Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 010 - Hands in the Dark

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HANDS IN THE DARK
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I
? CHAPTER II. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
? CHAPTER III. SHADOWS OF NIGHT
? CHAPTER IV. HODGSON INTERFERES
? CHAPTER V. MURDERERS PLOT
? CHAPTER VI. THE THIRD KILLER
? CHAPTER VII. THE PAPER CLEW
? CHAPTER VIII. TELLTALE MARKS
? CHAPTER IX. THE VAULT OF DOOM
? CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW OF LIFE
? CHAPTER XI. AN APPOINTMENT IS MADE
? CHAPTER XII. AT THE COBALT CLUB
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S BATTLE
? CHAPTER XIV. THE MENACE OF THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XV. THE SHADOW PLANS
? CHAPTER XVI. THE TRAP IS LAID
? CHAPTER XVII. INTO THE TRAP
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
? CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW'S DISCOVERY
? CHAPTER XX. THE SHADOW ARRIVES
? CHAPTER XXI. SPOILS TO THE VICTORS
? CHAPTER XXII. AT HEADQUARTERS
? CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW'S JUSTICE
CHAPTER I
The strange characters of the cryptic message were a blood red hue. They were vivid and mysterious
beneath the oval light of the desk lamp.
"A dead man's message!"
Reynold Barker looked about him as he spoke. The silence of his gloomy surroundings worried him. His
fingers trembled. The paper crinkled. Even that slight sound was startling.
The dark-paneled walls of the room were oppressive to Reynold Barker. He felt that he was in their grip;
that he could never leave them. He was in Theodore Galvin's study—the spot that had been his goal for
seven days. He had found the paper in the secret drawer of the desk—the exact place where Galvin had
told him it would be. But the silence of this sullen chamber was maddening. It brought back recollections
of those dying eyes—Galvin's eyes.
Barker steadied his nerves with mighty effort. He tried to laugh. It was excitement, he told himself.
Shakiness following those long airplane hops from South America. He stared at the paper. His lips forced
a smile as he comprehended its meaning.
A sudden gurgle came from Barker's throat. Hands from the dark had gripped his throat! He dropped
the paper and sought to break the throttling hold. He could not. His own hands were feeble. The
clutching fingers tightened— choking, choking, choking! Reynold Barker's brain was whirling. His eyes
were bulging, but unseeing. He heard a roaring in his ears—louder than the thrum of an airplane motor.
Then came blackness, sickening blackness, more terrible than the shadowy darkness of that sinister
room! Again, the strangling hands were tightening...
CHAPTER II. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
BOB GALVIN looked around the room and smiled. He remembered the place from his boyhood—this
quaint old room, with its dark, oak-paneled walls.
He still felt a slight trace of the awe that had gripped him here, for this had been his uncle's room—the
uncle whom Bob remembered as a stern, gray, grim-faced man.
"Does it remind you of old times, sir?"
The question came from Hodgson, the old servant. Hodgson had been Theodore Galvin's attendant for
many years. To Bob, he seemed like a part of this old room.
"Yes," replied Bob, "it does. So do you, Hodgson. You're just the same as you were—why, it must be
nearly twenty years ago!"
The servant nodded.
"Close to that since you left here, sir. I'm not the same as I was then, sir. I can't see the way I did once.
My eyes"—he shook his head sadly—"are very poor, sir. It seems like I feel my way about the house,
Mr. Bob. I know the place so well -"
But Bob Galvin wasn't listening. Instead, he stiffened as his eyes, turning toward the heavy casement
window, fixed themselves for a moment on a strange form outside.
It was a face, shrouded in the shadows. The lower part of the face was hidden in blackness, but the
piercing eyes seemed to be studying Bob's own features. Bob only had a chance to see the face an
instant— then it was gone.
The old butler sensed that something was wrong. He turned toward Bob.
"What—what was it, sir," he stammered. "Did you feel suddenly— suddenly ill?"
"No—a face! Out the window! Peering in at me! Did you see it, too, Hodgson?"
Then, Bob realized that Hodgson had indeed spoken the truth when he said he was nearly blind. The old
man's stonelike, groping expression told that. Hodgson shook his head.
"No, sir. It might have been something caught in those branches that sway against the window. There's a
single tree in the garden out there."
Bob pushed back his chair and crossed the room to the window. He unfastened the latch and opened the
casement. Only the branches of the lone tree swayed mournfully against the casement in the night wind.
Nothing more.
Bob bolted the casement again, and shook his head, his lips compressed.
"Strange—strange," he muttered. "I could have sworn some one was out there, spying on me."
Then he turned again to Hodgson. "Did my uncle have any—enemies, Hodgson? Men who wanted his
ruin—his life, perhaps?"
"No, sir. Not that I know of, sir."
"Well—have you noticed anything peculiar about the old place, Hodgson? Is—is Miss Betty all right?"
The old man moistened his lips and hesitated. Then he spoke.
"EVERYTHING is just as it used to be, sir. When Mr. Galvin went away, he closed the house. I went
out to the country house with Miss Betty. We were there when we learned that your uncle had died.
"I came in and opened the place, sir, when I knew that you were coming home. Miss Betty is still in the
country. She said she would wait until you arrived."
"I am going to phone her shortly."
"She will be glad to hear from you, sir. She has been waiting there several days now.
"I am glad that I came in alone, sir. I wouldn't have wanted her to see what I found—in this room!"
"What was that?" Bob's interest was evident.
"A dead man, sir! He was lying right where you are standing—by the desk."
"A dead man! Then there was something! Who was he?"
"The police have not learned his name, sir," Hodgson continued. "Perkins, the chauffeur, was with me
when I stumbled on the body. The detectives were sure the man was a thief."
"What killed him? Was he shot?"
"He was strangled, sir. He must have been dead for two or three days when we discovered him.
"We couldn't tell how he came in—all the doors were locked, and the shutters were closed and barred.
The detectives think he must have had a key that opened the little side door.
"They are sure he came here with another man—both of them probably thieves -"
"Ah, I understand," interrupted Bob. "One killed the other and escaped. What could they have been
after, Hodgson?"
"I can't imagine, sir," the servant said. "There was nothing here of value. We could find nothing missing,
sir.
"The detectives think that one man had a grudge against the other. That he brought him here to kill him -"
Bob's face gleamed with understanding.
"I see their idea!" he exclaimed. "The murderer told his pal this was a place worth cracking. Then, when
they got in here, he strangled him. No noise— plenty of time to get away -"
"That's just it, sir," replied Hodgson, admiringly. "That's just what the inspector said. There was quite a
piece in the paper about it, sir; but it was while you were still on the boat, coming home -"
THE dull ring of the doorbell came as an interruption. With slow, faltering steps, Hodgson left the room
to answer.
Bob Galvin watched the old servant as he passed into the gloomy hall. Hodgson seemed truly to be
feeling his way through this old, somber house.
Two minutes passed. The servant returned and almost tottered into the room.
"Mr. Mallory is here, sir," he said.
Bob advanced to greet Hiram Mallory. Mallory had been one of his uncle's oldest friends. Bob
recognized him immediately—a quiet, kindly-faced old gentleman who still bore himself with youthful
vigor.
"Most regrettable, your uncle's death," said Mallory, when he and Bob were seated at the flat-topped
desk. "It was a great mistake for him to travel so far away in his state of health. Asuncion, Paraguay, still
has its yellow fever at times—and it brought your uncle's death, Robert."
"Whatever did he go for?" asked Bob.
"He was depressed, Robert. His real estate business here in New York was a large one, and successful,
but recent unwise investments have lost him a great deal of money. I fear there is little or nothing left of
the estate."
Bob's face grew thoughtful, "I heard from him very seldom, you know. I suppose South Africa, where
I've lived for the past twenty years, made it seem to him as if I was in another world.
"So you think the estate is in bad shape?"
"I'm afraid so. Have you seen the will yet?"
Bob shook his head. "I received a letter from the lawyers," he said. "Whatever's left is to be shared by
myself and Betty Mandell, my uncle's ward. She's lived with my uncle since she was a child."
Mallory smiled a wry smile. "That means," he said, "that she will be virtually penniless. She will have no
home, and what money she receives cannot last long."
"She needn't worry," smiled Bob. "I've done well in South Africa, Mr. Mallory. She'll live here, as she's
always done. And that reminds me, sir, I have to call her. Pardon me for a few minutes."
Bob consulted a card he drew from his pocket and reached for the desk phone. In a few moments,
Mallory smiled again, observing the beam of happiness on Bob's face as he spoke.
"Yes, Betty," Bob was saying, "this is Bob... I'm glad to hear your voice, too... A good many years since
we've seen each other... You are coming in to-morrow? That's great... No, Betty, you mustn't talk that
way. This is your home, as it has always been... I'll see you to-morrow, then? Wonderful!"
After the phone call, Bob chatted with his uncle's old friend. He was glad to meet some one in New
York.
Bob had left, when only a youth, to seek his fortune in South Africa, where his father, Theodore Galvin's
brother, had left him some property.
He told Mallory of his adventures there. He brought out papers from his suitcase, and showed them to
his uncle's old friend. The papers were piled upon the desk by the time their conversation had ended.
Hiram Mallory arose. He held out his hand.
"You have done well, Robert," he said. "I only regret that your uncle did not live to see you and talk with
you as I have. He would have been delighted to learn of your success.
"He was a broken man when he went away, Robert. He wanted to go to some distant country, where he
could relieve his mind from all his worries.
"He was old, Robert, but I believe that he would have recuperated some of his losses if he had returned.
But that was not to be -"
Mallory paused speculatively as he stood by the doorway. He glanced at his watch and smiled at the
lateness of the hour.
"Half past eleven," he said. "I am usually in bed by ten o'clock. I must go. I shall see you again, Robert."
"Good night," replied Bob. "I'm certainly glad you dropped in, Mr. Mallory. I'll turn in myself—after I've
gone over those papers on the desk. That will mean an hour's work, at least."
Alone, in the gloom of the oak-paneled room, Bob lost himself in the work before him.
He had come away from South Africa rather hurriedly; but on the boat he had attended to all details. He
had only these final matters left. As soon as they were finished, there would be no reason for him to
worry about the affairs that he had left.
Bob worked quickly. It required less time than he had anticipated. The old clock in the hallway was
striking twelve when he completed his labors.
His own business ended, Bob began to study some documents that Hodgson had laid on the desk. They
referred to his uncle's affairs, but were of minor importance.
While Bob was considering these, he became conscious of a slight noise behind him. He swung in his
swivel chair, expecting to see Hodgson.
A startled gasp came from Bob's lips as he found himself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.
The gun was held by a man who wore a dark overcoat and a black cap. The stranger's face was partly
obscured by the collar of his coat. The peak of his cap hid his eyes.
"No noise!" warned a low, growling voice. "Put up your hands!"
Bob obeyed, wondering. He remembered the burglary that Hodgson had mentioned.
But this was a more daring entry—and its futility was perplexing. There was nothing of value here.
Neither did Bob have any great amount of money on his person.
He arose at a command from the man who held the pistol. The stranger's left hand tapped Bob's pockets
in search of a weapon, but none was there.
"Put on your hat and coat," the man ordered, motioning toward the corner. Bob followed instructions.
The stranger was beside Bob now.
"You're coming with me," he said in a low voice. "No funny business. Understand? Don't try to tip off
that old guy that works for you. Tell him you're going out. Get me?"
Bob nodded. Then he was being urged forward. They entered the hallway. Bob could feel the pressure
of the automatic pressed against his side.
They encountered Hodgson in the dimly lighted hall.
"Are you going out with Mr. Mallory, sir?" questioned the old servant.
The gun nudged Bob. He realized that Hodgson did not know that Mallory had departed half an hour
before.
The old servant's poor eyes could distinguish but the forms of two men. The blankness of his gaze
indicated that Hodgson was simply assuming the other man's identity.
"Yes," said Bob huskily, "I'm going out for a while, Hodgson."
"You have the key with you, sir?"
"Yes, Hodgson."
"All right, sir. Shall I wait up?"
Bob hesitated. If Hodgson remained waiting for him, it might be to his advantage. The old servant would
suspect something wrong if he did not return.
"You might do that, Hodgson," he said.
The man with the gun made no comment. Bob smiled as he was nudged along the hall. His ruse had
worked. Hodgson would be waiting.
The old servant moved hurriedly ahead of them. He opened the door and stood by the darkened
vestibule, while Bob Galvin and his captor walked out into the night.
CHAPTER III. SHADOWS OF NIGHT
BETTY MANDELL stared across the table. Her gaze was fixed upon Bob Galvin's face. It seemed
sallow in the dim light of the dining room. Two candles on the center of the table furnished the only
illumination.
"What's the matter?" demanded the man, as he noticed the girl's stare.
"Nothing, Bob," replied Betty. "It's just—well, you look so different from what I expected you to be."
"Yeah?" Bob's voice seemed rather sour. "What's the matter with me? Don't you like my looks?"
"It's not that, Bob," said Betty hastily. "I like you, and I'll always like you, Bob. It's just that
you're—well—so different from the way I pictured you."
The man laughed good humoredly.
"You haven't seen me since we were kids," he said.
"I've seen your picture," reminded Betty. "The one you sent me two years ago—with one of those
wonderful letters that you know how to write."
"That's so. I sent you my picture. But photographs sometimes fool you, Betty. Maybe I've changed a bit,
too. People say I've been changing in appearance."
"I guess that explains it, Bob. But when I heard your voice on the telephone last night, it was as if I could
see you while you were talking. But now—well—it all seems different."
"You didn't see me last night. That was just your imagination."
"I didn't imagine I heard your voice! That's different now, Bob! When I came in this afternoon, I was
amazed the moment that I heard you speak."
"A voice never sounds right over the telephone."
"That must be it, Bob," Betty consented, then went on.
"Don't think I'm disappointed. I'm just bewildered, that's all. I'm just trying to get used to you. You
understand, don't you?"
THE man arose and walked around the table. He patted the girl on the back. Somehow the action
annoyed Betty, although she made no sign.
"You've been worried, little girl," said Bob. "That's all. Poor old uncle dying. It's a hard blow for both of
us.
"Maybe you oughtn't to stay in this old house too much. Why don't you take a trip down to Bermuda, or
somewhere like that?"
"I don't have the money, Bob," said Betty frankly.
"You've got it coming to you from the estate, haven't you?"
"I'm afraid there isn't going to be much, Bob."
"Don't worry about that. There'll be plenty. I've got plenty of money, Betty. I'll take care of the trip."
The girl shook her head.
"I wouldn't want you to do that, Bob -"
"It's all right with me, Betty."
"Perhaps, later. After things are more settled. I'd rather stay here right now, Bob. That is, if you want me
to -"
"Of course I want you here! Didn't I tell you so last night?"
Betty nodded.
"All right," said Bob. "That settles it!"
Hodgson entered.
"Gentleman to see you, sir," he said to Bob.
"What's his name?" asked Bob.
"He didn't tell me, sir."
"Well, I'll see him, anyway. Take him in the study."
"All right, sir."
Betty looked at Hodgson as the man spoke. She observed a strange expression on the old servant's face.
He was staring at Bob Galvin as though his dim eyes were trying to see the young man's face more
closely.
The old servant turned and left the room.
"I'll be back later," declared Bob as he left for the study.
Betty remained in the candle-lighted room. Theodore Galvin had always liked candlelight. The dining
room had never been equipped with electric lights. Even in the other parts of the house, modern
illumination was sparse.
The gloom was oppressive to Betty; but it was not because of the flickering candles alone. She was really
disappointed in Bob Galvin, although she had tried to deny that fact.
Bob had greeted her upon her arrival in New York; but there had been something forced about his
manner. Somehow, she did not trust him.
Yet, when he had spoken over the telephone the night before, the sincerity of his voice had been
impressive. It was only the memory of that conversation that reconciled her to the man who varied so
from her expectations.
Hodgson was back. The old man was keen, despite his poor vision. He sensed the melancholy that had
come over the girl.
"What's the matter, Miss Betty?" he asked.
"Nothing, Hodgson."
"Is it Mr. Bob?"
"Yes," admitted Betty. "He's different from the Bob Galvin that I expected. I can't explain it, Hodgson,
but -"
"You are right, Miss Betty," said the servant, in a low voice. "He is different—different since last night!"
"Since last night!"
"Yes, ma'am. He went out with Mr. Mallory. That was about midnight. He came back an hour later, and
I spoke to him when he came in. He didn't say anything. He just went up to his room.
"To-day, when he spoke to me, he seemed changed. There was a difference in his voice, Miss Betty."
The old servant's words were perplexing.
Why had Bob Galvin gone out late—with Mallory, of all persons? Perhaps Hodgson was mistaken about
Mallory. But he could not be mistaken about Bob.
Who was the visitor here to-night?
Betty wondered. She rose from the table and went out into the hall. There she encountered Bob Galvin
and another man coming from the study.
The visitor was not easily discerned in the gloom, but Betty noted that he wore a cap pulled down over
his eyes. There was a toughness about the man's face —all that Betty could see of it. Bob turned
suddenly.
"Hello, Betty," he said. "I'm going out for a while. I'll see you later."
He was wearing his coat and held his hat in his hand. He did not introduce the stranger. He and the other
man departed, leaving Betty astonished.
THE evening dragged slowly by. Betty read a book in the big library - a room as gloomy as the rest of
the house. Betty was used to this atmosphere, although at times it chilled her.
It was nearly midnight when Betty retired. Before she went to sleep, she heard the front door close
ponderously. The stairs creaked.
Bob Galvin had returned.
Silent minutes went by. Betty could not sleep. Somehow, her mind kept picturing the old study
downstairs. It was there that Bob had received the odd visitor to-night.
Betty was seized by an uncontrollable impulse to go downstairs. She felt for her slippers; then recalled
that they were in her trunk, which had not been brought in from the country.
Barefooted, she stole down the carpeted stairs, with one hand on the banister. There was no creaking
under her light tread. She moved noiselessly along the hall, then stopped suddenly as she turned the
corner that led to the door of the study.
There was dim light in the hall, coming from the study. The door of the room was open; and the table
lamp must be on!
Perhaps Bob had left it burning; perhaps he was there now. In the latter event, Betty could explain her
presence by explaining that she had heard a noise downstairs and had come to investigate.
Nevertheless, it might be well to observe Bob before he saw her. With catlike stealth, Betty advanced to
the doorway.
The light on the floor of the hall fascinated her. It was more than a gleam. Into it came a peculiar
shadow—the elongated silhouette of a man's profile.
The patch of blackness swayed. Betty watched its motion. She stepped forward and turned to look into
the room.
BY the desk stood a tall man clad in black. His back was turned toward the door. He seemed a strange
phantom of the night—a living being that had come from nowhere. Across the floor lay his long, weird
shadow, stretching into the gloom of the hall.
Betty's hands gripped the sides of the doorway, as she stood horrified by the presence of this uncanny
personage.
She could see the folds of the black cloak which hung from his shoulders; the back of the
broad-brimmed hat which was upon his head. He was examining the desk—the motion of his
black-gloved hands indicated that fact.
While Betty stood, entranced, the man must have sensed her presence. He swung suddenly to face the
door. As his cloak spread wide, the girl caught a glimpse of its crimson lining and the thin, black-clad
form within the cloak.
The face of the man was invisible, obscured by the collar of the cloak and the low brim of the hat. All that
Betty could see was the glow of two piercing eyes that shone beneath that hat brim; eyes that saw her
standing in the doorway.
The girl raised a hand to her mouth to repress a scream. Then a low, soft laugh echoed through the room.
It came like a spectral whisper—an eerie sound that seemed beyond reality.
A black-gloved hand swung upward. A click followed. The room was plunged in darkness.
Betty stood there, suddenly wondering if it had all been imagination. With boldness that she could not
understand, she crept into that black room, toward the spot where the man had been. She was
determined to meet this stranger of the night—to learn his purpose— to discover the mystery that
surrounded him!
Silently she moved forward until she knew that she was near the desk. There she reached out and found
the lamp. She pressed the switch and turned quickly as the light came on.
She was alone in the deserted study! All that she had seen now seemed a creation of her imagination.
She peered into the shadowy depths and saw nothing.
She could not believe her senses, for she knew beyond all chance of doubt that a man had been standing
in that room. Now he was gone!
Noiselessly, like a shadow of the night, he had vanished!
CHAPTER IV. HODGSON INTERFERES
IT was at breakfast that Betty Mandell decided to tell Bob Galvin what she had seen the night before.
The girl had spent a troubled night. She had slept fitfully, awakening frequently at slight sounds.
Once she had been really frightened. She had imagined that two shining eyes were staring through the
open window from the outside darkness. It had proved to be the reflection of two distant street lights.
But even now, in the light of morning, Betty felt herself shuddering at the thought of that strange, weird
man in black whom she had discovered in the study, and who had so mysteriously eluded her.
"Bob," she said solemnly, "something strange happened last night. I came downstairs very late. I guess—I
guess I must have heard a noise. The light was on in the study."
Bob Galvin laid aside the morning newspaper. A quizzical look came over his face; an ugly look, Betty
thought.
"In the study?" Bob's voice was tense.
"Yes," said Betty, "and that was not all. There was some one in the study —a man dressed in black. He
looked like a great big shadow."
摘要：

HANDSINTHEDARKMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2002BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI?CHAPTERII.AMIDNIGHTVISITOR?CHAPTERIII.SHADOWSOFNIGHT?CHAPTERIV.HODGSONINTERFERES?CHAPTERV.MURDERERSPLOT?CHAPTERVI.THETHIRDKILLER?CHAPTERVII.THEPAPERCLEW?CHAPTERVIII.TELLTALEMARKS?CHAPTERIX.THEVAULTOFDOO...

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