The Shadow - Death Turrets Part 4

Even the murderer could show strain at viewing his own handiwork. That was something that The Shadow considered, as he gazed from the sheriff's tense face to study the expressions of the others present.

"FANT must have known more than we supposed," announced Cravlen.

"Perhaps he suspected what was coming to him. He even pointed out this mace.

Fant was right when he termed it a lethal weapon. Fant could not have suspected everything, though, or he wouldn't have walked into it.

"The murderer is in this room," denounced Cravlen. "We are taking no chances. All of you-except the deputies-are under arrest! You will be questioned later."

Allard's eyes had roved the room.

They saw George Brendaw, solemn at the doorway, his gaze riveted upon Fant's body. Beyond the door were Lucille and her aunt, shrunk back into the hall, their faces averted. t.i.tus was at a corner of the desk, clinging there.His lips were moving, but the servant's eyes were almost completely shut.

Robert Lenley was staring at the sheriff. The bearded inventor apparently preferred to view a living visage, rather than the dead one on the floor. Outwardly, Lenley was calm. His beady eyes had a shrewd glisten; they seemed to be watching for whatever the sheriff intended next.

Allard's own face was immobile. He watched Sheriff Cravlen relax; saw him shove the revolver back into its holster, a.s.sured that no one would attempt a break.

Looking toward the desk, Allard's eyes rested upon the heavy mace that had brought death to Rufus Fant. Those eyes showed a momentary glow.

The Shadow's keen brain had formed a singular theory concerning crime at Five Towers. If it proved the right conclusion, it would point directly to the murderer who had twice delivered death.

CHAPTER VII.

THE MOVING SHADOW.

IT was a fear-tinged group that moved to the living room, in readiness for Cravlen's questions. The sheriff observed it, and showed good tact. Rather than proceed with a general third degree, he treated the suspects easily.

"I am not accusing any one," declared Cravlen. "Even though the culprit is with us, all the rest of you deserve consideration. I want prompt answers to my questions; that's the main thing."

Lucille and her aunt were seated to one side. Cravlen turned to them first, to ask: "How does it happen that you ladies are here as guests?"

"That is easily answered," a.s.serted Augusta Merrith. "Some time ago, Mr.

Lenley wrote me regarding an invention that required financial aid. I was impressed by his letter. I asked him to call. He met us-my niece and myself-and he invited us here."

"To see the invention?"

"Of course! He has promised us a demonstration."

The sheriff stroked his chin. It was an unusual case, this one. Cravlen apparently did not know a great deal about how inventions were financed, but he suspected a catch. He turned to Allard for advice.

"Rather odd, don't you think?" questioned Cravlen, "Two people-particularly two women-coming out here to look at an invention?"

"That depends upon the invention," replied Allard, calmly. "Perhaps Mr.

Lenley can enlighten us regarding it."

Lenley did. His statement sounded earnest. His invention, he said, was a synthetic gasoline, that he had been keeping under cover. He feared that big oil companies would try to suppress it, and if he talked to certain types of business men, the news would leak.

That, he explained, was why he wrote to persons like Augusta Merrith. He brought them out here to see demonstrations of the synthetic fuel. He sold no stock; he merely wanted guarantees that they would be ready with funds when the product went on the market.

"I have fifty thousand dollars of my own money ready for it," a.s.serted Lenley. "But I need a quarter million guaranteed. The only way to make a go with this new fuel is to start with a large-scale manufacture."

Whether or not Lenley's invention was a sound one, his scheme regarding it seemed fair enough. Augusta Merrith commented that Lenley had asked her for no money whatever. He had insisted, too, that she sign nothing until she had seen her attorney. But Lenley wanted her to know all about the proposition before she called a lawyer into it.

"How did you happen to hear of Miss Merrith?" questioned Cravlen. "What made you think that she would be interested?"

"Several other persons are already interested," replied Lenley. "They recommend others. One man-his name is Harold Barnes-wrote me, enclosing a listof prospects; Miss Merrith was one of them."

"Do you have that list?"

"Yes, with the letter. In the file cabinet."

CRAVLEN decided to look into that later. The heavy rain had lessened; outside, he could hear the rattling chug of an ancient motor. It meant that the station agent had arrived.

One of the deputies admitted the fellow. He had brought along another man, and they carried a load of shotguns, for the use of the deputies.

The station agent handed over the originals of the telegrams. As Cravlen showed them to Allard, the sheriff exclaimed: "These are typewritten! That's unusual, isn't it?"

The station agent shook his head.

"Not with telegrams that come from Five Towers, it ain't. That covers the first one. Only it was funny about the second one. Talroy didn't have a typewriter with him. I figured, though, that he'd had the thing typed before."

Allard's eyes were comparing the two messages. He noted the fact that the typing was identical. Certain letters showed the same features; they were out of line to an exact degree. Before Allard could mention the fact, Cravlen's next exclamation showed that the sheriff had also marked it.

"These were done on the same machine," expressed Cravlen. "If one was typed at Five Towers, so was the other."

"Probably neither was," put in Lenley, a smile showing from his beard.

"I own the only typewriter here-an old portable. It has gone to town a couple of times, for repairs. I left it there a few days ago."

"It came back this morning, sir," said t.i.tus, suddenly. "I placed it in the trophy room."

Lenley's eyes showed a glower toward the servant. t.i.tus looked uneasy.

Cravlen gave a short laugh-an emphatic one, that told he had caught the exchanged glances.

"I saw the typewriter myself." informed the sheriff. He turned to the two deputies. "It's in the trophy room. Bring it here."

The deputies didn't like to go to the trophy room, but they finally stiffened themselves for another look at Fant's body. They went, and came back with the typewriter. Lenley admitted that it was his machine, and George Brendaw also recognized it.

The sheriff tapped off some words on a sheet of paper. He compared them with the message that the station agent had supplied. The typing corresponded.

"More exhibits," declared Cravlen. "Come along, Lenley. You, too, Brendaw. I want to find that letter that came from the fellow you mentioned.

What was his name, again?"

"Harold Barnes."

At the sheriff's suggestion, Allard went with them, armed with a shotgun. Cravlen kept his hand on the revolver that projected from his holster. Both Lenley and George entered the trophy room steadily.

Lenley opened the file cabinet; he found Barnes's letter under the file marked "B."

The letter was brief. It listed names and addresses in it, including that of Augusta Merrith. Cravlen gave a grunt, as he looked at the bottom of the letter.

"Humph," he uttered. "Not signed. Barnes simply typed his name. That might mean something-"

He stopped, his eyes narrowed. With a quick move, Cravlen pulled his revolver. He motioned George and Lenley out to the hall.

"Start back for the living room!" snapped Cravlen. "Keep them covered, Allard! This letter does mean something! A lot!"

WHEN they reached the living room, Cravlen had deputies take over.

Eagerly, he showed the letter from the file cabinet. The discovery was indeed an important one."See that, Allard?" quizzed Cravlen. "Barnes's letter, like those fake telegrams, was done on Lenley's machine!"

Lenley's face had whitened. His beard covered his pallor somewhat, and it also hid the chewing motion that he gave to his lips. He regained composure quickly, for his voice was steady when he said: "That doesn't prove that I typed any of them."

"I didn't say it did," snapped Cravlen. "George Brendaw could have done it. Or maybe t.i.tus. It's a sure thing that one of you did!"

"The letter came in the mail-"

"If it did, you could have sent it to yourself. Or one of the others could have mailed it to you."

Cravlen added the letter to the growing pile of exhibits. He had the telegrams received by Roderick Talroy and Fant, the original messages besides.

Also Lenley's typewriter, and George Brendaw's revolver.

"Put these in the trophy room," he told a deputy, "along with that mace.

It's an exhibit, too. The coroner can take the whole business when he comes for the bodies. This stuff wants to go to the county prosecutor."

The deputy took the box and brought back the key of the trophy room.

Cravlen pondered all the while; when he received the key, he dangled it for a moment. Then he delivered a crisp summary.

"The Barnes letter and the telegrams," declared the sheriff, "show that some one in this house deliberately brought persons here, through faked measures. That person premeditated the murders of Roderick Talroy and Rufus Fant. The same person"-Cravlen was eyeing George, Lenley and t.i.tus-"may seek the death of Augusta Merrith and her niece!"

TURNING abruptly, Cravlen faced the women. Lucille was white, but the girl's face showed bravery. Her aunt did not display the slightest tremor.

That made Cravlen pause, as he regarded her.

He had expected Augusta Merrith to show alarm.

"Technically, I should still consider you a suspect, Miss Augusta,"

declared the sheriff. "You declared yourself very strongly against Rufus Fant.

However, I am willing to term you merely a material witness, like your niece.

Both of you must remain here, but you will be constantly guarded."

Cravlen told the station agent that he could return to town. Since he had a third man from the bridge, he was able to appoint one each for George, Lenley and t.i.tus. He told the three deputies to march the suspects upstairs and lock them in their rooms.

When the deputies returned with the keys, Cravlen told Lucille and her aunt that they could retire. He sent one man upstairs to patrol the long halls. He told another to go outside and do sentry duty around the house, while the third was to remain in the living room.

"Suppose you get some sleep, Allard," suggested the sheriff. "I'm going to stay in charge and cla.s.sify that evidence, along with my report. There's a long night ahead of us; so I'll call you and let you take over later."

Allard agreed. The sheriff told him to pick out any room he wanted, on the second floor. Going out to his coupe, Allard came back with a suitcase.

The sheriff was at the telephone, calling the coroner. He gave a nod of approval when he saw Allard pick up a loaded shotgun, to take upstairs with him.

When he had found an empty room, Kent Allard placed the shotgun in a corner. Close by the glow of a floor lamp, he opened the suitcase. From it, he drew garments of black. Over his shoulders he draped the folds of a long, black cloak. He placed a slouch hat upon his head, and drew on thin black gloves.

Kent Allard had become a shrouded being, barely visible within the fringe of the lamplight's glow. A strange, sinister shape had appeared within that room; a creature of darkness that might have come from the outside air, where weird winds still sighed through the night.

The Shadow had taken on his famed guise. He was the mysterious being whocould rove through gloom, unseen. There was proof, though, that The Shadow was human, and not the ghostlike creature that he appeared to be.

The proof came when those gloved hands brought a pair of .45 automatics from the suitcase and placed the weapons out of sight beneath the black cloak.

The Shadow was preparing for some struggle that might be due this night.

A gloved hand pulled the lamp cord. Through darkness, The Shadow reached the hall. He stepped into gloomy silence. The patrolling deputy was in the corridor on the far side of the house. But even if he had been close, the fellow could not have seen that weird shape that glided black against the wall.

DESCENDING the stairs, The Shadow saw the sheriff, pacing the living room, making notations in his book.

Unseen, The Shadow moved through the vast ground floor, past the trophy room, to the side pa.s.sage that led outdoors. He opened the simple lock with a noiseless, pliers-like tool; stepped through the door and locked it behind him.

Moonlight was struggling through the breaking clouds, but all was dark close to the house. The Shadow stood silent, while the outside deputy pa.s.sed.

Then, black and invisible, The Shadow began a circuit of his own, looking up toward the windows on the second floor.

Towers of doom loomed high above.

Below those cone-like turrets were many rooms, like those wherein murder had struck twice to-night. Somewhere in that house was a murderer; likewise, a person who might soon be marked for death.

Though The Shadow had vanished from within those portals, he had actually chosen a better vantage point. On outside watch, The Shadow was choosing the vital spot where he might enter to avert a killer's newest thrust.

CHAPTER VIII.