“When I came to my senses, I was lying on the ground above the cabin — in the fringe of the woods. A man was leaning over me. He was the fellow whom I had first knocked out. My beard — my hat — my coat— all were gone.
“The man whom I had first attacked proved to be a friend. He called me by name. Somehow, he seemed to know much about my visits to Twindell. He gave his name as Vincent; and he helped me up the mountain to the shack beneath the airway beacon.”
“And you remained there?” asked Halthorpe.
“Until to-night,” replied Austin.
“When you returned to the cabin,” declared Rokesbury.
“No,” said Austin. “I stayed in the beacon shack until nearly ten o’clock. Then Vincent took me to his car.
He drove me down and around the mountain, into the town of Rensdale. He told me that it was time my story should be known.”
“Why?” questioned Halthorpe.
“I do not know,” admitted Austin. “Nor did Vincent. He seemed to be acting under the orders of some hidden chief, whom I knew only as the superhuman being who had pitched me from the window of the cabin.
“Vincent told me that he had learned of a New York reporter staying at the Hotel Rensdale. He believed the man’s name was Burke. He told me that this reporter would certainly listen to my story; that he might be keen enough to suggest a course of action. So I found Burke. My story convinced him. He believed that it would convince others. So we came out here.”
A PAUSE followed Austin Culeth’s speech. The heir’s story was ended. Austin looked from man to man, again seeking to study their expressions. Conviction was registered upon all faces with one exception.
Philo Halthorpe still looked dubious.
“Your story, Austin,” stated the lawyer, “has the semblance of truth. But it does not account for the murders of Lundig and Cray. Wait! Do not interrupt me!” Austin had been about to speak. “I know that we have only circumstantial evidence to link those deaths with you, as the squatter on the hill.
“But one flaw in a story” — Halthorpe smiled harshly — “leaves it open to doubt throughout. You say that you were the Dalwar — that is, the pretended Dalwar — and you have accounted for all your actions. But your story is not complete. Tell us, Austin, why did you fail to state that you entered the cabin to-night; that you came down through the marsh, once more the bearded squatter—”
“I performed no such act!” exclaimed Austin.
“Then how do you account for these?” quizzed Halthorpe, picking up the hat and beard that lay upon the table. “Two deputies are here to testify that you came upon them in the cabin. One of Rokesbury’s workmen found these on the fringe of the marsh, just outside this house.”
Austin Culeth stared. For the first time, he noticed the incriminating garments. His puzzled, hunted expression proved that he recognized them as the very articles that he had worn while living in the cabin.
“I did not wear those to-night!” exclaimed the heir. “I lost them, the night of the fight in the cabin. They are mine; but I did not wear them to-night.”
“Then who did?” demanded Halthorpe.
“I can answer that question,” came a quiet voice. The lawyer wheeled. He stared at Professor Darwin Shelby, who had risen. “Austin Culeth is correct. Some one else wore that garb to-night.”
“Do you know the man?” snarled Halthorpe.
“Yes,” replied the professor, blinking as he smiled mildly. “I was the man who wore them.”
CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW SPEAKS
THIS had been a night of surprises. One startling development had followed another. The unexpected statement of Professor Darwin Shelby added to the series. Every one — Philo Halthorpe included — was at a total loss.
“My story is a short one,” declared Shelby, holding the floor without interruption. “I must confess that I behaved in an eccentric manner, but” — he paused to smile as he surveyed the group — “I do not think that my behavior is more erratic than searching a bogland for the ignis fatuus, or taking long, lonely tramps across the country after sunset.”
Philo Halthorpe and Wildemar Brent caught the inference. They sat silent while the professor continued.
“I am a bit of a criminologist,” he declared. “I keep that fact quite to myself, as a rule. However, the strange crimes that occurred within this mansion interested me deeply; particularly because I had observed them at close range.
“To-night, while tramping through the bogland, the chill troubled me even though its intensity had lessened. I chanced to find myself at the border of the hillside. I resolved to stroll to higher ground, to escape the cold dampness.
“That led me to think of the squatter’s cabin. I presumed that these guards would have a fire there. So I ascended the hill, intending to enter the cabin. As I neared the building, however, I realized that I might be mistaken for an intruder instead of a friend who had come for temporary warmth.
“I paused near the rear of the cabin. I turned my electric lantern on the ground. There I spied a slight depression in the ground; it went beneath the cabin. Though it was too small for a person to enter, I decided to learn if it had a use. I approached with my torch. I spied black cloth beneath the frame house. Searching closer, I uncovered these.”
The professor paused to indicate the disguise that had once been worn by Austin Culeth. He picked up the beard, held it before his face and dropped it.
“I realized,” said the bespectacled scientist, “that the supposed Dalwar had been an impostor. I wondered if he were still in the vicinity. Perhaps he might be spying in some other character. I wondered what the psychological effect would be upon him should definite evidence be established that he had returned to his cabin.
“Brent and I go armed through the marsh. I had a revolver with me. Seized by a mad-cap mood, I donned the disguise. I wanted to witness the effect that it would produce. I thought of the men in the cabin; I entered by the door. The result was startling; so much so, that I feared the immediate consequences.
“The guards were ready to leap for their rifles. I was forced to seize the weapons. Realizing that I was playing a false character, I utilized all my strength to give a display of the power that the squatter was reputed to possess. I demolished the weapons.”
A PAUSE. One of the deputies growled in recollection of the scene in the cabin.
“And how he did it!” muttered the officer. “Boy! He must have been a circus strong man when he was a kid.”
“Then I hastened from the cabin,” resumed the professor. “I seized my lantern, which I had left outside. I sped down the hill to the marsh. I picked my way through the quagmire. I was a bit excited; more so than I had supposed. For I was on the point of stalking into this house, beard and all.
“Realizing that such a course would create consternation, I paused on the brink of the morass and doffed the disguise. I placed the garments and the beard beneath a convenient bush. Then I came to the door and rang the bell. Miss Brent admitted me. That concludes the story.”
The professor had risen while speaking. He had strolled past Nicholas Rokesbury. Approaching Austin Culeth, he extended his hand. The young man received it warmly.
“I, for one,” declared the professor, “believe in your sincerity. I hope that my explanation of to-night’s occurrence will solve this trifling dilemma that has been thrust upon you.”
“It has!” cried Austin. “That settles matters, Mr. Halthorpe. You cannot doubt me now. But there is still a question that must be answered. Hector Lundig was slain; so was Merle Cray. I believe the murderer is still near Rensdale. In fact” — the heir’s eyes were flashing — “he has every reason to be among us. Who could he be?”