Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 032 - The Ghost of the Manor

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THE GHOST OF THE MANOR
Maxwell Grant
? CHAPTER I. THE STROKE OF TWELVE
? CHAPTER II. WEIRD ECHOES
? CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW DECIDES
? CHAPTER IV. A TRAVELER RETURNS
? CHAPTER V. IN NEWBURY
? CHAPTER VI. WARREN FINDS FRIENDSHIP
? CHAPTER VII. DEATH AT THE MANOR
? CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW KNOWS
? CHAPTER IX. HUMPHREY ACCUSES
? CHAPTER X. AT THE CLUB
? CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW LEARNS
? CHAPTER XII. DEATH IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XIII. CRIME UPON CRIME
? CHAPTER XIV. A VISITOR VANISHES
? CHAPTER XV. WARREN GETS ADVICE
? CHAPTER XVI. THE POLICE THEORY
? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW'S PRESENCE
? CHAPTER XVIII. TERWILIGER TALKS TOO MUCH
? CHAPTER XIX. JASPER CALLS A MEETING
? CHAPTER XX. THE WARNING
? CHAPTER XXI. A KILLER SPEAKS
? CHAPTER XXII. THE SHADOW ORDERS
? CHAPTER XXIII. EVIDENCE OF MURDER
? CHAPTER XXIV. A DEAD MAN TELLS
? CHAPTER XXV. A MURDERER FLEES
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," June 15, 1933.
It guarded the destinies of Delthern Manor, but death struck, unseen,
again and again, baffling all - all but The Shadow, Avenger of Crime.
CHAPTER I. THE STROKE OF TWELVE
AN elderly, stoop-shouldered man was plodding his way along the sidewalk of a quiet avenue. The
darkness of the cloudy night took on a sinister blackness beneath the heavy, creaking boughs of
wind-swept trees that overspread the walk. Only the occasional lights that hung above the center of the
street brought patches of yellow glow.
Off to the left were houses, set back from the avenue. The fronts of these large residences were
obscured from the old man's view by trees upon the lawns. Like the street lights, the windows of the
houses sent occasional gleams that could be seen from the sidewalk; but the hour was late for this
fashionable suburb in the city of Newbury.
Most of the residents here retired before midnight, and it was now half an hour past eleven. The lights
from the houses were chiefly indications that certain members of Newbury's younger set had not returned
home from social functions.
The old man who plodded through the lonely silence had no interest whatever in these indications. As he
hobbled rapidly along, aiding his progress with the taps of a heavy cane, his head was bowed in constant
thought. One patch of light revealed him momentarily.
It showed a thin, expressionless face, a mass of gray hair brimming from beneath a derby hat, and long,
thin hands - one gripping the handle of the cane, the other clutching a bulky portfolio beneath the arm
above it.
The cane tip crunched as it encountered the gravel of a driveway. It tapped again as the sidewalk was
resumed. No lights glimmered from the left, where a high stone wall blocked all view. The old man was
passing the broad front of an old estate which broke the row of newer residences, built tightly for space.
As exactly as if he had counted the taps of the cane, the old man turned left after he had gone a hundred
paces. Instead of encountering the solid wall, he passed directly through a stone archway and followed a
flagstone walk. With head still bowed, he approached the front of a huge gray house that rose like a
ghostly mountain in the darkness of the night.
DIMLY lighted windows showed. They only added to the gloominess of the antiquated structure. The
old man reached steps that led him to the heavy front door. Without looking up, he grasped a huge brass
knocker and pounded upon the barrier.
The door opened. A solemn-faced servant in time-worn livery stood aside and bowed as the old man
entered. Glancing at the servant's face, the visitor chuckled.
"You knew it was me, eh, Wellington?" questioned the old man.
"Yes, Mr. Farman," replied the servant. "You always come by the front door, sir - and always the
knocker - never the bell."
The old man laughed and clapped the servant on the shoulder. There was a friendly gleam in his eyes.
"Years have brought changes to Delthern Manor," he remarked, his voice taking on a sad tone, "but
Horatio Farman still follows his original custom. You are a newcomer, Wellington, compared to me. You
are still young, even with - how many years of service is it, Wellington?"
"Twelve, sir."
"Ah, yes. A brief period, Wellington. Old Hiram served here thirty-five before he died. Ah, well! Time
goes rapidly. I must think of the present - not the past. Is all ready in the reception hall?"
"Yes, sir."
Wellington turned and conducted the visitor toward a pair of sliding doors at the right of the hallway. He
drew one aside, and Horatio Farman hobbled into a huge room that seemed of mammoth proportions
due to the dim illumination.
The vast apartment was a strange relic of the forgotten past. Unlike the hallway outside, it was not
illuminated by electricity. Instead, candles provided the light.
Horatio Farman, with a sigh that resembled satisfaction, surveyed this scene that had withstood the
inroads of modern invention.
The great height of the reception hall was due to a gallery that ran entirely around the room. This was
reached by a circular staircase in the corner. The thick posts of the balcony railing were so close together
that all was darkness between them.
The candles, too, added gloom to the gallery. The waxen tapers were set in brackets that protruded from
the solid portion of the balcony beneath the rail posts.
A full hundred in number, these candles threw a weird light throughout the room. To offset the darkness
in the center, a candelabrum had been placed upon a long table that was in the middle of the room.
Horatio Farman looked toward the table.
There were six chairs there; one at either end, two to each side. The elderly man approached the table
and deposited his portfolio in front of one of the end chairs.
Forgetting his interest in the old room, Farman became suddenly businesslike, and turned to Wellington.
"Who has arrived?" he questioned.
"Mr. Winstead and Mr. Humphrey, sir."
"Jasper?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Marcia is here?"
"In her room, sir."
"Very well," stated Farman. "I shall be ready to meet all of them at twelve o'clock. You may usher them
here at that time."
Wellington bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Horatio Farman stood alone in the vast reception hall. With bowed head he gazed at the portfolio which
he had brought with him. Suddenly, the old man's eyes became quizzical. He had the strange sensation
that someone was watching him.
SWINGING about, Horatio Farman stared toward the balcony. Its blackness was weird. Despite the
fact that he had been in this room often, during his years as attorney for Caleb Delthern, now deceased,
Farman had never overcome an uneasiness that gripped him here.
The flickering candlelight added to the mysterious gloom. At one spot on the balcony, Farman fancied
that he saw a blot of extending blackness.
As he stared, the old attorney caught a momentary glimmer that gave the illusion of burning eyes gazing
from Stygian depths. Those momentary spots disappeared. Farman repressed a shudder.
This room had been old Caleb Delthern's pride. The dead owner of Delthern Manor had been a recluse,
and he had spent many long hours in this gloomy apartment.
It had been said - and Caleb Delthern had believed it - that ancestral ghosts had chosen this hall as their
abiding place; that all the meetings of the Deltherns held within this room were viewed by the shades of
those who had passed before.
Horatio Farman had been too wise to laugh at this story when Caleb Delthern had presented it. The
lawyer had privately classed it as a foolish tale; nevertheless, he was forced to admit that a creepy
atmosphere clung to the place.
It was Caleb Delthern's belief in the supernatural that had caused the old man to provide for the reading
of his will within this hall. That was the business set for tonight.
Farman still stared suspiciously at the gallery. He considered that protruding passage as the strangest
feature of the room. It was a whispering gallery, through which any sound would carry to a remarkable
degree. Caleb Delthern had been proud of the balcony as a place of marvelous acoustic properties.
The old lawyer smiled. He wondered about this huge reception hall. He liked it because of its antiquity;
he dreaded it because of its strangeness. In the past, he had been here only with Caleb Delthern. Now
that his old client was dead, Farman, for the first time, felt a full sensation of foreboding gloom.
His mind reverting to Caleb Delthern's theory of spectral visitants, Farman found himself half believing
that the ghost of the last Delthern might, itself, be here! But as he blinked and saw no further sign of the
glowing spots that he had detected in the darkness, Farman set the whole thought aside as mere fancy
and seated himself at the end of the table. He adjusted a pair of spectacles to his nose.
Extracting papers from his portfolio, the old lawyer began to sort them. Engrossed in his work, he forgot
all about the end of the balcony behind him.
Once again those glowing spots appeared - this time they remained. A watcher in the darkness was
viewing the man below!
Silence reigned. Horatio Farman considered his papers beneath the flickering light of the candelabrum. A
huge grandfather's clock - a massive piece among the furnishings of the room - ticked away so softly that
its mechanical noise did not reach Farman's ears.
It was only when a whirring sound came from the clock that the lawyer looked up, startled. He could
barely see the face of the timepiece, but he did not need to observe the position of the hands. The chime
of the clock followed the whir, and it announced the arrival of midnight.
Musical notes; then twelve, slow, solemn strokes. Horatio Farman, as he instinctively watched the clock,
never thought to turn about. Had he done so, he might have noted that other eyes were watching from the
gallery!
THE twelfth chime sounded. Horatio Farman arose and turned toward the door. A moment later, one of
the sliding barriers moved back. Wellington, in the outer hall, was motioning to a group of persons who
stood beside him.
Two men and a girl entered. Before Wellington could slide the door shut, another man appeared from
beyond, and hastily slipped into the big room.
The sliding door closed. Horatio Farman, stoop-shouldered at the table end, was facing the heirs of
Caleb Delthern.
CHAPTER II. WEIRD ECHOES
WHERE Horatio Farman had been seated alone, a small group now surrounded the table. The old
lawyer, resting back in his chair, surveyed the visitors as he tapped his fingers upon the papers that he
had taken from the portfolio.
Clearing his throat, Farman addressed a man who was seated at the end of the table opposite him. This
individual was nearly fifty years of age; and his cadaverous face and long, broad-bridged nose, showed a
quibbling, discontented nature.
"You, Winstead Delthern," announced Horatio Farman, "now occupy the head of the council table. You
are the eldest survivor of the Delthern family. You occupy the place which formerly belonged to your
grandfather, Caleb Delthern."
After this comment, Farman fumbled with the papers. He made a brief consultation, then removed the
spectacles that he was wearing, and spoke as though from memory.
"The terms of Caleb Delthern's will," stated the lawyer, "are as follows:
"One month following the conference here tonight, the estate shall be divided among all his grandchildren
who may then be living.
"This is a simple proviso, particularly so as the grandchildren are few and easily traceable. Despite the
fact that Caleb Delthern had three children of his own - all now deceased - and lived to the age of
ninety-seven, there are only five grandchildren, and no great-grandchildren.
"You know this fact as well as I; but in order to be precise, I shall name the descendants who are entitled
to share in the apportionment of the estate.
"First, the three sons of Howard Delthern, son of Caleb. Those three sons are Winstead Delthern" -
Farman indicated the man at the other end of the table - "Humphrey Delthern and Jasper Delthern."
Farman completed this statement by pointing twice to his right. He paused to study the men whom he had
indicated.
Humphrey Delthern, seated near Winstead, was the counterpart of his sour-faced brother. Jasper, the
youngest of the three, was a thick-faced man of a more active type, although he bore the Delthern
features.
"Next," continued Farman, "comes the one child of Caleb Delthern's daughter Marcia. I am speaking of
Warren Barringer, who is not present with us tonight."
Farman looked toward a vacant chair as he spoke. Finally, he studied the only woman present - the
quiet-faced girl who sat beside the empty seat.
"The youngest of the heirs," remarked Farman, "is the one child of Caleb Delthern's second daughter.
You, Marcia Wardrop, are the last of the grandchildren.
"I may mention, however" - the lawyer's tone became sentimental - "that your grandfather felt an especial
bond of affection toward you, Marcia, due to the fact that you lived in this house since childhood. In fact"
- Farman's tone now became critical - "you were the only relative whom Caleb Delthern saw during the
final years of his life."
NO one commented as the lawyer paused. Winstead Delthern, sour and expressionless, simply stared at
Farman. Humphrey Delthern copied his brother's glance. Jasper, however, indulged in a smile that added
no pleasantness to his puffy, ugly lips.
"I have enumerated the descendants," resumed Farman. "I shall list them again, in order. Winstead
Delthern, Humphrey Delthern, Jasper Delthern. Then Warren Barringer and Marcia Wardrop. That is the
order of progression, from the eldest to the youngest."
Something in the lawyer's tone brought an anticipative smile to the thin lips of Winstead Delthern, who
was watching opposite. The new head of the family sensed that the mention of age might have an
important bearing on the will. The surmise proved correct.
"The estate of Caleb Delthern," said Farman, "first involves the bestowal of Delthern Manor, this
ancestral home. It is to become the property of the head of the family; to remain so until his death, then to
pass to the next in line. This is in accordance with the Delthern custom. I may remark, in passing, that all
members of the family preserve the right to live in this home."
No comment followed from the listeners. The statement had been expected. All were tensely awaiting the
decision concerning the funds of the estate.
"Caleb Delthern," stated Farman, "left approximately thirteen million dollars. The division of this wealth is
to be made - as I remarked before - among the surviving heirs, one month from tonight.
"To the eldest survivor, one half of the estate. To all others, an equal apportionment of the other half."
Horatio Farman replaced his spectacles upon his nose, and sat back in his chair. He studied the
expressions upon the faces of those who had heard the final statement.
The mention of thirteen millions, Farman knew, had brought exultation to the listeners. The lawyer knew
well what the reaction would be among them, now that the actual division had been stated.
Winstead Delthern was wearing a thin smile. Why not? He was to receive six and one half million
dollars.
Humphrey Delthern, however, was glowering. Jasper Delthern showed a sneer. Farman knew the
reason.
Instead of sharing equally with all, or having provisions made as second and third in line, these two men
would each gain only one eighth of the total wealth. Something over a million and a half would be the
individual share that each would receive.
Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. The girl displayed none of the resentment evidenced
by Humphrey and Jasper. She was satisfied with this ample legacy. But Farman knew Humphrey and
Jasper for what they were - men who wanted all that they could gain.
"LET me ask you a question, Farman," blurted Humphrey suddenly. "When and how does this division
take place - and why the delay?"
"I shall answer that," returned the lawyer, referring to a paper. "All the heirs must assemble here again -
one month from tonight. They must be present to be eligible. The time provision is to allow liquidation of
the estate - a matter which is in my hands.
"I shall, however, follow the advice of Winstead Delthern in my activities. There are many provisions to
be discussed in detail. I have merely given those which express the exact apportionment -"
"Just a minute," interrupted Jasper, in a gruff voice. "You sent word to me that I would have to be here at
midnight, tonight. You said it was important. What if I had not been here?"
"I summoned you," returned Farman quietly, "to represent your own interest. I sent the same word to all
the other heirs. I cannot see where your supposition of absence has any bearing upon the terms of the
will."
"Did it specifically mention that I must be here?" persisted Jasper.
With an annoyed glance, Farman picked up a document and read:
"I, Caleb Delthern, being sound in mind, do hereby declare to my lawful heirs here assembled that one
month from this time and date they shall again assemble to be granted final apportionment of my estate.
To the oldest heir, one half of the full apportionment; to the remaining heirs an equal division of the
remainder -"
"Wait a minute!" blurted Jasper. "That's what you should have done in the first place - given us a reading
of the document. It is addressed to the heirs here assembled, isn't it?"
"Exactly," retorted Farman. "That is why I made it urgent for you to be here."
"Then," said Jasper shrewdly, "if I hadn't shown up, I would have been out. Well, I'm here, so I'm in. But
Warren Barringer isn't here. That lets him out. The split is between Humphrey, Marcia, and myself."
Farman rose to his feet and pounded the table indignantly. The lights in the candelabrum flickered, and
gobs of wax dropped upon the polished table.
"Outrageous!" exclaimed the lawyer. "Outrageous! You have misconstrued the meaning of the will
entirely!"
"To my lawful heirs here assembled," mocked Jasper, repeating the phraseology of the document.
Humphrey Delthern had been eying Jasper suspiciously. It was plain that there was no brotherly love
between them. But now, with the point at issue, a spreading grin appeared upon Humphrey's lips.
"Jasper is right," argued Humphrey to Farman. "Warren Barringer has failed to appear. He loses his right
to share in the estate."
Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw the disdain on the girl's face as she looked at
her wrangling, avaricious cousins. Here was one supporter. Farman studied Winstead Delthern; then
made his appeal to the new head of the family.
"The settlement of the estate," declared Farman, "comes one month from tonight. The time element was
allowed so that all relatives could arrive after being summoned. I called you all, as was provided, and
expected all to be present if possible.
"In the case of Warren Barringer, presence was impossible. Caleb Delthern died less than two weeks
ago. I cabled Warren Barringer in Hongkong. He is on his way home. He authorized a proxy, by cable.
"I received word from a man in New York, named Lamont Cranston. He stated that Warren Barringer
had requested him to appear as the proxy. I replied that this first meeting would be purely a preliminary
one, and advised Cranston that a proxy was unnecessary, although he might attend this meeting if he
chose to do so. I promised that I would sustain Warren Barringer's rights."
"A proxy!" rasped Humphrey Delthern. "Preposterous! The truth is self-evident, Farman. Warren
Barringer loses his rights by not being here tonight."
IT was apparent that Humphrey and Jasper both figured the million and a half that they might usurp as
being far more important than a spirit of fair play. Horatio Farman, however, met Humphrey's challenge
with promptitude.
"You are not the one to make a decision," remarked the lawyer sternly. "You forget that I am the
administrator of the estate.
"If any one of the heirs has a right to demand such an interpretation of the will, it is Winstead Delthern.
He is the head of the house; furthermore" - Farman's note was ironical - "he has no selfish interest
involved, as his proportion of the estate is already established. I leave it to him, therefore, to agree with
me."
This statement shifted the attack. Both Humphrey Delthern and Jasper swung to Winstead.
Horatio Farman suddenly realized his mistake. Neither Winstead nor Humphrey were on good terms
with their brother Jasper, but their own sour dispositions were somewhat mutual. There was every reason
why Winstead would favor brother Humphrey in preference to an unknown cousin, Warren Barringer.
The oldest of the Deltherns held up his hand for quiet. He studied the situation thoughtfully. The lights
flickered throughout this gloomy room, and showed the faces in grotesque light.
Winstead was pondering; Humphrey and Jasper were silently gloating; Marcia Wardrop was biting her
lip in indignation. Horatio Farman looked on with anxiety. He expected the question that was coming.
"How much weight," questioned Winstead Delthern, "will my decision carry?"
"A great deal," admitted Horatio Farman frankly. "The documents which your grandfather left place
considerable authority in the hands of the eldest survivor. They also stipulate that all possible heirs be
decided upon at this meeting."
"Then if I decide in favor of Warren Barringer," declared Winstead, "there can be no further question."
"None at all."
"And if I decide against him?"
"It will be difficult for him to prove his case."
Humphrey Delthern shot a significant glance at his chief brother. Horatio Farman saw that Winstead was
about to weaken. The lawyer ejaculated a quick warning.
"Remember, Winstead!" he exclaimed. "Your grandfather placed great trust in you as the eldest of the
Deltherns. You are in the home that was his - in the hall where he believed his fathers dwell! This meeting
is held here tonight because Caleb Delthern actually believed that he would attend it in spirit if not in
flesh!"
The lawyer's words sounded impressive amid the flickering light of the gloomy room. Winstead Delthern
paled noticeably. Humphrey's eyes became cold. Jasper, alone, broke the tension with an ugly chuckle.
The sound made Humphrey smile.
"Ghosts," he said to Winstead. "have no part in this procedure. We await your opinion, brother. Say,
rather, your decision."
WINSTEAD DELTHERN cleared his throat. He nodded, and it was plain which way he intended to
turn. His own rights safe, he was ready to favor Humphrey's claim.
"Farman," declared Winstead coldly, "I can see but one possible decision. I shall make it with emphasis.
Warren Barringer's rights are not -"
The slow tones ended. Winstead Delthern's face became frozen. Words stopped upon his lips as a
strange, uncanny sound came to his ears.
The others heard it also - a rising sigh that seemed to spring from the very air of the room. While every
person in that great room sat as solid as a statue, the weird sound broke into a mighty shudder.
Then, from unseen lips, came the sound of an eerie laugh that chilled the listeners. The sinister mirth broke
like a crashing wave. The candle flames seemed to waver as the burst of ghostly mockery swept through
the gloomy hall.
As the laugh died, weird echoes took up the cry. The sardonic tones reverberated from the very walls of
the room, coming in breaking waves that might well be the merriment of a horde of invisible demons.
A myriad of gasping taunts resounded; then, through the gloom came the final touch - strange sibilant
gibes that swept along the passages of the whispering gallery.
Faces filled with frozen fear surrounded the table in the center of the room. None of the persons
assembled there dared move. Stark terror ruled.
Those weird echoes had come as the laugh of a ghost!
CHAPTER III. THE SHADOW DECIDES
MINUTES after that ghoulish mirth had swept through the great reception hall of Delthern Manor,
Horatio Farman spoke. The lawyer, despite the pangs of chilling fear that had swept over him, was the
first to regain his voice. It was fitting that he should restore calm to the gathering, for it was he who had
invoked this ghostly aid.
"Winstead Delthern," spoke Farman calmly, despite the trembling of his lips, "we are still waiting the
conclusion of your remarks regarding Warren Barringer."
Winstead Delthern held up his hands pathetically. He was quivering from terror. He could not speak. He
turned toward Humphrey on his left. In his brother's face he saw the same unmistakable fright. Winstead
buried his face in his hands.
Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw that the girl was trying to be brave, despite
the pallor on her countenance. The lawyer turned to Jasper Delthern.
Here, again, Farman saw a face that betrayed fear. Yet, in Jasper's eyes was the gleam of challenge.
Jasper caught Farman's glance and laughed huskily.
"What is this?" he growled. "Some trick you're playing on us, Farman?"
Winstead Delthern heard the words. He groped his way to his feet. Clinging to the table, he faced his
youngest brother and tensely answered Jasper's words.
"Do not mock the dead!" gasped Winstead. "Be silent, Jasper! Be silent!"
The ugly smile remained upon Jasper's lips, but the youngest Delthern made no reply. Winstead, eyes
staring and lips trembling, spoke pitifully.
"It was the voice of the dead!" he asserted. "For years - for decades - they have said that the spirits of
our fathers met, invisible, within this very hall. My grandfather believed it; but I was a doubter. I confess
it.
"Now, I believe. I know why it is that every Delthern, upon his deathbed, has ordered his heirs to meet in
this great hall. I, too, shall follow that example. There is no need to fear the shades of those who have
gone before us, so long as we honor their memory and their wishes."
Winstead Delthern paused impressively. Horatio Farman was amazed at the light which shone in the
speaker's eyes. He noted that Humphrey and Marcia - even Jasper, to a degree - were listening
solemnly.
"You ask me," declared Winstead, in a voice now steady, "to conclude my statement regarding Warren
Barringer. I recall the words that I was saying when the strange phenomenon occurred; that weird
manifestation that we all heard. I shall complete my statement now.
"Warren Barringer's rights are not to be disregarded! He - like my brothers and my cousin Marcia - is a
lawful heir to his proper portion. I sustain your opinion, Farman. My decision is final!"
His words ended, Winstead Delthern slumped back into his chair and rested his face between his hands.
He stared directly at Farman, who nodded his accord.
"Our business is finished," asserted the lawyer, in a quiet tone. "Our meeting is ended. One month from
tonight, we shall assemble again to arrange the final settlement of Caleb Delthern's will."
ONE by one, the heirs rose unsteadily from the table. Horatio Farman walked steadily to the door and
drew it open. Wellington approached from the outer hall. The glow of electric lights gave new courage to
the group.
Winstead Delthern, with the air of a man who has discharged a momentous duty, turned to the others and
announced that he intended to take up his residence in Delthern Manor.
"Such is the provision of the will," he said. "I shall carry out every term to the letter. You, Marcia, intend
to remain here?"
The girl nodded.
"You, Humphrey?"
The second of the Delthern brothers paused thoughtfully. He glanced cautiously about the huge reception
hall; then stared toward Winstead.
"I shall live here," he agreed. "It - it may be my duty also."
"Jasper?" questioned Winstead.
"Live here?" responded the youngest brother, with a forced laugh. "Not a bit of it! Say - I'm glad that you
and Humphrey are between me and the top. I don't want to hang out in this old place. The club will be all
right for me."
"That is your privilege," declared Winstead, in a cold tone. "I am leaving now. I shall return to occupy this
home tomorrow."
Winstead stalked across the outer hall; Humphrey followed him. Horatio Farman was talking with Marcia
Wardrop. Jasper Delthern stood by the door of the reception hall, watching the departure of his
brothers.
As soon as the elder Deltherns were gone, Jasper swung toward the lawyer.
摘要：

THEGHOSTOFTHEMANORMaxwellGrant?CHAPTERI.THESTROKEOFTWELVE?CHAPTERII.WEIRDECHOES?CHAPTERIII.THESHADOWDECIDES?CHAPTERIV.ATRAVELERRETURNS?CHAPTERV.INNEWBURY?CHAPTERVI.WARRENFINDSFRIENDSHIP?CHAPTERVII.DEATHATTHEMANOR?CHAPTERVIII.THESHADOWKNOWS?CHAPTERIX.HUMPHREYACCUSES?CHAPTERX.ATTHECLUB?CHAPTERXI.THESH...

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