The opening and the closing of the death trap had been a matter of seconds. The Shadow was already a dozen feet up the wall. Still climbing he laughed again as his eyes, peering downward, saw what followed.
The floor, apparent solid, shifted a few inches downward. Smoothly, it slid away beneath the wall on one side of the turret. As it moved, a second floor came into view from the other side.
A duplicate, tiled surface took the place of the first and stopped; then pressed upward into its solid position.
The death trap of Montgard was explained. The reason for the steps up to the inner passage could be answered by the action of this amazing mechanism. The library on one side; the dining room on the other. Both had raised floors.
Beneath the heavy flooring of the other rooms, these tiled surfaces responded to the action of a silent mechanism. The true floor of the turret had been beneath the dining room. Now that it had shifted back into place, the false floor, with its death trap, had slid beneath the library.
The upward and downward leverage enabled the passing floors to pass the stone bottom of the turret. The death trap had been in waiting; its work done, it had been shifted out of sight to be replaced by a solid tiled floor!
No amount of tapping could have revealed the secret. The death pit, covered by the true floor, was beneath a solid structure. This was the ingenious invention of dead Windrop Raleigh. It explained the deaths of his brothers and his cousin. Of late, three other men had been dropped to the grave in which others had perished long ago!
The Shadow’s climb was ended. He had reached the top of the circular tower. His form made a blackened mass against the inner structure of the turret. It edged toward the wall. It disappeared from view. Mysteriously, The Shadow had rendered himself totally invisible!
WITHIN Montgard, Jarvis Raleigh was coming along the center passage toward the door that led to the turret.
Quarley was with him. The master of Montgard stood upon his step while he watched Quarley advance and withdraw the bolts. Stokes Corvin came boldly along the passage from the library. He paused to watch.
Quarley’s face was expressionless. The servant, to all appearances, was about to admit an ordinary visitor. Quarley seemed unperturbed by events that had occurred in the past.
Jarvis Raleigh’s face wore a peculiar smile. Odd in all his actions, the master of Montgard might have considered that facial expression to be a welcome to his guest, Lamont Cranston.
Stokes Corvin was watching anxiously. The young man’s mind was dwelling now on what had happened in the past. Three times had that door opened to reveal no one. Corvin was gazing, tensely, as though he dreaded the unexpected.
The door swung back. Quarley stared blankly. He made no comment. With one accord, Jarvis Raleigh and Stokes Corvin stepped up behind him. The three men gazed toward the outer door with its triple bolts; then stared about the turret.
Once more, mystery had pervaded the circular entry to the house of Montgard. From this spot where three men had vanished separately, a fourth had gone from view. Lamont Cranston had disappeared.
Quarley turned to look at Jarvis Raleigh and Stokes Corvin. The two men were gazing at each other with fixed expressions. Crime had struck once too often. This time the climax was due.
The Shadow, he who had rendered himself invisible, was here to witness the results that were to follow. Three men, all sure that Lamont Cranston had met with foul play, were ready with their challenges!
CHAPTER XX
THE SHOWDOWN
“WHAT are you doing here?” rasped Jarvis Raleigh, as he caught Stokes Corvin’s stare. “Why are you interfering when I come to meet a guest?”
“What guest?” questioned Corvin, firmly. “I see no one in the turret.”
Clenching his fists against his chest, Jarvis Raleigh stalked into the turret. Stokes Corvin followed him. He watched Raleigh stare about the circular room. Quarley stood in the inner doorway, his cadaverous face unflinching.
“Well?” questioned Corvin. “What are you looking for — a ghost?”
“I am looking for my visitor,” snarled Raleigh. “I am looking for Lamont Cranston. Did you admit him, Quarley?”
“Yes, sir,” declared the old servant.
“Strange,” commented Corvin, in an ironical tone, “that you should seek this one man. You did not appear disturbed, Jarvis, when others vanished from this turret.”
“I did not care about them,” retorted Raleigh. “Two were unwelcome; the third was a meddler. I make no inquiries for those who do not concern me.”
“Perhaps,” stated Corvin, dryly, “they violated the order that is inscribed upon the floor. The Egyptian hieroglyphics bear a sinister message, Jarvis.”
“That wording was my father’s work,” snarled the master of Montgard. “I know that he dealt harshly with those who refused to obey his wishes. I leave my enemies to their own fate.”
“Yet you,” asserted Corvin, grimly, “may be held responsible for those who have vanished within this turret.”
Jarvis Raleigh stared sullenly. The full meaning of Stokes Corvin’s statement fell upon him. For a moment, he was tense. Then, tilting back his head, he delivered a cackling laugh.
“You are accusing me of murder?” he questioned. “You are as great a fool as Sidney Richland. He thought, I suppose, that I had done away with Reeves Lockwood and Merton Helmsford. He prattled of the secret that lay here in Montgard — a secret of which I know nothing.”
“Nothing?” questioned Corvin, narrowly.
“Nothing,” repeated Raleigh. “You, perhaps, agreed with Sidney Richland. Perhaps” — Raleigh was speaking cunningly — “you believed that I was responsible for Sidney’s disappearance. Whatever your theory, it must be shattered now. Lamont Cranston was my friend. He was a man upon whose aid I counted to commercialize my great invention. Why should I have sought to do away with Cranston?”
Jarvis Raleigh’s eyes were glaring with their challenge. Stokes Corvin stepped forward. Near the outer door, he stood to face the master of Montgard.
“Answer me!” stormed Jarvis Raleigh. “Why should I have been ill-disposed toward Cranston? This time, Stokes, we are agreed. Where is the man who stood within this turret? Where, I ask you?”
STOKES CORVIN, his jaw firm, was staring past Jarvis Raleigh, toward the inner doorway. His eyes were steady as they gazed at Quarley. Jarvis Raleigh wheeled. He, too, faced the old servant.
“Perhaps,” said Corvin, grimly, “you can tell us something, Quarley. You lived here during Windrop Raleigh’s lifetime. What do you know about the secret of Montgard?”
“Nothing.” Quarley spat the word as he stepped into the turret. His mild manner was ended. “I came after the time when men had disappeared from this house. You are an intruder in my master’s home!”
Stokes Corvin wore a firm smile. He had raised his left hand. He drew back the bolts of the outer door, one by one. He laid his hand upon the knob and turned it.
“Move from that door!” spat Quarley, viciously. “It is not to be opened save at my master’s bidding. Move away, I tell you!”
Quarley sprang forward. Corvin leaped to meet him. Eluding the servant’s grasp, the younger man delivered a punch to Quarley’s body that sent the old servant sprawling on the tiled floor. Stepping back to the outer door, Corvin yanked the barrier inward. Framed in the open doorway, he faced Jarvis Raleigh, who was standing with fists clenched against his bosom.
“There has been enough of treachery,” declared Corvin. “My suspicions have rested upon both you and Quarley. One of you, at least, is responsible for crime. I ask you first. What is your answer?”