When Harry had risen, he had found an envelope upon his table. Coded instructions from The Shadow. In response, Harry had set out in his coupe shortly before noon. He had been traveling about all day, studying a specified area to the north of Torburg.
The Shadow had deputed this work to his agent because Harry, presumably here to investigate real estate, would naturally be driving through the countryside. In his orders, The Shadow had told Harry to look for any side roads that might lead to possible hiding spots.
Harry had uncovered several places. Most important of these was an old, dilapidated house that he had spotted while driving along a rocky road though the woods. To all appearances, the place was deserted; yet Harry had noted tire tracks in the mud of the driveway. He had a hunch that someone was about the old house.
It had been dusk when Harry made his discovery. Returning to Torburg, he had added the location of the old house to the list of other places that he had studied. In his hotel room, Harry had left a sealed envelope for The Shadow.
During dinner, Harry had speculated where The Shadow might be. Somewhere about the town perhaps; maybe entirely away from Torburg. The ways of The Shadow were strangely secret, even to his agents. Harry felt sure of only one point: namely, that The Shadow must sleep by day and act by night. That alone could explain his amazing activities.
At the hotel, Harry had received a call from Milton Claverly. The young man wanted Harry to come up to the old mansion.
Returning to his room, Harry had found his report missing. He knew that The Shadow had taken it. Communication was temporarily ended. So Harry had left a new coded report. He had gone to Claverly’s; and he was waiting now to talk to Milton.
Lester had shown Harry into the library. The old servant had proven taciturn. He had bowed; he had ushered Harry in; he had gone to inform his master that a visitor had arrived. That was all. But Harry had noted the servant’s face. He had fancied that he saw a gloating upon Lester’s cadaverous features.
Two men had died in Torburg. Maurice Dunwell and Stuart Hosker had been murdered on succeeding nights. Harry recalled that Milton had mentioned both of those men as persons who had robbed his father.
Lester must share Milton’s dislike for Dunwell and Hosker. That explained the servant’s malicious look. Lester, apparently, was making no effort to conceal the gladness that he felt because the two had died.
STANDING before the fireplace, Harry heard footsteps. He looked up to see Phyllis Lingle entering the room. He bowed as the girl approached; then stood attentively as he saw that concern was registering upon the girl’s face.
Phyllis Lingle was attractive. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, she had impressed Harry Vincent when he had first met her. He remembered, though, that her quiet, friendly demeanor had changed to sheer nervousness when Milton Claverly had mentioned the subject of the bells.
That had been two nights ago. Since then, the bells had tolled two knells.
The experience of listening to those dreaded dirges had produced a marked result on Phyllis Lingle. Harry could see that the girl’s mind was troubled. Her face was drawn; her lips trembled as she spoke in a low, quavering tone.
“Mr. Vincent” — the voice was pleading — “I must talk to you — before Milton comes. I want to tell you why he sent for you.”
The girl glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Milton was not approaching. She clutched Harry’s sleeve and resumed her statements, speaking rapidly and almost incoherently.
“Milton spoke to me tonight,” explained Phyllis, in her quick tone. “He told me that I might have to testify that he had been here in the house — at midnight — last night and the night before. I replied that I could not do so.”
“Why not?” quizzed Harry.
“Because” — the girl was faltering — “because I am not sure that he was in the house. I–I was asleep both times. Those terrible bells awakened me. They — they frightened me. I dreaded to leave my room.”
“You stayed there?”
“Yes. That is why I can not say that Milton was here. So I told him to call upon Lester for such testimony. He said that Lester would not do.”
“Why not?”
“He did not tell me—”
The girl stopped. She moved quickly away and seated herself in a chair. She was reading a book when Milton entered a few moments afterward.
The young man glanced suspiciously in the girl’s direction; then smiled suavely as he approached to shake hands with Harry.
Motioning his guest to a chair, Milton began to talk. The subject of his discourse was real estate; but Harry knew that there must be some other reason why Milton had asked him to come here.
Ten minutes passed; then Phyllis left the room and went upstairs. Milton changed the subject immediately.
“VINCENT,” he said seriously, “I’m worried. I want to tell you why. I think I can rely upon your friendship. I’ll tell you what’s troubling me. The bells!”
Harry nodded.
“People are linking the bells with the murders,” resumed Milton. “That’s my big worry. Those two chaps that died — Dunwell and Hosker — were enemies of my father. I’ve got every reason to be glad that they are dead. Do you get my inference?”
“You mean that you might be linked with the crimes?”
“Yes. Look at the facts. My father built the bell-tower. He was robbed by Dunwell and Hosker — and Beauchamp also. Lester spread a story that my father came to his senses while the bells were tolling his own death; that my father called them ‘bells of doom’ and laid a curse on certain men whom he did not name.
“Now, when I arrive in town, the bells begin to ring again. Each knell spells murder. It looks like vengeance. I might be the killer. I thought of it two nights ago, when I heard the bells ring out Dunwell’s death. I thought of it last night when they clanged for Hosker. But I didn’t worry at the time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had a perfect alibi. Two witnesses, here in the house, to prove that I had not gone out. Phyllis was one; Lester the other. So this evening at dinner, I mentioned the subject. After Phyllis and Lester had their say, I realized that my alibis weren’t worth a nickel.”
Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“First of all,” declared Milton, “Phyllis said that she could not testify in my behalf. She stated that she had not seen me within an hour before the bells began to ring — either last night or the night previous. She added that she had not seen me after the bells rang.
“I told her that was foolish talk; that she knew I was in the house. She agreed with me on that point. She said she would take my word for it. But she appears to dread a cross-examination.”
“I see,” remarked Harry. “If her testimony were analyzed—”
“It would break down. I can’t blame her for wanting to be truthful, Vincent, but I thought surely that she would be able to twist her testimony so that it would sound well.”
“You still have Lester.”
“Yes” — Milton’s tone was bitter — “Lester saw me not long after the bells rang; on each occasion. He would testify in my behalf. But I found out that his word would be useless.”
“Why?”
“I’ll show you.”
Milton swung on his heel. He went to the door of the room and called the servant. Lester appeared and stood with shoulders stooped and scrawny hands clasped.
“Lester,” said Milton, soberly, “Mr. Vincent is a friend of mine. Tell him what you told me about the bells.”
LESTER’S leer turned to a venomous, toothless grin. Fists rising, clenched, the servant voiced hoarse words, while his eyes flared with maddened elation.