Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 253 - The Vampire Murders

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THE VAMPIRE MURDERS
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," September 1, 1942.
A dying sigh of wind circled Haldrew Hall, forbidding mansion of death,
and echoed a whisper that mirthed a sibilant laugh. Could The Shadow keep his
promise that he, strange master of darkness, would take a hand in solving the
weird riddle of Haldrew Hall, after mere humans had finished their
speculations
on the subject of a roving vampire that had vanished without a rattle of its
bones?
CHAPTER I
HOUSE OF HORROR
LIKE an image from a dream, the old house loomed against the moonlit sky
-
a bulky pile of ancient stone and ornate woodwork that blended into a massive
monster ready to gorge on the hapless visitor who dared to venture into its
clutch.
It seemed a living thing, this isolated mansion that bore the name of
Haldrew Hall. Perhaps the drifting clouds that filtered the moonlight were
responsible for that illusion of life; possibly the faint, flickering glow
from
the ground-floor windows was the cause.
Whichever the case, Harry Vincent felt a sensation of grim horror as he
viewed the place.
He'd expected something of that sort from Haldrew Hall, but the house
outdid the descriptions that Harry had heard of it. The contrast of its
squatty
bulk and the higher turrets penciled against the wavering moonlight,
captivated
the eye and held it. Harry was riveted as he watched the building blotted out
in darkness as a thicker cloud crossed the moon; yet even then he could trace
the outline of the hideous mansion.
Harry wondered whether his memory was overworking itself. The house was
gone, save for the dull flickers that represented its windows. But, no, the
image was returning, along with the passage of the cloud. Haldrew Hall was
still there in all of its monstrosity.
It was then that the voice spoke, close to Harry's elbow. It said:
"Two bucks, bud, and you're welcome to ride back to town as part of the
deal."
Harry turned to the driver of the rattletrap car that had brought him to
these premises. He forced a laugh that sounded lighter than it really was.
"I'm staying here," decided Harry. "How about driving in through the gate
and up to the place?"
"Sorry." The fellow seemed to mean it. "It's bad luck going through that
gate. I said I'd bring you this far, but no farther. Maybe it won't be bad
luck
for you -"
Harry opened the door of the car and reached for his bag. The driver
tried
to explain himself.
"What I mean is -" He hesitated. "Well, you're one of the Haldrew
relations, ain't you?"
"I'm supposed to be," returned Harry. "A distant relation."
"That's what they all are," informed the driver. "Old Giles Haldrew
didn't
have no close kinfolk, excepting his brother Varney and maybe the old lady
who's
been living in the house. I mean the rest of them, like you, that have come
here
the last few days. They've all stayed and no bad luck has hit them yet. Maybe
it's because they've got some Haldrew in them."
Apparently, a true Haldrew was supposed to show it bluntly, so Harry
performed in proper style by handing the man his two dollars and turning
abruptly toward the gate. Bag in one hand, the other reaching to the gate,
Harry turned to watch the car pull away. Alone, he forced another laugh to
stir
his own courage. It was a laugh that failed.
A groan came in answer; a tone so gruesome that Harry dropped the bag and
leaped away, shoving his hand to the pocket where he carried his gun. If the
car hadn't already been bumping away along the rough road, Harry would have
finished his leap inside it and taken advantage of the round-trip offer. But
the car was gone and the groan had ended, so Harry steadied. Waiting tensely,
he listened for the groan again. When it came, Harry's laugh was genuine.
The grating sound had issued from the iron gate that blocked the
grass-covered driveway into Haldrew Hall. The wind was stirring the gate upon
its rusted hinges, which were giving those grim sounds in protest. It was just
another of the features that went with Haldrew Hall.
Groping for the suitcase, Harry found it; pulling the gate a trifle
wider,
he entered, and walked along the driveway to the Hall.
ONE thing kept drumming through Harry's mind. The fellow who had brought
him out here had modified the bad-luck statement by saying it might not apply
to the Haldrew relatives. If such were the case, Harry could find small
comfort. For he, of all recent visitors to Haldrew Hall, was traveling under
false colors.
Harry Vincent had never heard of the Haldrew family or their weird
mansion
until a week ago.
The Haldrew clan had leaped into the limelight with the death of old
Giles
Haldrew, a death so sudden that it might have produced question, if Giles
hadn't
been exactly ninety-three years of age. The other thing unusual in the case of
Giles Haldrew was his legacy.
His estate was to be divided equally among all relatives who would
undergo
the ordeal of living in Haldrew Hall for the term of one month. Those who
failed
to fulfill that provision would be disqualified. So the clan was assembling,
because tomorrow would be the last day when any claimant could put in an
appearance.
Now this peculiar arrangement had intrigued a certain person known as The
Shadow. As an individual, The Shadow was far more mysterious than any Haldrew;
in fact, he could outmatch the Hall itself. It was The Shadow's business to
hunt down crime, and the Haldrew case interested him. Not so much the sudden
death of Giles, but the status of the relatives who intended to stay in
Haldrew
Hall, was the thing that most concerned The Shadow.
The Shadow had uncovered a most vital point. Almost anyone could be
related to the Haldrew family. For a person to present himself as such and
live
there for a month, would be fair enough. If his claim of relationship wouldn't
stand the test, he simply wouldn't participate in the division of the estate
when it was settled later.
So The Shadow had delegated Harry Vincent, his most trusted agent, to
reside as inside man in Haldrew Hall.
In his suitcase Harry had a very elaborate pedigree, that linked him to
the Haldrew family by dint of several generations back. There was a weak link
in the chain, but Harry wasn't supposed to know it. The Haldrew lawyers could
find that for themselves when they traced the thing back.
For the present, Harry Vincent was ostensibly a Haldrew, and the point
would satisfy everyone - except Harry himself.
For with every step, Harry was coming closer to Haldrew Hall and the
forbidding mansion loomed more ominous than ever. If a curse did dwell within
Haldrew Hall, ready to engulf persons who defied it, that malediction would
rest most heavily upon Harry Vincent as an impostor.
Legally, Harry had nothing to fear; but he felt the distinct impression
that he was entering a domain that had a law unto itself. Such was the spell
cast by Haldrew Hall!
There was no moonlight under the deep porte-cochere that covered the
steps
to the front door. The space was like the confines of a cavern, where ghoulish
hands might stretch forth and clasp the unwary visitor. Harry's only solace
was
the crunch of gravel beneath his feet, a sound so encouraging that he kept on
walking so that he would still hear it.
Then the thud of his footfalls on the wooden steps produced the same urge
to continue. Reaching the front door, Harry groped nervously, found an iron
knocker and banged it. The clang had an echo he didn't like; nevertheless, it
was better than no sound at all. So Harry banged again and again, until the
door suddenly opened.
THE man who admitted Harry was a most peculiar character. He was
obviously
a servant, for he wore a faded jacket that looked like a footman's livery and
his stiff shirt was topped with a wing-tipped collar and a stringy necktie.
In a way, he looked young, for he was spry and limber; but his face had a
haggard expression that indicated years. The face was lined, too, quite
heavily, but Harry attributed that to the candlelight, which was the only form
of illumination in the hallway.
It was difficult to tell whether the servant regarded Harry as a welcome
visitor or an unwanted stranger. The flickery light created its own changes of
expression upon the man's strained features. At moments, the face was
quizzical; then it became suspicious. And all the while, the man remained
silent, as if expecting Harry to declare himself.
The deadlock was broken by a crackly voice that issued from a side room.
It came with a sharp call:
"Who is it, Throck? Another of my relatives?"
Harry found his own voice in a reply that he gave to Throck. Nudging his
thumb toward the direction of the voice, Harry said to the servant:
"Tell him my name is Vincent. I've come here to present my credentials as
a member of the Haldrew family."
The candlelight turned Throck's expression into a glare that faded as the
servant turned about. Then, before Throck could relay the announcement, a
figure stalked into sight. Harry Vincent stood stock-still to eye one of the
strangest men that he had ever seen.
He didn't even have to guess who the person was. Common sense told Harry
that this must be Varney Haldrew, brother of the late Giles.
At first sight, Varney Haldrew appeared to be a tall man. This was due to
two factors: first, he was quite thin; second, he wore a plain black suit,
that
added to the slim effect and hence increased the illusion of height. The term
"gaunt" applied to Varney but didn't do him justice. Rather, he had an
emaciated appearance, though he seemed to be in perfect health.
On his hands Varney wore gray gloves, which he did not bother to remove.
He simply greeted Harry with a bow, gave a tight-lipped smile and spoke
through
his teeth:
"Greetings, Mr. Vincent. You will excuse Throck. He is hardly the ideal
servant. You see" - Varney laid a hand on Throck's shoulder - "the Haldrew
family has always had a Throck in its employ. My brother Giles could never
have
died happily without a Throck around. So he found one, the last of a fading
line
- like the Haldrew's."
Then, while Harry could only nod, the gaunt man motioned for Throck to
take the suitcase. That done, there was another bow from Varney as he supplied
the unnecessary introduction:
"I am Varney Haldrew."
With that, Varney raised a gray-gloved hand and beckoned. Throck went one
direction with the suitcase, while Harry followed Varney the other way. Though
Varney's back was turned, Harry still could picture the man's cadaverous face,
and the recollection brought shudders. If Harry had ever met a man who was
anything but human, Varney Haldrew fulfilled the definition.
His welcome could not be termed such. Everything about it was false, from
the plaster-cast smile to the puppet gestures of his gray-gloved hands. His
stride was mechanical as he led the way through a room where more candles cast
a wavering glow in long streaks across the floor.
Beyond was another door, and from it Harry could hear voices. For a
moment
he was pleased; then amid the voices came a querulous tone that was sharp,
almost angry.
At sound of it, Varney paused. He turned to face Harry, and those thin
lips parted in a smile that showed long white teeth. From Varney's eyes
flashed
a metallic glint that flickered with the shiver of the candles. Through those
same teeth came the tone that Harry had heard before: Varney's voice,
modulated
to a degree where it was a hiss, rather than a crackle.
"I shall introduce you to some of your distant relations, Mr. Vincent,"
spoke Varney. "Excuse me" - the lips tightened in a smile - "I should say our
relations. I am quite sure that you will like them."
HARRY wasn't sure at all. In a few minutes of acquaintance with Varney
Haldrew he had become quite positive that he would not like anything that
appealed to the gaunt man. But there was this about Varney: he left a proviso
with everything he said. He hadn't stated that he liked the visiting
relatives;
he had said that Harry would. That, at least, was some comfort.
As Varney finished his pronouncement, the candlelight did more than
waver.
Flames leaped; then died; some of the wicks were actually snuffed out, as
though
the hissed breath of Varney had reached them. More startling was the shiver
that
shook the entire house.
For the moment, Harry's knees knocked together as the tremor reached
them.
He'd bargained for a lot, Harry had, as he often did in the service of The
Shadow, but he hadn't expected to meet a man like Varney Haldrew, whose mere
voice could quake a mansion!
Then the illusion ended. It was only the wind, presaging a storm, that
had
chased the clouds ahead of it. A sudden gust, sweeping around the old house,
battering the creaky walls and pressing the ancient beams that supported
Haldrew Hall.
The whole thing ended with the parting of the brief gale, and there stood
Varney, opening a door to its full width and bowing Harry through to a room
that seemed brilliant in contrast to the gloom that had marked the path to it.
Returning a bow, Harry favored Varney with a smile that he knew couldn't
be worse than the ones he had received, and therewith stepped across the
threshold to meet his new relations.
CHAPTER II
CALLING ALL SHADOWS
THE room that Harry entered was a living room. Its cheery glow came from
a
large fireplace where flame from big logs drowned out the candlelight. There
were three people in the room and Harry was glad to see them, for he'd formed
the rapid, and correct, impression that they couldn't be worse than Varney.
The first man that Harry noted was the one who had been snarling rather
angrily, and he wasn't a bad specimen at all. He was playing pinochle with the
other two and the game annoyed him. Turning as Harry entered, the man showed a
roundish face topped by a bald head. He had a cigar sticking from the side of
his mouth, and he removed it with his right hand, then transferred it to his
left, so that he could shake hands with Harry in response to Varney's
introduction.
The bald man was George Frenton, and his connection with the Haldrew
family was about as roundabout as Harry's, except that it probably had no weak
links. Frenton's handshake was flabby at first, but it tightened under Harry's
grip. Very obviously, Frenton didn't like Haldrew Hall any more than Harry did
and was only too glad to welcome a new visitor to this house of horror.
Turning from Frenton, Harry saw the other men and they impressed him even
more. Both were young, but they formed a marked contrast. One chap had dark
hair, deep-set eyes, and a square-jawed face. The other, who looked taller,
was
light haired, with clear blue eyes and a long face that was definitely genial.
Both gave Harry a friendly handshake as Varney introduced them, but with
the introduction, Harry received a surprise.
Varney introduced the dark-haired man as Cedric Armand, the blond type
chap as Warren Armand. When Harry stared, wondering why they were so
different,
both men laughed.
"We aren't brothers," remarked Cedric. "We're just cousins. Second
cousins, at that."
"And this is the first time we ever met," added Warren. "Our
great-grandmother happened to be a Haldrew. She married a man named Armand."
From the doorway, Varney Haldrew supplied a testy statement.
"We are all Haldrews here," he said. "It is unfortunate that you two
should be related on the Armand side of your family. By the way, Mr. Vincent,
just what is your connection with the Haldrew family?"
"It's all in the suitcase," returned Harry. "If you can find Throck and
have him bring it here, I'll give you my credentials."
Varney departed on the quest, and the Armands invited Harry to join the
pinochle game, which had begun to bore Frenton, the steady loser. So Harry sat
down at the card table, and the Armand cousins promptly initiated him into the
situation at Haldrew Hall.
"Don't let Varney worry you," said Cedric. "He's just sore because the
whole works wasn't handed to him. Haldrew Hall has passed from father to son,
right along. Giles Haldrew didn't have a son, so Varney thought he'd get the
place as younger brother. Only he didn't."
"And by younger brother," added Warren, "we mean younger brother; Varney
is twenty-five years younger than old Giles. Imagine that!"
"What gripes Varney most," continued Cedric, "is that the estate doesn't
amount to much. It includes this house and several thousand dollars. For all I
care, Varney can have the whole of it. I'm just sticking around as a sporting
proposition."
"Same with me," asserted the other Armand. "You know, I feel something
like a piker." Warren paused to gaze frankly at Harry, who was arranging his
pinochle hand. "Why should I bother about a few thousand dollars of Haldrew
money when I have a real fortune coming from the Armand family?"
It was Cedric who answered Warren's question. The dark-haired man spoke
with a chuckle.
"You'll earn whatever you get," observed Cedric, "if you stay around this
mausoleum for a month. That's my philosophy, Warren, and anyway, I could use a
few thousand dollars. But let's forget finance and get back to pinochle."
THE card game and the cheering warmth of the great fireplace did much to
nullify the chills that Harry had experienced when approaching Haldrew Hall.
The indulgent way in which the Armand cousins spoke of Varney indicated that
the cadaverous man was just part of the setting, when one became accustomed to
him.
From their conversation, Harry took it that the Armands had been here a
few days, but before he could put inquiries on the subject, Varney returned,
Throck following with the suitcase.
Harry opened the bag, brought out an imposing envelope and handed it to
Varney, who dismissed Throck. The pinochle game resumed, and amid the crackle
of the fire Harry could hear the crunch of paper as Varney studied the family
tree that had been compiled for Harry's benefit. Meanwhile, Harry kept
glancing
occasionally at Frenton, who was interested in other matters.
Moving around the room, the pudgy man was muttering to himself while he
tapped his knuckles against the oak-paneled wainscoting, ran his fingers along
the edge of the thick mantelpiece, and stopped to eye the heavy-framed
portraits that hung in the room. When Frenton knelt to raise the edge of a
rug,
Harry gave puzzled glances from one Armand to another.
"Don't let Frenton worry you," undertoned Cedric. "We thought at first
that he was tapping for secret panels, but he couldn't be, or he'd have found
some by this time. They're probably as thick as rat holes around this old
house."
"Frenton is just appraising the premises," added Warren. At that moment,
Frenton was fingering a heavy candelabrum and stroking a velvet curtain that
hung beside a window. "He expects the house to be sold and wants to make sure
we get the right price for everything. Old Giles Haldrew didn't have anywhere
near the amount of money that people expected. What he did leave won't go very
far, when divided among six persons."
"Seven persons," corrected Cedric. "You forgot to include Vincent."
Looking about, Harry counted Varney, Frenton, two Armands and himself,
which made only five. He inquired who the other two might be.
"Sabbatha Haldrew is one," stated Cedric. "She's Varney's niece, but
she's
older than he is. Old Sabbatha has always lived at Haldrew Hall."
"The other is Gail Merwin," put in Warren. "Just a distant connection,
like we are. She arrived this afternoon. Had a long trip getting here, so she
turned in early."
Varney had finished rustling Harry's family tree. Apparently the
documents
satisfied him, for he returned them to the envelope and approached Harry quite
affably. Laying a hand on Harry's shoulder, he suggested dryly:
"You must be tired from your trip, Mr. Vincent. Come; I shall show you to
your apartment."
Odd how that crackly voice blended with the fire! Yet Harry had the
distinct impression that Varney's hand would have been icy, but for the glove
that covered it. That was the point about Varney Haldrew: with all his
pretense, there wasn't an ounce of warmth in him. Meeting the man's fishlike
stare, Harry wondered if he were actually a creature of flesh and blood.
Fish eyes! And fish had blood. Odd, again, how the word "blood" rung
through Harry's brain and seemed to flash itself in crimson letters against
the
firelight!
For a moment, Harry thought of rejoining the Armands at the card table.
It
was then too late. Frenton had slipped into Harry's place, as if the mere
suggestion of leaving this warm room horrified him. So Harry simply nodded to
Varney and pocketed the big envelope.
Then, stealing his hand into his coat pocket, Harry felt a cold sensation
that pleased him. It was his gun again, a protection against whatever might
occur in this old house.
So Harry thought - but as yet he had not experienced the things that
could
happen in Haldrew Hall!
VARNEY led the way from the big living room, out through another hall.
There, lights were very dim and every door that Harry passed looked ominous. A
corner produced a short passage to a brief flight of stairs that were laden
with thick gloom. Varney paused to pluck a three-socket candlestick from a
table, and he used it to light the way.
Up that short flight, through another passage, then more steps. Another
turn, a longer staircase to a landing, and by that time, Harry was completely
lost. Haldrew Hall was a labyrinth, not only because of its many passages but
due to the half floors, which seemed to be its chief feature of architecture.
Remembering the view from outside, Harry recalled the irregular arrangement of
the windows and now understood their reason.
Varney was threading the way deep into the house, pausing so that Harry
wouldn't stumble when they came to steps. They reached a door which was ajar
and there Varney entered, setting the candlestick upon an old-fashioned
washstand.
Harry saw his bag lying on an old sofa in the corner. Across the room was
a large bed that looked a hundred years old.
"I hope this room pleases you," spoke Varney. "It is small, but you can
see we have many guests -"
"Quite all right," put in Harry. "I don't mind being cramped."
Varney didn't notice Harry's sarcasm. The room was anything but cramped.
If Varney considered this a small room, Harry could picture others in the
house
as mammoth apartments. What Harry wanted right now was to get rid of Varney,
and
that proved easy, for the gaunt man took care of it himself by bowing right
out
the door.
Coolly, Harry waited, expecting that Varney might return - which he did.
The door creaked on its hinges as Varney's face popped into sight. Harry
supposed that Varney's excuse would be that he needed the candles to light his
way to his own apartment. But that wasn't it.
"I meant to remind you of something," remarked Varney. "It isn't
advisable
to move about this house at night. The place is large and you might lose your
way. Besides, the many steps are dangerous to strangers - even though they may
be welcome guests."
Varney closed the door and departed; of the latter, Harry was sure, for
he
could hear the strange man's footsteps creaking along the old hallway. The
footfalls faded as Varney turned a corner, proving what Harry already
suspected: that this queer resident of Haldrew Hall could pick his way with
catlike precision in the dark. But Varney's words remained in Harry's ears
long
after the footsteps had departed.
"Dangerous to strangers!"
That phrase, picked from Varney's statements, seemed to sum up Haldrew
Hall. It was the sort of place that could be dangerous in more ways than one.
It might have pitfalls other than those short steps along the gloomy passages.
But Harry wasn't worried by Varney's admonition.
Snuffing the candles, Harry groped his way to a window that he found by
the dim moonlight. Producing a small flashlight, he pressed it close to the
pane and blinked a signal. Waiting, Harry heard the wind whip around the
ancient building, producing new shudders within. He flicked the light again
and
was suddenly startled by a flash which responded.
A flash that lighted distant sky, outlining the woods that surrounded
Haldrew Hall. Then the dull roar of faraway thunder that denoted an
approaching
storm. Tensely, Harry waited for several minutes. After another flash of
lightning and its dull thunder, he blinked his signal again.
This time - an answer!
It came from the fringe of the trees, a responding flashlight that
blinked
a coded question that Harry understood. With that, the shrouding pall of
Haldrew
Hall seemed to lift. Whatever the menace of the mansion, Harry was contacting
a
friend who could offset it.
Those answers to Harry's signal denoted the presence of his chief, The
Shadow!
Though Harry Vincent couldn't lay a finger on anything actually wrong in
Haldrew Hall, he felt that danger must exist. He had known that The Shadow
would arrive after his agent was ensconced in the mansion, and Harry was
indeed
glad that his chief had appeared so soon. For this was one time - above all
times - when Harry felt it necessary to put in a quick call for The Shadow.
Calling The Shadow!
Calling all shadows, would be the better term. For Haldrew Hall had its
own shadows, born of the past and ready to control the future, unless a
stronger hand than theirs should intervene!
CHAPTER III
THE FIGURE IN BLACK
THE SHADOW'S delay in answering Harry's flashes was due simply to the
fact
that he had been circling the grounds. Close by the gloom of heavy tree
boughs,
a low, strange laugh stirred the darkness as The Shadow, fully cloaked in
black, caught the import of Harry's rapid signals.
Apparently, Haldrew Hall had given Harry the creeps, to the point where
he
felt that only The Shadow could analyze the situation. Harry was calling for
closer contact, so The Shadow queried how he wanted to arrange it.
At his window, Harry pondered; recalling the longest flight of steps, he
remembered they were on the other side of the house, and that he had passed
windows on the way up to the landing. It would be easy for The Shadow to pick
those specific windows. If anything, brief lightning flashes would aid, rather
than hinder, when The Shadow approached the house.
So Harry coded the facts about the stairway and its windows, whereupon
The
Shadow signed off.
Extinguishing his flashlight, Harry stole from the room. He felt his way
along the passage, one hand against the wall. As he advanced each foot, he
tested the floor to make sure he wasn't at a flight of steps. The floor boards
creaked, but only lightly, and their sounds were absorbed by the grind of
beams
and the rattle of shutters as the wind kept rising around Haldrew Hall.
It seemed a very easy task, getting to the stairway on the other side of
the house before The Shadow could arrive on his roundabout trip. Easy at
first,
but gradually it proved complicated.
As passages took Harry from one level to another, he discovered two
things: first, that he was going farther down than he expected; again, that
none of the passages took him to the other side of the building.
Realizing that he'd lost his way, Harry risked the flashlight and finally
worked his way out of the maze. But he didn't come out where he expected.
Instead of reaching the landing of what might be termed the second floor,
Harry
found himself about ground-floor level, or slightly above it.
The passage from which Harry emerged showed steps that went down toward
the living room, where Frenton and the Armands were still at their card game.
Picking an opposite channel, Harry pocketed the flashlight and groped his way
to the spot he wanted - the longer flight of upward stairs.
By this time, The Shadow had certainly circled the house. Harry could
picture his black-cloaked figure under the ivy-clad wall beneath those
telltale
windows that marched at an upward angle beside the flight of stairs.
Indeed, as Harry caught the rattle of a window higher up, he was quite
sure that The Shadow had already scaled to it. Knowing that Harry was on the
second floor, The Shadow would naturally come up, outside, rather than have
his
agent risk a creaky trip down the stairs.
But Harry happened to be at the bottom instead of the top, so he had to
risk the trip anyway. It was the easiest part of his journey, for the fleeting
moonlight cast a spotty glow though the narrow windows and showed the path
ahead.
Noting the first window as he passed it, Harry saw another reason why The
Shadow would have chosen a window higher up. Those on the stairway itself were
too narrow for anyone to squeeze through.
Almost at the stair top, Harry paused, gripped with complete elation. On
the landing, close by the wider window, was a figure in black. He'd guessed
right, Harry had, for the shrouded visitor was turned about, looking toward
the
few steps that made an upward angle from the landing. This was The Shadow,
watching for Harry's arrival from the second floor.
Reaching from the steps, Harry gripped the cloak that dangled from the
figure's shoulders and started to voice the whispered word, 'Chief!', but the
word never left Harry's throat. At Harry's grip, the figure wheeled and a play
of moonlight flickered upon its face.
Harry went limp with horror.
This wasn't his chief, The Shadow!
The face that the pale light showed was almost a living skull, a leering
thing with vicious, ugly teeth, and eyes that were lost within their sockets.
True, the moonlight, was playing tricks, but even that couldn't transform The
Shadow into a grisly creature wandering from its tomb!
Poor light could not offset the sense of touch, and the stuff that Harry
gripped was not The Shadow's cloak. It was of different texture, a dry, thin
cloth like linen, that could have torn beneath Harry's fingers if they hadn't
loosened. For the draping cloth was torn already, as he could see when the
ghastly figure finished its turn toward him.
Not a cloak, that draped blackness from the narrow shoulders that wore
it,
but a shroud!
Then, for final proof, came hands that shot from the tattered garment, to
take Harry's throat in their fierce grip. Thin hands, bony of structure, like
the fingers of a living skeleton!
IT was fortunate for Harry that he was on the stairs. As he struck at the
gripping hands and recoiled with all his might, he gained his freedom largely
because he fell as he wrenched away. Even those hands of death couldn't stop a
backward fling that was half a plunge.
Spinning on the steps, Harry lost sight of the gruesome creature that had
seized him, only to release its hold rather than take the tumble down the
stairs. That plunge being the immediate menace, Harry tried to catch himself
and succeeded, though not without difficulty.
Harry's first grab was for the banister on the inside of the stairway.
The
old rail gave under his weight and would have fallen to a hall below, carrying
Harry with it, if he hadn't still been spinning.
Across the stairs, Harry's next frantic snatch found one of the narrow
windows, which was flapping inward under the power of the stormy wind.
There, Harry caught himself and came full about.
He was looking right up to the landing, less than a dozen steps above,
but
he couldn't see the creature that had attached him; at least, not while the
fading moonlight afforded the only view. But there was something else that
gave
Harry a real picture of the present situation: another of those lightning
flashes, more vivid than before.
By it, Harry saw the shrouded menace. The glare showed that the
monstrosity had turned away, as though eager to avoid further strife with
Harry. No sign of the face that had looked much like a skull, nor of those
skeleton hands. Only the shroud was visible about the crouched shoulders, and
it was a shroud indeed!
Black in the darkness, it was greenish in the lightning flash, a color
that came from the mold of many years. And Harry saw plainly the long, torn
tatters that the moonlight had shown to lesser degree.
Sight of the thing in flight changed Harry's attitude completely. He'd
surprised that menace of bone and tatters quite as much as it had startled
him.
Ghoul, vampire, whatever it might be, the creature had sought to master Harry
and had failed. It was Harry's turn to attack, and he rallied to the cause.
With a shout, he started an upward lunge.
Odd, how other shouts came sooner than echoes should have. Odd to Harry,
at least, though he would have understood had he stopped to reason. The calls
were from the downstairs living room, where the men at the card table had
摘要：

THEVAMPIREMURDERSbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"September1,1942.AdyingsighofwindcircledHaldrewHall,forbiddingmansionofdeath,andechoedawhisperthatmirthedasibilantlaugh.CouldTheShadowkeephispromisethathe,strangemasterofdarkness,wouldtakeahandinsolvingtheweirdriddleofHaldrewHa...

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