The searching eyes were upon Quarley. The old servant lost his somber calm, then regained it. He turned to Jarvis Raleigh.
“Perhaps I made a mistake, sir,” he declared. “I asked Mr. Helmsford to enter. Possibly he failed to do, so. I may have bolted the outer door thinking that he was in the entry.”
Sidney Richland, glancing over his shoulder, saw Stokes Corvin and Barbara Wyldram peering down the passage from the library. They had heard the sound of voices. Inspired by the knowledge that they would be with him, Richland sprang forward and delivered a verbal outburst.
“This is too much!” he exclaimed. “No excuse will do! First Reeves Lockwood — now a detective — both are gone! Where are they? Where are they?”
The man’s voice was rinsing to a nervous scream. Jarvis Raleigh clenched his fists. He snarled as he stormed at Richland.
“You forget yourself, Sidney!” was Raleigh’s fierce rebuke. “The affairs of any visitors do not concern you. One more word and I shall eject you from this refuge!”
Richland subsided. Raleigh glared. But the challenge did not end. Stokes Corvin had arrived, with Barbara Wyldram close beside him. Corvin’s voice was firm as he took up Richland’s cause.
“Perhaps,” said Corvin, coldly addressing Jarvis Raleigh, “you can cower Sidney Richland. He is dependent upon the meager shelter that he gains here. I, however, have no qualms. I am determined to learn the truth. What has become of Reeves Lockwood and Merton Helmsford?”
“I do not know,” snarled Jarvis Raleigh.
“Perhaps you can explain.” Corvin turned to Quarley. “You admitted both visitors. Where did they go?”
“I may have been mistaken.” Quarley had regained his impassiveness. “Perhaps neither of these persons entered the—”
“Twaddle!” interjected Corvin. “We have observed you, Quarley. This is no sell. I considered it a hoax when Lockwood disappeared. Matters are more serious now.”
“The secret of Montgard!” declared Sidney Richland, regaining his tongue. “This is not the first time that people have disappeared within these walls!”
JARVIS RALEIGH raised his hands in protest. All turned to hear what he might say. In a strange tone, the owner of Montgard spoke slowly and precisely.
“Let me assure you,” declared Raleigh, “that I have no idea what has became of either Reeves Lockwood or Merton Helmsford. Both were visitors whom I did not invite to Montgard. What you have said, Sidney, is a matter of pure speculation.
“Montgard, they have said, possesses a secret. There is a legend that certain persons vanished from this house while my father was master here. I hold no briefs for the past.
“Since I have become master of Montgard, I have conducted my affairs in honorable fashion. The secrets of this place — should they exist — are buried so far as I am concerned. Reeves Lockwood insisted that wealth lay somewhere within this house. I refused to search for it.
“I have chosen Montgard as my abode because the place is mine. I am master here and I am concerned only with my experiments and inventions. Let me remind you” — Raleigh’s tone was taking on a sarcastic sneer — “that my term of occupancy commenced after my father’s death. I have no acquaintance with conditions as they existed prior to his demise.”
Standing upon the raised step, Raleigh hunched his form defiantly. His statement had been made; he was ready for objections.
Sidney Richland was about to blurt new words when Stokes Corvin stopped him. Quietly, Corvin turned to Quarley and addressed the servant.
“You, I understand, were in the employ of Windrop Raleigh,” remarked Corvin. “Am I correct in that assumption, Quarley?”
“Yes,” admitted the old servant, sullenly.
“Perhaps,” resumed Corvin, “you were acquainted with certain unusual conditions that existed here in Montgard?”
“No, sir.” Quarley’s tone was steady. “I served my old master as I now serve my new one. I was retained, sir” — Quarley showed a proud smile on his colorless hips — “because I was honest and faithful.”
“There were other servants here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“They were dismissed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“I do not know, sir. I can vouch for none save myself.”
There were footsteps in the passage from the dining room. All stared to see Maria approaching. The woman’s eyes were fixed in wild gaze. Staring toward the turret, Maria mumbled incoherent words. Turning, she walked back along the passage toward the dining room.
“Apparently,” came the quiet tones of Lamont Cranston, “the mystery that exists here can be centered in this turret. Would you object, Mr. Raleigh, to an inspection of this entry?”
Jarvis Raleigh’s eyes were challenging. Yet there was something in Cranston’s demeanor that quieted him. The owner of Montgard slowly shook his head.
“I have no objection,” he declared, “provided that such inspection takes place in my presence.”
SIDNEY RICHLAND looked toward Stokes Corvin. The other man nodded. Together, the two joined Lamont Cranston in the turret. Richland seemed eager to perform a task openly that he had previously done with secret caution. He started to pound against the stone wall. Stokes Corvin noticed him and turned to Quarley.
“A hammer,” ordered Corvin, “and a piece of board.”
Quarley looked to Jarvis Raleigh. The master of Montgard nodded. The servant departed and returned a few minutes later with the required articles.
Ordering Richland to hold the board upright so as to avoid the circular shape of the wall, Corvin began a systematic pounding. His object was to sound the wall without chipping the stone. Solid resistance greeted every stroke of the hammer.
Lamont Cranston watched the process. His eyes saw plainly that nothing was being left undone. The mortared crevices of the irregular stones were proof in themselves that the wall could hide no opening. Yet Corvin and Richland continued their work from a height of six feet down to the floor.
Staring upward, Cranston could see that the higher portions of the wall were also of solid construction. Like a mammoth tube, its perspective causing a tapering effect to the turret itself, this circular chamber formed a solid affair.
Corvin and Richland ended the first part of the task. They came to the floor. Richland held the board upon the tiling. Corvin hammered steadily. As before, solid sounds greeted the work.
As the two men neared the center of the entry, Lamont Cranston stepped toward the outer border. Strolling along, he studied the Egyptian inscription which he had noticed before.
“Quite odd,” came his comment. “the study of Egyptian must be a fascinating subject. What was the meaning of this inscription, Mr. Raleigh? I have forgotten it.”
Standing on his step, Jarvis Raleigh slowly repeated the words which he had evidently committed to memory:
“Ye living men who love life and hate death; ye who will pass by this spot shall sacrifice to me.”
Sidney Richland looked up. His eyes were staring. He faced Jarvis Raleigh and his voice rose to a frenzy.
“So that is the meaning!” he screamed. “True — very true! We have passed by this spot — we who live here as paupers. We have sacrificed — yes, we have sacrificed our independence — to you!”
“That is enough, Sidney!” returned Jarvis Raleigh. “The inscription bears no significance so far as I am concerned. I did not order the laying of those tiles.”
“Your father then!” blurted Richland. “We have sacrificed to the terms of his preposterous will. There were others in the past who sacrificed to him. His brothers; his cousin. They lived, while they sacrificed. When they failed to sacrifice, they died!”