tumbled to the ground beside The Shadow. He heard the car door thump shut beside his shoulder.

Before Clyde could rise, The Shadow pressed him still lower. The voice that hissed in Clyde's ear was a command to make no move. Before Clyde could guess the reason, the answer came.

From somewhere on the darkened house front, a rifle spoke a sharp blast.

With that crackle came a bullet's whine, as a steel-jacketed slug whistled through the windows of the sheriff's coupe. Clyde heard an explosive pop as the bullet dug the turf beyond.

A second later, another report sounded from the house front.A second bullet ricocheted from the ledge of the coupe's window. There was a third shot, with a whistling slug; a fourth that found the interior of the car. A fifth shot ended the volley; its bullet shattered the gla.s.s on the coupe's dashboard.

Some hidden marksman had used all the cartridges in one magazine load, to deliver that rapid-fire barrage. Had Clyde Burke been seated in the coupe, he would never have survived that well-placed fire.

Though he knew that death still menaced the occupants of Five Towers, Clyde had never guessed that the next thrust would be delivered toward himself.

Only The Shadow's foresight had saved Clyde Burke from doom.

CHAPTER XIII.

PIECED EVIDENCE.

ECHOES seemed to crackle from the darkness of the house front when the swift barrage had ended. Huddled low beside the car step, Clyde felt no urge to seek a new position. He felt a distinct impression that the fire might be renewed if he made a move.

From the gloom beside him came The Shadow's whisper. It was a single word of command: "Report!"

The Shadow's presence gave Clyde confidence. Crouched, the reporter told the details of his search through the old files of the Northridge newspaper.

The Shadow put brief questions; his agent answered them.

The whole conversation took less than a minute. Before it had ended, the big house door was flung open; a pair of deputies stared toward the coupe. As Clyde completed his last statement, he heard The Shadow's order: "Meet them!"

Clyde arose and rounded the back of the car. Big flashlights gleamed from the hands of the deputies; they showed Clyde on his way to the house steps. But the beams of light did not disclose The Shadow. Moving in the opposite direction, the cloaked being was already enshrouded in the gloom of the house wall.

The deputies that Clyde met on the house steps were the men from the living room. Before Clyde could answer their excited questions, Sheriff Cravlen came das.h.i.+ng from the house. As he neared, Cravlen demanded: "Who fired those shots? Where did they come from?"

"Somewhere from the front of the house," returned Clyde, answering the second question first. "I don't know who fired them, but they were aimed at your car, sheriff."

"And you were in it? Lucky the shots weren't well aimed!"

Clyde shook his head. His expression was a sober one. With the ordeal past, Clyde felt a little dazed.

"They were aimed straight," he told the sheriff. "Only I rolled out in time. Through the door on the other side."

The deputies were starting down to look at the coupe, but Cravlen halted them. He ordered them back into the living room, to make sure that nothing happened to the women there. He and Clyde followed. At that moment, Kent Allard appeared from the kitchen, accompanied by t.i.tus.

"Did you hear the shots?" demanded Cravlen. "Either of you?"

"I heard them," returned Allard, quietly. "Rifle shots, I would say. I went outside to look, and came in by the kitchen door. t.i.tus states that he heard them, also, but they sounded m.u.f.fled."

t.i.tus was nodding, but Cravlen paid no attention to the servant. He was thinking of others: George and Lenley.

Cravlen stared toward the back of the hallway; almost immediately, George appeared, coming from the direction of the trophy room. He looked surprised when he saw the group at the doorway."I thought you had gone, sheriff-"

"Never mind the bluff!" snapped the sheriff. "Where were you, Brendaw, when those shots were fired?"

"What shots?"

"The rifle shots!" Cravlen spoke angrily. "I suppose you are going to say that you didn't hear them."

"Sorry," retorted George, "but I didn't hear them. That is"-his own gaze was steady-"if there were any shots. What are you trying to do, sheriff? Trick me?"

CRAVLEN had no come-back. He sent t.i.tus to the laboratory to summon Lenley, and ordered a deputy to go along for good measure. Meanwhile, the sheriff asked every one for more details regarding the gunfire. Testimony varied.

The downstairs deputies thought that the shots had come from somewhere inside the house. That was why they had been puzzled at first. Two others, who had been dozing upstairs, preparing for night duty, were sure that the barrage had been outside.

Three more, arrived from patrol duty outside, could declare only that the shots must have been from the front of the house, but they had no idea whether they were fired from a window, or the ground. The hazy statements brought a grumble from Cravlen.

"Lenley's the only man left," declared the sheriff. "'He'll say the same as Brendaw-that he didn't hear the shots. Wait and see."

Cravlen was right. When Lenley arrived, he acted as surprised as George had. He was rather sly, though, in his final statement.

"The laboratory is deep in the cellar," reminded Lenley. "Far more remote than the trophy room."

Whether or not Lenley meant that for George's discomfort, he did not specify. George did not take the remark without retort. His tone was sarcastic, when he told Lenley: "You're right, Bob. If I couldn't hear the shots; you couldn't. It didn't take me as long, though, to get here as it did to bring you from the laboratory."

The argument was the first discord that had occurred between George and Lenley. Apparently, their policy had been to give each other the benefit of the doubt.

Clyde took the rift as a good sign. It indicated that each man was beginning to shove suspicion on his friend. When an innocent man showed mistrust of a guilty one, results might follow.

The sheriff was quick to observe the strained situation. Watching both suspects, Cravlen announced: "Whoever fired those shots meant them for me. I'm going to get the man that tried that stunt! He thought I'd be out in the car by the time he got the rifle. I wasn't, but Burke was. It's just luck that Burke is still alive!"

George and Lenley had dropped their antagonism while the sheriff spoke.

Each man congratulated Clyde on his lucky escape. Perhaps that was because both remembered that they had individually expressed disapproval of the reporter's arrival.

A tight smile suddenly displayed itself on the sheriff's lips. Though both George and Lenley disclaimed all knowledge of the rifle shots, there was something else to be considered. That was the weapon itself.

Cravlen ordered his deputies to search the house for it.

Briskly, Cravlen ordered George and Lenley into the living room, to remain there while the search was going on. He asked Allard to stay also. As they entered the living room, Clyde heard Cravlen tell Allard, in a low tone: "Whoever it is, he may get shaky when the boys bring in the rifle. Be ready, if he gives himself away."

Clyde saw Allard nod.WHAT Allard was thinking, though, was something that Clyde did not guess. The reporter did not know that Kent Allard was The Shadow.

Clyde thought merely that Allard's presence here was one reason why The Shadow had come to Five Towers. In the past, Allard had been places where The Shadow had appeared afterward.

The Shadow's real thought was that the deputies would never find the rifle that a murderer had used.

Those shots, The Shadow knew, had been intended for Clyde Burke, not for Sheriff Cravlen. From Clyde's report, The Shadow saw that the mere action of searching through the Northridge newspaper files was enough to make Clyde's life unsafe at Five Towers.

Sheriff Cravlen had mentioned that much to both George and Lenley. In a way, the sheriff's s.h.i.+ft of conversation had been more expressive than if he had told further details.

It took the deputies half an hour to finish their search of the house and the grounds. They returned with the news that no rifle could be found. The sheriff looked baffled; at last, he turned on his heel.