Often, The Shadow dispatched his agents without giving them too much information. This left them free to draw conclusions from what they might actually encounter — not from what they might expect to happen. Hence Harry knew only that he was to watch Milton Claverly; and he had reduced his task to two simple probabilities.
The first was that Milton was faced by some unseen menace — a trap into which he had placed himself by coming to Torburg. The second was that Milton had come here for purposes of crime. The man might be a crook for all that Harry knew.
To Harry, Milton seemed a likable chap. Yet The Shadow’s agent was suspicious of the fellow’s suavity. Milton had a steady eye, one that could meet any glance. At the same time, his talk was smooth and he had the ability of diverting the conversation from any subject that was not to his liking.
Evidence of this came shortly after they had gone into the library. Phyllis made a chance remark that brought a quick look from Milton. The girl’s statement concerned a telephone call.
“LONG distance was trying to get you today, Milton,” said Phyllis. “It was shortly after you had left for Mr. Vandrow’s office. I meant to tell you at lunch time; but I was out.”
“Lester told me of the call,” responded Milton. “When I came in from Vandrow’s, I called the operator. It was a mistake. She had the wrong number. Vandrow is my lawyer” — this was to Harry Vincent — “and he’s the man you will have to see regarding any real estate transactions.”
“You mentioned his name during dinner,” stated Harry, pretending not to note how Milton had changed the subject. “Did he tell you much about your property holdings when you saw him this morning?”
“He talked considerably,” said Milton. “But very little of the property is really worthwhile. My father lost most of his valuable real estate. He was swindled before his death.”
“By whom?”
“Three men here in town. Big shots who tried to ruin his contracting business. They managed it and they grabbed a lot of property as well. Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp — birds of a feather, those three.”
Milton paused speculatively. As in Vandrow’s office, he was beginning to boil. He was not satisfied with his denunciation of the combine. He added another name to theirs.
“Abner Zangwald is a phony, too,” he stated. “Pretended to be a friend of my father’s. But he grabbed his share of land. He’s holding it for a big clean-up, the skinflint! I’d like to wring his neck!”
“That’s not fair, Milton.” The protest came from Phyllis. “You may be right about the three men whom you first mentioned; but Abner Zangwald was a real friend of your father’s.”
“So you thought,” gibed Milton, “but I’m not so easily fooled. After what Vandrow told me—”
“Why, Vandrow is Mr. Zangwald’s lawyer. He would not say a word against him!”
“He didn’t. That’s the funny part of it. Vandrow stood up for Zangwald. The old geezer is fooling him just as much as anyone else. Listen, Phyllis. My father bought a lot of property for a good investment. Three men grabbed their share and got rid of it at a profit.
“But Zangwald is holding on to what he got; and that proved him to be a fox. Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp did their dirty work when they smashed my father’s contracts. Seizing the property was just an added touch.
“Meanwhile, Zangwald lay back. He was a friend. But he stands ready to clean up a million dollars on that land he took from my father.”
“A million!” exclaimed Phyllis. “That’s impossible, Milton. The other men made no such profit as that when they sold their land. They had as much of the real estate as Mr. Zangwald.”
MILTON reached for a cigarette. He realized suddenly that Phyllis Lingle knew nothing of the power project. He had forgotten that the matter was still a secret, so far as the public was concerned. As he lighted his cigarette, he made up for his blunder.
“Guess I was exaggerating,” he grumbled. “I just figured that old Zangwald wouldn’t be hanging on to the land unless it meant plenty of profit. There’s an idea for you, Vincent. Why don’t you look up this fellow Zangwald? See why he won’t sell his real estate?”
“He has a lot of land?” questioned Harry.
“Plenty,” replied Milton. “I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll ask Vandrow about the exact property that Zangwald acquired from my father. Then you stop around to see the old egg and try to buy some of it. Tell me how you make out, afterward.”
“All right,” agreed Harry. Then, seeing that Milton was about to dismiss the subject, he took that task upon himself. “Speaking about property,” he added, “Who owns that old tower up on the hill?”
A pallor showed on the face of Phyllis Lingle. Milton Claverly sobered as he puffed his cigarette. He was the one who answered, in a slow, monotonous tone.
“My father built that bell-tower,” he informed. “He gave it to the town of Torburg. The bells were placed there to peal forth certain tidings. One purpose was that of sounding death knells for the departed—”
“Don’t!” Phyllis was pleading as she rose from her chair. “Don’t talk of that, Milton! I can’t bear it!”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Milton. “I had forgotten how you felt about those bells, Phyllis—”
His plea ended as the girl went from the room. Unable to control her emotions, she was sobbing as she left. Milton turned to Harry.
“The bells sounded my father’s death,” the heir said, in a sober tone. “Lester — the old servant — spread some absurd rumor that my father had revived while the bells were tolling; that he called them ‘bells of doom.’
“No one was present to verify the story. It may have been the product of Lester’s imagination. However, the bells have remained silent ever since. The tower door is padlocked.”
“Did Miss Lingle hear the bells?” inquired Harry.
“No,” replied Milton, “but she learned the story. It was usual to toll the bells during important funerals in Torburg; but that custom was omitted when my father was buried. Perhaps the fact that the bells were silent impressed Phyllis more than their ringing would have done.”
Harry nodded. He could see that Milton was perturbed. Harry attributed that fact to the young man’s concern for Phyllis.
Lester entered while Milton was standing silent; the arrival of the suspicious-eyed servant increased the gloom.
Harry glanced at his watch. He noted that it was close to eleven o’clock. He decided that it would be wise to return to the hotel; and he mentioned his intention.
Milton Claverly made no effort to stay his guest’s departure. Lester produced Harry’s hat and coat. The Shadow’s agent left.
WHEN he reached the hotel, Harry sat down in the lobby and lighted a cigar. There had been something ominous in the incident at Claverly’s. It foreboded strange events in Torburg. Harry wished that he could learn more concerning the bell-tower. He wondered who could give him the complete story.
It was nearly midnight when Harry had finished his cigar. Meanwhile, a lanky, stoop-shouldered man had entered the small lobby of the old hotel. This fellow was talking with the proprietor when Harry arose and approached the desk. Harry addressed the proprietor.
“I left my coupe on the street last night,” informed Harry. “You said it would be all right. What about tonight? Should I put it in a garage?”
“It’s too late,” returned the proprietor. “The only garage in town closes at ten o’clock. Did you lock your car?”
“Yes.”