“Small ground for suspicion, Lester.”
“It is not suspicion, sir. I know that someone brought about the master’s death.”
Milton shrugged his shoulders. He had expected intelligent answers from Lester. These statements were disappointing. The servant seemed to realize that fact. He approached and wagged a finger.
“Doctor Humbrell could have told, sir—”
“What? You mean he played a part in it? Was the medicine poisoned, Lester?”
“No, sir. But some change was made in the directions. There were new prescriptions — new hours at which to give them — and your father died immediately afterward.”
“What did Humbrell have to say?”
“Nothing, sir.” Lester’s tone was solemn. “There was nothing he could say, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because” — Lester’s voice had become a croak — “Doctor Humbrell died the same night as your father. He never reached his home after he left this house.”
“He was murdered?” questioned Milton.
“They called it an accident, sir,” responded Lester. “Some miscreant had opened the drawbridge over the old canal. Doctor Humbrell’s car toppled from the road. He was drowned before he could be rescued.”
MILTON paced back and forth. This was an incident that Vandrow had not mentioned. Probably the lawyer, like everyone else, believed that the physician’s death had been an accident. Then a thought struck Milton.
“Lester,” said the heir, “tell me about the bells. Why does Miss Phyllis fear them?”
“Because they tolled the master’s death,” croaked the servant. “And never since have they been rung. They tolled his death — before he was dead!”
“What!”
“I mean it, sir. They called it an accident; but I know the truth. They did not believe me when I told them that the master was still alive.”
“Give me the details. Here, sit down, Lester. I want your story.”
Milton took a chair while Lester perched himself on the edge of a bench. In his same croaking tone, the servant resumed the story. His voice pictured the events of which he spoke. Milton Claverly could almost see the scene in his father’s bedroom.
“The master had a spasm after Doctor Humbrell had gone,” explained the servant. “He dropped back on the pillows. I knew that Doctor Humbrell could not have reached his home. I called up the young doctor who lives close by.
“He came here and pronounced your father dead. He went downstairs to telephone to different persons, while I remained here. The master was lying before me” — Lester spread his hands — “like a corpse. I, too, thought that he was dead.
“Time went by, sir. The young doctor had not returned. He was making many calls. Then I heard the bells” — Lester cupped his hand to his ear, as if hearing an echo from some distant space of time — “the bells in the tower. Those were the bells that your father had placed there. Those bells were to ring the death of people who meant much to Torburg.
“The bells were ringing for the master. Slowly, sir, as though they knew who it was that had died. The bells were filled with sorrow. Tears came to my eyes as I listened. Then I heard breathing. I looked toward the master” — Lester’s eyes opened and stared toward an imaginary bed — “and I saw him — saw him, sir — rising from his death couch!”
“My father was alive!”
“Yes. Alive and speaking!”
“What did he say?”
LESTER was on his feet. The old servant’s eyes were glowing wildly. He was playing the part of his dying master, repeating words, gasped words, that had been indelibly impressed upon his memory.
“He said: ‘The bells! Bells of doom! They are ringing for me! They will be silent, those bells that ring for me. But when they ring again, they will tell new doom! Doom for those who — ’”
Lester’s quaver ended. The servant sank back upon the bench. It was Milton who was on his feet. Eagerly, the heir spoke. He wanted to hear all.
“Go on, Lester. Go on. What else did my father say?”
“That was all, sir. No more. He sank back upon the pillows. He was dead. He had heard the bells. They kept on ringing, with that clang that I can still hear.”
Milton paced across the room. The story had impressed him. Just as he had pictured the sight of his dying father, so could he imagine the ringing of the bells in the tall tower. Tracing back from effect to cause, the young man turned to the servant.
“Who rang the bells?” he quizzed.
“Old Yokes, the bell ringer,” replied Lester.
“Who told him to ring them?” demanded Milton.
“He did not know,” responded Lester. “He said that someone called his home and told him to ring the bells. A death knell for David Claverly.”
“And the bells have been silent since?”
“Yes, sir. The tower has been closed and locked. But some time” — Lester’s eyes glared venomously — “those bells will ring again. Again — again — again! They will be bells of doom!”
“To whom have you told this story, Lester?”
“I told it to the young doctor. To Mr. Vandrow. To Mr. Zangwald. To others, sir — such as Miss Phyllis — and many have heard the tale.”
“My father was buried in the crypt below the house?”
“Yes, sir. But his body was removed one week later. It was buried in the cemetery.”
“What about the crypt? Is it locked?”
“Yes, sir. The keys have been destroyed.”
Milton nodded. This matched the statement that Phyllis had made. Milton strolled across the room and picked up the tin box that he had received from Vandrow. Lester eyed the object curiously.
“Documents of my father’s,” remarked Milton. “Other objects, perhaps. This little key that you gave me will open the box. I shall examine its contents tonight.”
WITH that, Milton walked from the library and ascended the steps to the second floor. He was going to the room that Lester had prepared for him.
The servant heard his new master’s footsteps dwindle. Then Lester shambled from the library and went to the rear of the main hall. He opened a door that led to a driveway behind the house.
There, Lester stood staring through the moonlight. To his left was the low roof of the sealed crypt that extended from the house. But the servant’s eyes did not turn in that direction. They were gazing toward the right, toward the slope upon which the old bell-tower stood ghostlike in the moonlight.
A fierce expression came upon Lester’s face. Crossing the drive, the servant turned his view toward the town below. He raised a clenched fist as his lips spat curses. His venom was directed upon the town of Torburg.
Imprecations ended, Lester went back into the house. The bolts of the door clicked shut. The mansion, like the bell-tower, rested silent beneath the moonlight that shone upon the little town of Torburg.
CHAPTER VII
FROM THE TOWER
THE next evening found a group of three assembled in the library of the old Claverly home. Milton Claverly and Phyllis Lingle were present. The third person was a visitor: Harry Vincent.
Harry had met Milton late that afternoon. He had accepted an invitation to dine at the Claverly house. Dinner had been set late; the meal had passed without event. Now the three were gathered in front of the fireplace in the library.
To Harry Vincent, this had been a most amazing visit. Amazing because it had been without incident. Usually, when Harry set forth at The Shadow’s bidding, he encountered strange conditions in short order. But this expedition had brought nothing.
Harry had come to Torburg to make the acquaintance of Milton Claverly and to watch events that might concern the man from Australia. Harry knew that Milton had been present at the affray in Messler’s apartment, but he knew nothing of any part that the young man might have played there.