“I was in my room, sir,” stated the old servant. “I am a very light sleeper. Old Mr. Culeth trained me to be, sir. I heard what seemed to be shots, from far below. I hurried into some clothes and rushed downstairs. I encountered the intruder. I grappled with him. He fired a pistol, sir.”
“At you?”
“While I was struggling with him. I was clutching his arm. He was unable to point the revolver toward me.
Then the lights came on; he flung me to the floor. I struck my head. When I recovered, Miss Dorothy was beside me.”
“Did you see the face of your assailant?”
“No, sir. There was only the firelight, before Miss Dorothy pressed the light switch. That was when the man flung me to the floor. He was a powerful fellow. That is all that I can state with surety.”
“Your statement, Miss Brent,” ordered Halthorpe.
“I must have heard the shots in the cellar,” said the girl. “I know that something awakened me. I arose from bed and wondered if I should call some one. Then came the loud shots from this hall. I rushed to the stairs and turned on the light.”
“Did you witness Twindell’s struggle with the intruder?”
“Only the finish of it. I saw a black form grappling with Twindell; then they staggered from view. When I gained nerve enough to come down the stairs, Twindell’s assailant was gone.”
“Your story, Mr. Brent.”
“Shots awakened me,” said the naturalist. “They must have been the ones fired in this hall. My chill seized me. I was slow in getting downstairs. I saw Dorothy trying to revive Twindell.”
“You, Professor Shelby.”
“I am a sound sleeper,” declared the guest. “I do not recall hearing any shots while I was in my room. But I heard shouts outside; and came downstairs just as Mr. Rokesbury was arriving with his men.”
Halthorpe turned to Rokesbury. The engineer did not wait for his question.
“We heard the shots clear over by the causeway,” declared Rokesbury. “They were faint and distant; but we knew they were from this direction. I thought that they must have come from outside the house. I hurried over with three men.”
“Why did you think the shots were from outside?”
“Because shots from in the house would have been muffled. We found the explanation when we reached here. The outer door was open. That is why we happened to hear the shots that were fired in this hall.”
“THESE statements are conclusive,” decided Halthorpe. “It is evident that some intruder entered the house and went down into the cellar. Merle Cray must have heard him. The detective went to investigate.
The intruder killed the detective and fled.
“The door must have been unbolted for the man to enter. The swiftness of his escape is further proof of that fact. What have you to say about it, Twindell?”
“I bolted the door, sir,” stated the servant. “Mr. Brent saw me do so. I called Mr. Cray’s attention to my action. He was here when I retired, sir.”
“Ah! Cray was here in the hall?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“The answer is then obvious,” decided Philo Halthorpe, in a tone that brooked no opposition. “Merle Cray must have unbolted that door himself. I fancy that he heard some sound outside the house and went to investigate.
“Then” — the lawyer paused as he described a mental picture — “Cray came back and looked about on this floor. The open door to the room with the tapestried walls indicates that Cray went in there. During that interval, the intruder must have entered. He went to the cellar.
“Looking about, Cray found that the cellar door was unbolted. So he descended. The lurking man shot him dead; then fled up the steps. During his escape, he encountered Twindell. He fled in haste and left the door open after him.”
The rugged lawyer paused to stare about at the seated group. His face showed a solemn look.
“I must admit,” declared Halthorpe, “that Cray had some reason in his theories. It is possible that the man who slew him was also the murderer of Hector Lundig. With that assumption, I can see a motive. The murderer feared Cray’s investigation. He came here with the avowed intention of slaying the detective.
“He may have deliberately made noises outside to lure Cray from the house. Perhaps he wanted the detective to follow him into the swamp. It appears that he was afraid to fire his gun too close to the house, for fear of bringing men from the causeway. When Cray left the door unbolted, the murderer saw his opportunity. He entered and lured the detective to the cellar.”
All remained silent while Halthorpe paced back and forth. The lawyer’s harsh smile showed that he was pleased with his well-fitted theory. Turning to the group, Halthorpe declared:
“Let us look about in the cellar for a short while. We may find evidence there. Any who choose may come with me; the others may retire. After that, I shall walk back to town. When the prosecutor arrives, I shall tell him to wait until morning, before he visits here. My report will satisfy him.”
Wildemar Brent went back to bed, as did Dorothy. Twindell and the professor accompanied Halthorpe to the cellar. So did Rokesbury and his three men. Cray’s body had been removed to the little bedroom on the ground floor. The door had been locked.
WHILE Halthorpe eyed the floor of the cellar, Rokesbury ordered his men to search through side passages and coal bins. Halthorpe seemed annoyed by this procedure. He remarked that it was unnecessary; and he appeared upon the point of stopping it. However, he let the search go on for half an hour. No clues located, the lawyer ordered all to leave.
Professor Shelby and Twindell retired after the others had gone. They saw to it that the big door was bolted. Halthorpe tramped back toward town. Rokesbury went over to the causeway; but he left two men on guard outside the house.
Dismal silence surrounded the old mansion in the marsh. The stolid workmen tramped back and forth about the building. They did not approach the walls. Hence, after an hour of their search, they did not note that eyes were watching them.
A FIGURE had shrouded itself beside the gray wall. Moonlight had faded; the flashes of the airway beacon did not strike the mansion. After a workman had passed by, the figure moved upward, unseen against the rough stone wall. It was The Shadow.
Passing through a silent room, the weird investigator reached the hallway and descended to the ground floor. He came to the side passage and noiselessly unbolted the cellar door. The Shadow descended in the darkness.
A tiny flashlight twinkled here and there. It moved through passages and into bins. It flashed upon stone walls and rough wood sides of boxlike compartments. The twinkles were intermittent; then, in a secluded spot, the flashlight steadied for a minute.
The light blinked out. A soft laugh shuddered through the hollow confines of a bin. There was motion in the darkness. Scraping sounds, the swish of a cloak. Then complete silence.
As dawn was nearing, the pacing workmen had become lax in their vigil. They were slouching about near the old mansion. They did not observe the blackened figure that moved through the silence of the bog.
Nor did they see The Shadow fade totally from view, as he moved across the solid ground near the house.
His investigations were completed, within and without. Specter of the night, The Shadow had made findings of his own. Blackened walls of the mansion became grayish as dawn appeared upon the marsh.
The figure of The Shadow had disappeared.
CHAPTER XI. SPYING EYES
Two days had elapsed since the murder of Merle Cray. The county prosecutor and the coroner had approved Philo Halthorpe’s theory that the murderer had come to get the detective. It was believed that the killer must have fled along the old road that led to the mansion, there to escape in a waiting automobile. No further trouble was anticipated.