THIS was not news to Harry Vincent. He had learned this fact when he had returned late in the afternoon. It had been discussed in the hotel; Harry had mentioned it in his report to The Shadow. But Milton Claverly accepted the statement as something that he had not heard.
“So they’re guarding Beauchamp,” he chuckled. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. But Lester won’t be pleased.”
“Why not?” questioned Vandrow, sharply.
“Because he thinks someone’s going to get the fellow,” returned Milton. “Lester has been walking around all evening, sputtering talk of vengeance.”
“Milton,” said the attorney, seriously, “matters are much more serious than you suppose. I talked with Abner Zangwald over the telephone tonight. He mentioned your name.”
“Did he refer to me as a suspect?” questioned Milton, coldly.
“Not exactly,” responded Vandrow. “Really, Milton, I feel that Zangwald has a kindly feeling toward you—”
“You know my opinion of the man,” broke in Milton. “I think he’s a hypocrite! But we’ll let that pass. Did Zangwald connect me with these deaths or did he not?”
“He said,” replied Vandrow, slowly, “that as your attorney, I should keep a close watch upon your affairs. That if I did not, others might.”
“Meaning whom?”
“The law, I suppose.”
“Has the sheriff put men on duty around this house?” inquired Milton, half jestingly. “Does he think that he might trap me running back and forth between here and the bell-tower?”
“Men might be stationed here,” returned Vandrow, soberly. “I know that Zangwald, as chairman of the board of selectmen, has had conferences with Sheriff Locke. They are meeting tonight, up at Zangwald’s home. I am going there.”
“So you stopped here on the way.”
“I did. To give you advice. Milton, let me suggest that you remain within this house, just as you have on the last two nights. Do you understand?”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do. Moreover, Vincent will be here to prove that I do not leave the place.”
“Hm-m-m.” Vandrow mused as he heard this statement. “That seems like a good idea. But do not overplay it, Milton. It isn’t wise to establish an alibi in advance. Simply assume that Vincent has come here as a guest. As you told me previously. Because he was tired of the hotel.”
“That’s natural enough,” stated Milton. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Vandrow. I’ll be a good boy and stay at home. I’ll go to bed early, before twelve o’clock, when the spooks start ringing the bells in the old tower.”
“This is no laughing matter,” declared the lawyer. “Remember, those bells have sounded the knell of murder.”
“They don’t concern me,” retorted Milton. “Vincent and I are turning in as soon as you leave. Listen, Mr. Vandrow. I have been in bed every night before those bells began to ring. I intend to follow the same plan tonight. Tell Abner Zangwald he can come up here and find me asleep.”
“I don’t care to jest about the matter,” said Vandrow. He glanced at his watch. “I must be on my way to Zangwald’s. May I use the telephone, to make sure he is there?”
“Certainly.”
“You may listen while I converse with him.”
“Thanks for the invitation.”
Milton beckoned to Harry. The two followed Vandrow from the library. The lawyer crossed the hall to the old parlor. The young men entered after him.
VANDROW sat down at the telephone table and called a number. Then he began a conversation, of which Milton Claverly and Harry Vincent heard but half.
There was another listener, also. Lester had appeared; he was standing by the opened door.
“Hello…” Vandrow began to speak to someone. “Is that you, Mr. Zangwald?… Yes, this is Louis Vandrow. Yes, I’ll be there to talk with you and the sheriff… The coroner, too… Any new developments?… What’s that? Why, I thought he was staying in his house, under guard…
“Business in New York, you say… A long distance call early in the evening… Well, I guess that’s a good idea… Yes, that big limousine of Beauchamp’s can travel fast. Well, it’s best for him to get out of town… Certainly… Yes, I’ll talk to you when I reach your home.
The lawyer hung up the receiver; he arose from the table. Lester entered, bringing his hat and coat. It was then that Milton Claverly inserted a suave remark.
“You mentioned Willis Beauchamp,” stated the young man. “Did you say something about him leaving town?”
“Yes,” replied Vandrow. “Zangwald tells me that he received a long distance call from New York. He called Zangwald after that, to inform him that he was leaving the house.”
“When?”
“Beauchamp expects to leave just before midnight. He will enter his garage and step into his limousine. Then his chauffeur will drive him over to Lewisport, on the B & R Railroad. Some of the sheriff’s men will follow. So Beauchamp will be well enough protected.”
“I’m glad he’s getting out of town,” decided Milton. “Well, I’m turning in. I guess you’ll want to do the same, Vincent. If the bells ring, old man, be sure to wake me.”
Milton accompanied Vandrow to the door. Then he and Harry went upstairs and entered their rooms. The two apartments were at different ends of a long hall.
Downstairs, Lester was standing by the front door. His eyes were glaring. He, too, had heard the announcement of Beauchamp’s departure. The servant’s fists were clenched. His face glowered as his cracked lips twitched.
Then, in methodical fashion, the servant crossed the hall and extinguished the lights. He moved slowly up the stairs to the second floor; his footsteps creaked as he took another flight of steps to the third.
Harry Vincent, lying in his bed, could hear the old servant moving on the floor above. Then came silence. The mansion, like the tower on the hill, was hushed amid the quietude of night.
CHAPTER XII
THE SHADOW MOVES
THIS night was a gloomy one. The sky, heavily clouded, allowed no rifts for moonlight. Objects on the ground were blackened into total invisibility. The countryside about the town of Torburg was one continued blot of inkiness.
Off in a secluded patch of woods stood the old house that Harry Vincent had located. It was not even visible among the trees. The eyes that watched it were also hidden. The Shadow had stationed himself close to the deserted building.
The Shadow had pieced important facts. He knew that Willis Beauchamp was well guarded. It would take at least a squad of men to trap him in his residence. No corps of gunmen could be assembled within the limits of Torburg.
If called from outside, a crew of ruffians would need a meeting place. This house — The Shadow had prowled through it — showed signs of recent occupancy. The Shadow was positive that crooks were due to meet.
Midnight was approaching. Yet The Shadow lingered. Minutes ticked slowly by. Finally, a glimmer of light wavered from the road in front of the house. It became the glare of headlights. A car approached, jouncing along the rocky road. It swung into the driveway beside the house.
The Shadow waited until the lights were extinguished. Then he crept forward. He found a shuttered window and opened it. He rose from the ground and entered an empty room. He moved across to a door and pressed carefully.
A glow showed through the crack. Four men were gathered about the adjoining room, a kerosene lantern on the floor. They were talking in growled voices. The Shadow recognized them as a group of Manhattan mobsters.
“Say,” came a gruff tone, “this is a cuckoo lay. What’s Beef been doin’, using this joint as a hide-out?”
“Better ask him when he shows up,” came a response. “Maybe he’ll tell you.”