The monotone was solemn. It held five men rooted. Those strokes were a dirge of death. They were sounding a doom that had not fallen. They were donging for crime that had been frustrated by The Shadow.
Yet the five men stood, even though they knew that murder had failed tonight. There was reason for their stupor. All remembered what the sheriff had said at Zangwald’s. The bells had been removed from the tower.
Clang! — Clang! — Clang!—
Mournful bells — hideous bells. More than that, they were solemn, ghostly bells. Like spectral messengers from the past, bells were ringing from the tower where there were no bells!
CHAPTER XX
IN THE CRYPT
THE bells kept tolling. Ceaselessly, unending, they pronounced their dirge. As moments passed, standing men expected the knell to end. It continued, defiantly. The clamor from the tower was imbued with a hideous note of triumph as the baffling strokes kept on.
The whole air took on an affrighted quiver. Ghoulish discords drove their monotone with a clangor that remained unfaltering. Bells of doom! They were ringing long and loud tonight!
Abner Zangwald rumbled fiercely. His voice brought the others to their senses. Scowling, the big man pointed into the house. His motion indicated that the answer might be there. Attention gained, Zangwald strode into the hall. The others followed his trail.
There they spread, searching through the doors of opened rooms. Louis Vandrow ventured into the hallway past the stairs. He spied the opening that led to the cellar steps.
Then someone approached the spot where the lawyer was standing. It was Zangwald.
“Come!” rasped the bushy-browed man. “Down to the cellar! It’s open!”
Officials arrived. The prosecutor shouldered his way past Zangwald. He drew a revolver as he marched down the steps. The others followed; and all the while, the muffled dirge of the tower bells formed its dull accompaniment.
“Look ahead!” exclaimed Jornal.
He pointed to the opened door of the crypt. They could see the dull light from below. Its ghoulish glow was forbidding; yet the prosecutor did not falter. He led the way down the stone steps. He was holding his revolver. The sheriff had also drawn a gun.
A strange sight greeted the arrivals. The crypt was illuminated by hidden lights located in bowl-like containers, one in each corner of the room. Revealed in the center of the twelve-foot square apartment were two men: Milton Claverly and Hatch Rosling.
A tile had been raised from the floor. The entering men could see a tiny light shining within the opening. Milton’s hand was thrust into the hollow. It was holding a master switch pressed to one side.
Rosling was standing a few feet away. He was covering Milton with a revolver. Stooped by the opening in the floor, Milton was obviously obeying Rosling’s command to keep the switch in place.
Rosling looked up as he heard the five approach. A grin showed on his hatchet face. He lowered his gun as he sighted the revolvers that Jornal and Locke were holding.
“All right,” said Rosling, calmly, “I’ve got him. Got him with the goods.”
ALL the while, the distant bells were tolling, bringing a muffled sound to the depths of the opened crypt. Rosling made a threatening gesture with his revolver. The young man released the switch. It sprang back from its position. Instantly, the sound of the tower bells was ended.
“What does this mean?” demanded the prosecutor. “Which of these men is young Claverly?”
“That fellow,” growled the sheriff, pointing to Milton. “I’ve seen him before.”
“And who is this man?”
The prosecutor had indicated Rosling. It was Louis Vandrow who responded. The lawyer stepped forward and waved his hand toward the hatchet-faced man.
“His name is Rosling,” declared Vandrow. “He is a private detective who has been looking into these crimes. It appears that he has found the solution to the ringing of the bells.
“You knew of this?” demanded the prosecutor. “You knew that young Claverly—”
“Let me explain,” interposed Vandrow, solemnly. “I must admit that this climax comes to me as something of a surprise. In order to make it plain, I must tell exactly what happened since Milton Claverly’s return.”
The lawyer gained the floor. He looked approvingly toward Rosling; then stared sorrowfully at Milton. While the heir remained silent, Vandrow resumed.
“The day that Milton Claverly returned to Torburg,” he stated, “this man” — he paused to indicate Rosling — “came to my office and introduced himself. He had credentials that announced him as Charles Rosling. He proved to be a detective who has worked as special investigator upon international cases.
“Rosling informed me that he was watching Milton Claverly. He declared that Milton had been forced to leave certain countries because of criminal activities. I told Rosling that I doubted that Milton was actually a crook. Nevertheless, I felt — in all fairness — that I should give Rosling a chance to prove it either pro or con.
“So while I maintained a normal attitude toward Milton, I kept secret the fact that Rosling was coming in and out of town. Then came the murder of Maurice Dunwell. It worried me. But I could not bring myself to believe that Milton Claverly had stooped to such crime.
“The same after the death of Stuart Hosker — and Willis Beauchamp. I found myself torn between duty to the law and my position as Milton Claverly’s attorney. Rosling came to my home. He had failed to gain the evidence he wanted. Therefore, I would not accept his opinion that Milton was the murderer.
“But now, the case is indisputable. Here we have Milton Claverly, in his own home, operating a special device that has caused bells to ring from the old tower. I suppose that it must be a set of duplicate bells. That, however, is beside the case. The important point is that Rosling has trapped a rogue.”
Milton Claverly was about to speak. Words failed when they reached his lips. The prosecutor waved the accused man back. He looked to Rosling.
“Tell us the facts,” ordered the prosecutor.
“ALL right,” agreed Rosling. “Here they are. This fellow Claverly has a bad record, see? Mostly small stuff he pulled in the past. Slick gambling on board boats. Troubles like that. But enough to make people keep an eye on him.
“He came in from Calcutta to England on board a P & O boat. A fellow named Messler was supposed to have been on that ship. Messler had a lot of jewels belonging to a rajah and he took a different boat. Some guys were pinched aboard the P & O liner.
“In England, the jewels were insured for the trip across the Atlantic. Messler had arranged that by cable from Calcutta. The insurance company sent me to England to come in on Messler’s ship — the Laurentic. I did. I spotted young Claverly.
“I talked to him in his stateroom. Pretended I was a crook, too. Told him I was after those same jewels. Well — I found out he was hooked up with some New York crooks. But thinking I might queer his game, he offered to let me in on a cut if I didn’t spoil it.
“We got in to New York. I tipped off the police. They queered the jewel robbery. Knowing some racketeers, I got just what I wanted. Sworn affidavits from small-fry saying that they’d seen Milton Claverly with a crook named Mike Tocson. That guy Tocson was the one that tried to rob Messler’s. Tocson got bumped.”
Rosling pulled the affidavits from his pocket and handed them to the prosecutor. Grinning at Milton, he resumed his statement.
“I saw Mr. Vandrow here in town,” he said. “He was kind of partial to young Claverly. So I went out on my own. Kept a watch on this house. I figured that since Claverly had flivved on the jewel robbery, he’d start something in this burg.