“Bells of doom!” he crackled. “Bells of doom! They have brought judgment upon those who did evil! My master told that this would come. I heard him, when he rose from his death bed. Ha — ha — ha — ha — ha — ha—”
Lester’s laugh dwindled into an insane chuckle. Pointing a bony claw at the two young men who watched him, the servant crouched forward and glared with wild eyes. His voice became a guttural croak.
“Bells of doom — they have rung again. Do you know what those bells can mean? Bells ring the curfew hour. They bring people to their homes, away from the night, where evil spirits prowl.
“Then there are bells that drive away those spirits. I know it! I know it! For the old master told me!” The servant’s head was bobbing; his voice had become a discordant shriek. “He told me of those bells! After the curfew, the bells that drive demons back to their abodes!”
The old servant seemed to shrink. His clenched fists had risen; they lowered. Again a bony finger marked each word that Lester uttered. His voice was croaking again; his eyes were staring above his pointing finger in the fashion one would sight along the barrel of a gun.
“There are bells that drive off sickness,” clucked the servant. “They heal, like bells that bring joy. There are bells that sound out victory; bells that clang like thunder. Some bells ring when coffins are being carried to the grave!”
The old servant had straightened. His long finger was pointing to the floor. He was gathering himself for his final statement; his lips were framing a gloating grin.
“Do not forget the passing bell.” Shrinking, Lester clasped his hands across his chest. His eyes were cunning as they looked from man to man. “The passing bell” — the croak was solemn — “the one that you have heard. That was the bell that tolled my master’s death. That was the bell of doom!
“He heard that bell while he lay dying. He knew that bell meant death. He spoke like a prophet, when he said that bells of doom would ring again. They rang two nights ago for Maurice Dunwell” — Lester spat the name and paused — “they rang again last night. They were for Stuart Hosker.”
Lester hissed the second name. He stood silent; then gave a final croak, while he bobbed his head to emphasize his statement.
“Those bells will ring again! They will ring — ring — ring — until all are dead! Until all are dead” — the man’s voice was a shriek — “all those who were enemies of this house! Until all of them are dead!”
The spasm ended. Lester gave a cackling chuckle, then turned and shambled from the room, leaving Harry and Milton staring at each other. Harry could feel cold shivers passing down his spine.
“You see?” questioned Milton, anxiously. “What kind of an alibi could that old fellow give? If he broke loose with that mad talk, they would put me down as the murderer and class him as an accomplice.”
“Where did he get all the facts about the bells?” questioned Harry.
“From my father, I suppose,” replied Milton, soberly. “Louis Vandrow gave me a box that my father had left me. It contained a batch of documents of little consequence. Many of the papers related to bells and their purposes.
“But let’s get back to the important subject” — Milton’s suave face was nervous — “about my alibi. You’ve got to help me, Vincent. You can do it.”
“I wasn’t here at midnight.”
“I’m not thinking of the past. I’m worried about the future.”
“The future?”
“Yes, tonight.”
“You mean you expect new murder?”
Milton Claverly nodded in response to Harry’s question. He pointed out through the door by which Lester had left. Milton spoke in a low tone.
“That old fellow is no fool,” he said, in reference to Lester. “Strange factors are at work, Vincent. I am serious when I say that I fear new crime tonight. Someone else may be murdered.”
“Do you mean Willis Beauchamp?”
“Perhaps. He was closely identified with the two who have died. That, Vincent, is why I want someone else to be here in this house. Someone on whom I can surely rely.”
“Like myself?”
“Yes. Why not come up here, Vincent? Stay in this house instead of the hotel. If the bells should ring again, you will know that I am here. I ask it, as a favor.”
Harry pondered. He glanced at his watch. It was after ten o’clock. Harry doubted that he would be able to communicate with The Shadow. However, he could leave word at the hotel, telling where he had gone.
This house seemed close to crime. Phyllis Lingle’s statements; Lester’s wild behavior; Milton Claverly’s fears — all made the mansion bear a close relationship to the mystery bells of the Torburg tower. Harry did not need orders from The Shadow. He knew that his chief would instruct him to accept the invitation to remain here.
“Very well,” decided Harry. “I’ll go down to the hotel and get my bag. I’ll be back in less than half an hour.”
Milton Claverly smiled. His face showed relief. Harry Vincent left the library and headed for the front door.
Milton dropped into a chair beside the fireplace. The suavity returned to the young man’s features as he lighted a cigarette that he had pressed between his lips.
CHAPTER XI
MIDNIGHT APPROACHES
IT was after eleven o’clock when Harry Vincent arrived back at Milton Claverly’s house. A car was parked in the drive. As Harry alighted from his coupe, he saw someone standing by the front door of the house.
The door opened as Harry approached. Lester was admitting the visitor. Carrying his bag, Harry hastened forward and entered also.
In the hallway, he recognized the man who had arrived before him. It was Louis Vandrow. The lawyer, hearing Harry enter, turned and nodded to the young man. He stared, a bit surprised, when he saw the bag in Harry’s hand.
Milton arrived from the library. He knew that Vandrow and Harry had met before. So he dropped a comment that would explain the reason for Harry’s arrival. Milton made his statement while Harry was handing his bag to Lester.
“Vincent intends to stay here a while,” Milton told Vandrow. “He is tired of the old hotel, so I invited him up to the house. Come, Mr. Vandrow. Let us go into the library. I had not expected you tonight. Do you have special business to discuss?”
“In a way, yes,” replied Vandrow, in a reluctant tone.
“Concerning my father’s estate?” asked Milton.
“No,” said the lawyer, “we have gone over all the necessary details regarding the estate. This is a personal matter, Milton. One that relates to recent events.”
“The deaths of Dunwell and Hosker?”
“Yes.”
“Then Vincent can listen to what you have to say. He is a friend of mine. Speak freely, Mr. Vandrow.”
The lawyer seemed reluctant to proceed after they had seated themselves in the library. Harry’s presence troubled him. It was apparent that Vandrow wanted an open discussion with Milton. The heir recognized that fact. He laughed.
“Don’t worry about Vincent,” he assured Vandrow. “I think I know what you are going to tell me. My name has been associated with those murders. Am I night?”
The lawyer stared, startled. Then he nodded. Milton had guessed the reason for his reserve.
“I thought so,” said the heir. “Vincent and I have been discussing the matter. After all, it’s only natural that people should wonder about me. The bells began to ring after I arrived in town. The two men who died were enemies of my father.”
“Precisely,” agreed Vandrow. “What is more, those two were closely associated. They were two — of three. Willis Beauchamp is the third.”
“What about him?” questioned Milton.
“The sheriff is guarding his home,” replied Vandrow. “A squad of men have been placed on duty there.”