Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 137 - Death Turrets

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Death Turrets
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in
The Shadow Magazine #137
November 1, 1937
High over the countryside, they loomed ~ sentinels of the doom that was
to befall those within! Only The Shadow could penetrate the death pall that
hung like a shroud over the weird, castle-like mansion!
CHAPTER I.
TOWERS OF DOOM.
THE big, high-powered roadster wallowed to a stop in the muddy parking
space close by the little station of Sunnyside. A young man alighted beside
the single track and picked his way to the rain-soaked station platform.
The rain was coming in a heavy drizzle; the clouds that caused it had
turned late afternoon into a gathering dusk. There was just enough light to
show the grin that appeared on the young man's sallow face when he saw the
faded name painted on the station sign.
"Sunnyside." The name certainly wasn't an appropriate one. It must have
been raining for a week in this vicinity. The stream that flowed under a
little railway bridge was swollen to its limits. Huge puddles showed along the
road, and some of the low fields looked like ponds.
The station waiting-room was gloomy and unoccupied, but warm. An open
stove provided heat and gave a flickering light, which was needed, for the
windows furnished very little daylight.
The young man looked for the ticket window. It was shut, but streaks of
light showed through the cracks of the closed wicket.
Prolonged hammering at the ticket window brought no response. Raising
his raincoat collar about his neck, the young man went out to the platform.
He peered into the lighted ticket office, but saw no one. Looking the
other direction, he spied a building farther up the tracks.
It was evidently a freight office, for there was a box car on the siding
beside it. There was a man there, in overalls, busy shifting some boxes.
The fellow looked up when the young man approached him. He gave a nod,
then said:
"Howdy! What can I do for you?"
"Are you the ticket agent here?"
"Yep!"
"Telegraph operator, too?"
A nod. The young man smiled. He produced a telegram from his pocket and
handed it to the agent. The man read the wire in the light of a lantern. It
was addressed to Roderick Talroy, and the message read:
AM AT FIVE TOWERS NEAR SUNNYSIDE STATION WILL SEE YOU
OLIVE
"Reckon you're Mr. Talroy," declared the ticket agent. "Yep, I sent this
over the wire. It come down from Five Towers this morning."
"Did you see Olive?" inquired Talroy, eagerly. "Miss Huxton, the lady
who sent it?"
"I didn't see no one," admitted the agent. "I was busy here, with some
freight. It was just setting there by the ticket window, the wire was, with
the money for it. It wasn't handwritten neither. It was done on a typewriter,
like all the telegrams that come from Five Towers."
"Where is Five Towers?"
The station agent pointed through the drizzle. His finger indicated a
wooded hill a few miles distant, so dark that even the trees were
indistinguishable in shape. But above, visible despite their grayish
resemblance to the rain, were turrets that poked above the trees.
"There's Five Towers," said the station agent. "The hill road goes right
up to it. I can tell you this, too. There's a girl's been staying there. So I
guess you'll be finding Miss Olive Huxton."
"Thanks." Talroy turned, then remembered: "By the way, I want to send a
telegram of my own."
"I'll be right with you, Mr. Talroy."
BACK in the gloomy station, Talroy found telegraph blanks in a box
beside the ticket window. With a pencil, he scrawled a telegram, using lighted
matches to see the blank. Talroy left the telegram on the counter, weighted
with a half dollar. The agent could keep the change.
As he reached the platform, Talroy saw the agent approach. He told him
about the telegram. The man nodded, but his head began to shake when he saw
Talroy climb into the big roadster.
"A mighty heavy car you got there, Mr. Talroy. Maybe she won't make that
gully bridge up by the entrance to Five Towers."
"Very dangerous, is it?"
"Well, the gully ain't deep. But the bridge ain't strong. There can't
much happen to you, but you might get ditched deep."
The big roadster pulled away. Its headlights gleamed; they swung away as
the car headed for the road. A flicker of light showed the doorway of the
station, which overhanging eaves had held in thick darkness. The ticket agent
blinked. In that momentary glimpse, he thought he saw the station door close.
Entering, the agent questioned sharply:
"Hello! Who's here?"
The only response was the crackle of wood from the stove. The agent
shrugged his shoulders; crossed through the gloom of the waiting room. He saw
Talroy's telegram lying on the counter, but did not pick it up. Instead, he
unlocked the door to the ticket office. Once through, he closed the door
behind him.
Some one moved from the darkened corner of the waiting room. With
stealthy steps, a hunched man reached the ticket window. The light from the
cracks showed hands that wore leather gloves. One lifted the half dollar; the
other pulled away Talroy's telegram and crumpled it.
Fire crackles drowned the crunching of the paper, but the ticket agent
could hear neither, beyond his closed wicket. The only evidence of an intruder
was the fact that Talroy's telegram was gone. That clue, however, was quickly
abolished.
From beneath a heavy overcoat, the leather-gloved fingers brought out
another telegraph blank and laid it where the first had been. The half dollar
settled in place with only the slightest clink. Hands drew away. The hunched
figure turned, to start for the door.
The sudden opening of the ticket window made the muffled man stop his
sneaky stride. He waited near the wall, while the agent took the telegram and
the money through the window. As soon as the wicket snapped shut again, the
intruder resumed his departure.
This time, the station agent was not in a position to see the door of
the waiting room, when it closed tightly shut.
THE agent was scratching his head, though, when he read the message on
the telegraph blank. It was addressed to Rufus Fant, in New York City. The
message stated:
CAN BUY A MILLION DOLLAR INVENTION FOR TWENTY THOUSAND CASH STOP BRING
THE MONEY TO FIVE TOWERS NEAR SUNNYSIDE
The telegram had the name of Roderick Talroy at the end of it.
Therefore, the agent took it to be the message that Talroy had left for prompt
dispatch. But why was Talroy talking about inventions, when he had come here
to meet a girl?
There was an inventor who lived up at Five Towers. The station agent
knew that, so the telegram made sense. It dawned on the agent suddenly that
the invention purchase might have had something to do with the telegram sent
by Olive Huxton.
Yes, that was it. But it was funny, Talroy trying to kid the very man
who had to tap the message over the wire.
There was another thing that puzzled the agent.
This telegram, like the morning one, was typed.
Talroy hadn't been carrying a typewriter when the agent saw him get back
into the roadster. That brought another head-scratch, until the agent finally
figured that Talroy might have had this typed telegram in his pocket, all the
while.That settled it. The station agent sent the wire. He filed the
typewritten blank on a hook, directly over the wire that had been left at the
station that morning. He was so satisfied with his answers, that he never
thought to compare the two typewritten messages.
If he had, the station agent would have made a really puzzling
discovery. Both messages-Olive Huxton's and Roderick Talroy's-had distinctive
markings that showed they had been typed on the same typewriter.
Each of those wires was a false one, planted at Sunnyside station by the
same hidden hand.
It was unfortunate that the station agent did not suspect the fraud. If
he had, he could have called Five Towers, to warn Roderick Talroy after he
arrived there. Nevertheless, the station agent had already done Roderick all
the service that was needed.
He had warned Roderick about the weak bridge across the hill gully. If
the young man had listened, he would have profited.
BUT Roderick Talroy had his own ideas of how to handle the matter of
shaky bridges that bore signs warning against overweight.
If such bridges weren't too long or too high, you could whiz over them
so fast that they never felt it. The gully bridge, it happened, was just the
sort that Roderick thought was made to his order. He saw it as he took the
final bend. No longer and no higher than a big culvert, that bridge, even if
it did look flimsy.
Roderick shifted into high-speed second. His big car fairly sprang up
the slippery grade to the bridge. Beyond, Roderick saw the gates of Five
Towers, among the trees at the far side of a curve. Then big tires thudded the
bridge. The gates, with the trees about them, seemed to do a rapid whirl.
The bridge was splintering under the weight of the big roadster! The car
was doing a sideward twist into the gully, amid the crash of timbers. Quick in
emergency, Roderick jammed the brakes and turned off the ignition key. The car
landed at a crazy tilt. Chunks of rotten wood bounded from the raised top
above Roderick's head.
A few minutes later, the occupant crawled out, unhurt. From the gully
bank, Roderick ruefully studied the roadster. One wheel had doubled under; the
rear axle was bent. That car wouldn't be much use for a few days. Neither
would the bridge.
By cracking up at that spot, Roderick Talroy had cut off future traffic
between the railroad station and Five Towers.
The station was four miles back, but Five Towers was close at hand.
Carrying a small suitcase, Roderick Talroy raised his collar against the rain.
He walked through the mucky driveway that led between the gates. Five minutes
through the darkened woods brought him to a clearing.
There, dim in the misty dusk, stood Five Towers. The building was old
and sprawling. It looked as if some one had patterned it after his own idea of
a French chateau, without ever having seen one. There were lights, though, in
the windows, that made Five Towers look cheery.
Roderick Talroy smiled, confident that he would find a welcome there. So
he would, but the welcome was to be of a most puzzling sort. As for the later
consequences, if Roderick had even suspected them, he would have turned and
left Five Towers far behind him.
The gray walls that loomed to receive the visitor were awaiting him as a
victim. To Roderick Talroy, had he known it, those pinnacles against the sky
were towers of doom!
CHAPTER II.
DEATH AT THE TOWERS.
WHEN Roderick Talroy pounded at the big door of the gray building, a
servant promptly opened it.
There was no grating of rusted bolts; the door was well-oiled, including
the hinges. Nor was the servant a fossilized old fellow of the sort who went
with a strange old house like this. He was a polite man, scarcely middle-aged,
who admitted the visitor with a friendly bow.
The big hallway was well-lighted and furnished in somewhat modern style.
To the left was the wide double door of a lighted living room. Roderick could
hear the crackle of a fire; then came the patter of a girl's quick footsteps.
A voice asked:
"Who is it, Titus?"
Roderick thought the girl was Olive Huxton; he promptly waved a
greeting. His coat and hat must have looked familiar, for the girl started to
give a pleased response. Suddenly, she halted, to stammer:
"Why-why-I thought-"
"You thought I was some one else," laughed Roderick, handing his hat and
coat to Titus. "I happen to be Roderick Talroy. Probably Olive has spoken
about me."
"Olive?" The girl was puzzled. "Olive who?"
"Olive Huxton," said Roderick. "She wired me to come here."
"Olive Huxton," repeated the girl, slowly. "There is no one of that name
here. No, you must be mistaken. What was your name, again? Roderick Talroy?"
Roderick nodded. The girl smiled; her lips indicated that she knew
something, but she was emphatic as she repeated her headshake. However, she
was cordial in her invitation when she suggested that Roderick come into the
living room.
There was an elderly lady seated there, whose long face and suspicious
eyes almost matched the expression of a moose head that hung above the mantel.
As they approached, the girl said to Roderick:
"My name is Lucille Merrith, and this lady is also Miss Merrith. Aunt
Augusta, I want you to meet Mr. Talroy."
Aunt Augusta gave a curt nod, as though she mistrusted the stranger.
Lucille and Roderick sat down by the fire. The girl watched the logs crackle.
Roderick could see a sparkle in her blue eyes, that seemed well-suited to the
lightness of her hair. Lucille was trying not to smile. At last she managed
it. "You were engaged to Olive Huxton, weren't you?"
Lucille put the question soberly.
"Yes," replied Roderick. "How did you know? Did Olive tell you?" He
hesitated, then glared angrily: "I guess she couldn't have, or you would know
that our engagement was broken!"
"I know about that, too," declared Lucille. "I have read all about both
of you, in the society columns. You are a very wealthy young man, but a
notorious spendthrift. She, it is said, is wealthy and spoiled, also quite
prankish."
"That's the dirt they've dished up," snapped Roderick. "It's true, all
right, but it's none of their business! Wait a moment, though. Why did you
particularly mention that Olive was prankish?"
"Because," replied Lucille, "she has brought you to a place where no one
knows her, and where, I feel certain, she has never been."
LUCILLE'S words convinced Roderick. Angrily, he brought out the
telegram. He showed it to Lucille, and the girl decided that Olive Huxton
could have sent it from the Sunnyside station.
"She could have sent some one there, you know," said Lucille. "The
ticket agent is never in his office. He just picks up whatever telegrams are
waiting, and sends them."
Roderick already knew that. He decided that Lucille was right.
Sheepishly, he was thinking of departure, when he happened to remember about
his ditched car. Before he could tell Lucille about it, there was a ring at
the front door. Lucille looked up gladly, as a stocky young man stepped into
the room.
The arrival was a good-looking fellow, with a square-jawed face and
darkish eyes that had a firm glitter. Lucille introduced him as George
Brendaw, the owner of Five Towers. She did not explain why Roderick had
arrived, and it proved unnecessary.
"I suppose that is your car down in the gully," said Brendaw, to
Roderick. "Mighty sorry you had an accident. Not hurt, I hope?"
"Not at all," replied Roderick. "I hope, though, that I haven't
inconvenienced traffic between here and town."
"You've done that, all right," laughed Brendaw, "but it isn't your
fault. The county should have fixed that bridge, long ago! I'm going to
telephone Sheriff Cravlen about it.
"I had to leave my car below the bridge, but that won't matter. They'll
haul your car down to town and have the bridge fixed in a day or so. You're
welcome to stay here, Mr. Talroy."
Roderick could see that Brendaw meant it, so he accepted the invitation.
He looked at Lucille. The girl thought that he was pleased because he would
not have to tell others how he had been hoaxed. The girl nodded, indicating
that she would keep the secret.
To himself, Roderick expressed the impression that he would profit by a
few days stay here. He was through with Olive, for her prank, and, therefore,
he was looking for some other girl. Lucille Merrith was eligible, if he could
only get rid of that moose-faced aunt.
The fact that Lucille thought a lot of Brendaw meant nothing to Roderick
Talroy. Nor did he care because he was accepting Brendaw's hospitality. One of
Roderick's specialties was that of coaxing women away from other men. That was
one of his bad qualities that Lucille hadn't read about in the newspapers.
Brendaw had gone from the living room. Aunt Augusta was reading
Thackeray, with a pair of lorgnette reading glasses. Roderick made use of this
opportunity to tell Lucille how little he really cared for Olive.
In fact, said Roderick, he hadn't intended to stay here, even if he did
find Olive. He had wired New York from the station, telling his valet to
expect him back at the apartment.
Roderick followed that by saying that he was glad his car had crashed at
the bridge and he felt pretty sure that Lucille knew why. He was just about
ready to tell her how lovely she looked when Titus announced that dinner was
served.
THEY dined in a big dining room across the hall. There, they were joined
by a tall, wiry man who wore a ruddy beard and mustache. His name was Robert
Lenley, and he appeared to be about forty years old. Lenley, it developed, was
the inventor that the station agent had mentioned. He had a workshop in the
cellar, and he had been busy there all afternoon.
The inventor was evasive, when his work was mentioned. That, perhaps,
was due to a visitor's presence. Roderick learned that Lucille and her Aunt
Augusta had been guests at the Towers for less than a week.
Apparently, Aunt Augusta had money that she considered putting into one
of Lenley's inventions. That was the reason why she and her niece were here.
One other detail interested Roderick. Above the mantel of the dining
room hung a portrait of a glowering old man with flowing hair, bushy brows and
wide chin. The eyes of the picture had something of the flash that Roderick
had noticed in Brendaw's. Roderick supposed, logically enough, that George
Brendaw was related to the man of the portrait.
When dinner ended, and the ladies departed; Brendaw proffered cigars.
While the three men smoked, Lenley began to discuss scientific matters,
chiefly for Roderick's benefit. The inventor seemed to be emphasizing the fact
that he was a man educated in such matters; he was eyeing Roderick very
narrowly, all the while.
George Brendaw finished his cigar and strolled from the dining room,
remarking that he would be back later. Roderick, tired of Lenley's talk, was
anxious to join Lucille. He told the inventor that he wanted to go to his
room. Since Lenley was watching him when he reached the hall, Roderick asked
Titus where the room was. The servant ushered him upstairs.
There was a long center hall on the second floor; it ran crosswise in
the building. At each end was a corridor extending at right angles to the main
one. Titus took Roderick to the passage on the right. They turned toward the
rear of the building and stopped at a door.
All the way along, Roderick had noticed few doors, and the reason was
explained when Titus opened this one. The room was huge, three times as large
as an ordinary bedroom; probably the others were all that size.
Roderick's suitcase was in the corner. As soon as Titus had gone,
Roderick opened it and found a fresh shirt and necktie. He started to put them
on, in front of a big, old-fashioned mirror, but the light was poor.
Roderick moved a floor lamp closer to the mirror. He noted that the room
had no chandelier. It was lighted entirely by lamps connected to floor plugs,
only the one lamp being on.
As a result, many spots in the huge room were dark, almost as gloomy as
the waiting room down at the Sunnyside station. If any one sneaked into this
room, he could lurk very easily.
Roderick might have thought of that, if he had seen the odd closing of
the waiting-room door, down at the station.
But it was the station agent, not Roderick, who had noticed that.
What Roderick did sense was a slight draft of air, that was followed by
a noise like the closing of a door. It caused him to turn and look at the
door, but he saw no one. The door was tight shut, although there was very
little light near it. Like the station agent, Roderick voiced the question:
"Who's there?"
There was no response, except the wail of outside wind and the sudden
increase of rain that slashed against the pane. A shutter slammed in some
distant spot. A floor board creaked under Roderick's foot.
The two noises made him think that the door-closing noise had been
something quite ordinary. Roderick turned to the mirror; leaned closer to it,
to adjust his necktie.
There was a stir behind him. Something seemed to be creeping close. Eyes
on the mirror, Roderick listened. Suddenly, his gaze was riveted. Over his
shoulder stared a face with hard eyes, that met his own from the depth of the
looking glass. There was evil in that face, even though Roderick could see
little more of it than the ugly, glaring eyes.
WITH a wild gasp, Roderick sprang about, instinctively thrusting his
hands to drive back that menacing horror. A hand jabbed up to meet him;
Roderick did not see the glittering object that it held. As Roderick clawed
for the attacker's throat, a finger pressed a trigger.
The revolver shot was muffled by the bodies of the two. The beat of the
rain and the howl of the wind were factors that drowned the report. It seemed,
in fact, to be lost in the hugeness of the remote bedroom to which Roderick
had been assigned.
Roderick's body spilled to the floor, stretched out in the lamplight.
Turned partly upward, his chest showed a bloody mark upon the white front of
the shirt that he had taken from the suitcase. The murderer stepped away from
the light. Those ugly eyes studied the body from darkness.
That one bullet had found the heart of Roderick Talroy. There was no
need for the murderer to use more. His hand reached for the lamp cord and
tugged it. Darkness filled the room. There were creepy sounds as the murderer
sneaked away. His departure was identical with that of the prowler who had
been at the Sunnyside station.
The only sound that stirred the room of death was the banshee wail of
the winds that lashed the gray walls of Five Towers. The whine was like the
howl of ghoulish wraiths, welcoming the spirit of Roderick Talroy to the vast,
invisible spaces of a world between.
CHAPTER III.
MORE VISITORS.
DOWNSTAIRS, George Brendaw came in through the front door, his raincoat
soaked, his hat pouring water from its brim. Lucille Merrith heard the
"Whoosh!" that he uttered, and came from the living room.
"When did you go out, George?" she exclaimed. "I didn't hear you leave."
"About fifteen minutes ago," replied Brendaw, looking at a big
grandfather's clock. "Where are Lenley and Talroy? I left them in the dining
room.""I'm still here," came Lenley's crisp tone, from the depths of the
dining room. "Come in and get dried out. What was the idea, George, going out
into such weather?"
George and Lucille joined Lenley. He was at the dining room table,
working some formulas on sheets of paper that were strewn everywhere. George
answered his bearded friend's question.
"I wanted to see how things were at the bridge," he explained, "but I
didn't get that far. I thought I knew the way well enough without a
flashlight, but it was too tough going through the woods. Where's Talroy, by
the way?"
"He went up to his room," returned Lenley. "Titus showed him to it.
That"-Lenley turned to Lucille-"was just before your Aunt Augusta went
upstairs."
Titus arrived at that moment. The servant's face was anxious. He came in
hurriedly from the hall.
"The side door, sir," he said to Lenley. "I'm sure some one was trying
to enter there. I heard a noise at the latch."
Lenley was on his feet. He demanded:
"Is the door locked?"
"Yes, sir," said Titus, "with the key on the hook. But it is a very poor
lock, as you know. I opened it and looked out. No one was there, but I am sure
I saw a flashlight, toward the front of the house."
As if to prove the servant's statement, there came a sudden battering at
the front door. Lenley grabbed Brendaw's arm.
"Get me that gun of yours, George!"
"Nonsense!" laughed Brendaw. "See who it is, Titus." Then, to Lucille,
he added: "Bob always gets excited when he worries about his inventions."
TITUS admitted a tall, long-jawed man of rugged build. He was elderly,
but active, when he saw the group in the dining room, he came storming in
there, carrying a big cane.
His muddy shoes left tracks all along the floor. A shock of white hair
showed, when the arrival took off his wide-brimmed hat. Glaring, he surveyed
the group, then demanded:
"Where is Roderick Talroy? I am his attorney, Rufus Fant."
"Mr. Talroy is here," returned Brendaw, coolly. "Tell us, Mr. Fant, were
you the person who was trying to enter by the side door?"
Fant glowered. Brendaw had chosen the best way to handle a man of the
lawyer's overbearing type. It took Fant a few seconds to manage a reply.
"I was," he admitted, in a lower growl. Then, angrily: "I have been
floundering everywhere around here, trying to find the door! Bah! First, that
station agent couldn't get me past the gully, in his car, because the bridge
was down. I had to walk here, and look at the flashlight he gave me!"
Fant exhibited a flashlight so dim that it was a wonder Titus had caught
a glimpse of it when the servant looked from the side door.
"All on account of that young fool, Roderick Talroy!" ejaculated Fant.
"Bah! What does he know about buying an invention?"
Lenley's gaze narrowed. The bearded man was quick to take up the
subject.
"I said nothing to Talroy about my invention," declared Lenley. "How did
he find out about it?"
"Here's his telegram. Read it."
Lenley read the telegram. His bearded lips parted, his long teeth showed
an ugly smile. The laugh that he gave was a harsh one.
"Twenty thousand dollars!" scoffed Lenley. "The nerve of Talroy, to
think that I would sell at that price! Since you are his attorney, Mr. Fant,
you can tell Talroy that-"
Lenley stopped. Fant was staring across the dining-room table. His eyes
were riveted upon the portrait that hung there. His manner would have suited a
man who viewed a ghost. Fant's cane dropped; his shaky hands clamped the table
edge. "Lionel Brendaw!" gasped the lawyer. "Like in life!"
It took effort for Fant to recover, but he managed it. With his
recuperation, he showed a return of his former glare. His eyes looked toward
George Brendaw. Fant pointed to the portrait.
"Are you related to Lionel Brendaw?"
"I am," replied George. "My name is Brendaw. But the relationship was a
remote one. He was my grandfather's second cousin, or something of the sort."
"Then this house-"
"Was where Lionel Brendaw died, one year ago. I happened to be his only
living heir."
Fant's lips showed a testy expression. They were ugly. George Brendaw
thrust out his chin as he watched the lawyer stare anew at the portrait. This
time, Fant showed no shakiness.
"I once knew your remote second cousin," declared Fant. "Better,
perhaps, than most persons did. If I-"
THERE were voices from the hall. Titus had admitted new arrivals. Their
appearance interrupted possible trouble, for George Brendaw recognized one of
the men and sprang forward to meet him.
"Hello, sheriff!" he greeted. "Glad to see you! I guess you know all of
these people, except"-he turned abruptly and indicated Fant-"this is Mr. Fant.
Rufus Fant, a New York attorney."
"My name is Amos Cravlen," said the sheriff, shaking hands with Fant.
"Came up to see about that wrecked bridge. They say the fellow who owned the
big roadster was up here."
Amos Cravlen was brawny; his ruggedness fitted a county sheriff. His
hand had a powerful grip, as Fant could testify. The sheriff's squarish face,
though, was a genial one.
He looked like a man who had won his present office through popularity.
His face, however, had as hard a chin as George Brendaw boasted. His eyes,
dark and cold, scanned every face steadily.
No one had to tell Sheriff Cravlen that he had walked in on the
beginning of an argument. George Brendaw noted it, and decided to avoid
trouble. He told Titus to go upstairs and ask Roderick Talroy to join them.
When Titus left, the sheriff turned to introduce the stranger who had
come with him. Cravlen's companion was a tall personage, whose face was
hawklike. There was something strangely impressive about those smileless lips.
They added a masklike effect, and the clear eyes above the hawkish nose were
gifted with a penetrating gaze.
"This is Mr. Kent Allard," stated the sheriff. "His name is one I won't
forget, because I've heard it before. Mr. Allard is a famous explorer. He
happened to drive up while I was at the bridge. He offered to bring me here."
"What's that?" exclaimed George Brendaw. "The bridge is repaired
already?"
"No, indeed," returned the sheriff. "Mr. Allard happened to come through
from the opposite direction, over the old road. The gully blocked him coming
our way, but he could drive in through the gates."
"I was on the wrong road," remarked Allard, in a voice of remarkably
even tone. "It was troublesome, coming through, but my difficulties ended
those of Sheriff Cravlen."
"It sure helped," said the sheriff. "It's a long, muddy walk up from the
gates. I was just starting out with my flashlight-"
The sheriff stopped. Titus had returned, and Cravlen was quick to see
the servant's shakiness. Titus was gasping; he looked ready to fall, much like
a runner after a long race. The sheriff steadied him.
"I rapped at Mr. Talroy's door," panted Titus. "He-he didn't answer. So
I opened the door. I saw-"
"What did you see?" demanded Brendaw. "Out with it, Titus."
"Mr. Talroy-on the floor-beside the big lamp-"
Titus had his face in his hands. The sheriff shoved him into a chair,
beckoned to the others.
"We'll see for ourselves," snapped Cravlen. "Come along!"
THEY reached the bedroom, to find the door open. Talroy's body was in
plain view, the bloodstained breast front gleaming in the light. The sheriff
was the first to reach it. Seeing at once that Talroy was dead, he motioned
the others back.
Three men-Brendaw, Lenley, Fant-formed a strained half circle as they
stared at the prone form. Beyond them, almost in darkness, stood a fourth,
Kent Allard. His keen eyes were on the faces of the living, not the dead.
For, in the murder of Roderick Talroy, Kent Allard had found a crime to
solve. One that promised strange developments before the tall stranger left
Five Towers. Across the floor stretched Allard's shadow, a streak of blackness
that ended in a hawkish profile.
That silhouette was proof that its owner could delve deep into this
mystery. Kent Allard was the master crime-hunter known as The Shadow.
CHAPTER IV.
FACTS FROM THE PAST.
IT was a strained group that assembled in the big living room, with
Sheriff Amos Cravlen in charge. Seated on the arm of a large chair, the
sheriff pocketed the key to the bedroom, which he had locked, so no one could
disturb Talroy's body.
The sheriff studied two telegrams. One was the message that Roderick
Talroy had received that morning. It had been in the dead man's pocket. The
other was the telegram that Rufus Fant had received, presumably from Roderick.
"Those telegrams are fakes," defined the lawyer, crisply. "Somebody in
this house sent the first to bring Roderick here. The same person sent the
second telegram, also, to lure me."
While he spoke, Fant fixed his eyes upon George Brendaw. That young man
caught the inference, but said nothing. George was evidently trying to picture
something more definitely in his mind. He was willing to let Fant talk.
Kent Allard noted George's expression. He also noticed Robert Lenley.
The bearded inventor was restless, but at times he steadied, while his beady
eyes surveyed the others. Sometimes, Lenley's gaze shifted toward Titus, who
was standing, very white, beside the fireplace.
Lucille Merrith spoke suddenly. The girl had remained downstairs, during
the discovery of the body. The subject of the telegrams was one with which she
thought she might help.
"Roderick Talroy told me that he sent a telegram," said the girl, "but
it wasn't one to Mr. Fant. He said that he wired his valet, to let him know
that he would be in New York to-night-"
"But he added," put in George Brendaw, "that he was glad he couldn't go
there, didn't he?"
"Yes," admitted Lucille, "but how did you know?"
George laughed at the girl's surprise.
"I saw what Talroy was after," he said. "I didn't know why he had landed
here, but all he had on his mind was you, Lucille. I figured just what kind of
talk he was giving, to make an impression.
Fant was listening, with his big head tilted.
"Hear that, sheriff?" demanded the lawyer. "I insist that you hold this
man, George Brendaw, for murder, and the girl as a material witness! Brendaw
admits a grudge against Talroy."
"You're crazy!" snapped George, "Do you think I'd murder a man just
because he made a sap of himself? This is my house. I could have ordered
Talroy out of it."
"But you didn't want to," parried Fant, "because your grudge goes
farther back than to-night."
GEORGE BRENDAW looked blank. He didn't seem to know what Fant meant. At
last, George turned to the sheriff, to state in a frank tone:
"I can't understand what Fant means. I never heard of Roderick Talroy
before to-night. Nor, for that matter, did Miss Merrith-"
Fant was on his feet, voicing a triumphant shout that interrupted
George's statement. His hand wagging emphatically, Fant was pointing toward
Lucille. When he became coherent, Fant demanded:
"Is her name Merrith?"
"Of course it is," returned Lucille. She remembered suddenly that her
name had not previously been mentioned to Fant. "Why do you ask?"
The lawyer did not answer the question directly. He turned to Cravlen
with a request that he be allowed to make a statement without interruption.
The sheriff was agreeable. Silence was tense, expressions puzzled, as Fant
began his crisp announcement.
"A full twenty years ago," declared the lawyer, "Lionel Brendaw was
accumulating a fortune, supplying war materials to the United States
government. There"-Fant pointed dramatically across to the dining room-"hangs
a portrait of Lionel Brendaw. This house, I understand, was once his.
"Old Lionel was a profiteer, and the government learned it. He was
convicted and sent to prison for fifteen years. He tried to shift some of the
blame to an innocent man, Artemus Talroy, on the claim that Talroy was his
partner.
"I represented Artemus Talroy and cleared his name from blame. When
Artemus Talroy died, some years later, I became the attorney for his estate.
Artemus Talroy"-Fant shook his head sadly-"was Roderick's father."
There was a profound silence. It seemed that Fant's statement had
finished. George Brendaw leaned back in his chair, to give a hard, wise smile.
"I see the inference," declared George. "Mr. Fant thinks that I, as heir
to Lionel Brendaw, would wish the death of Roderick Talroy, whose father was
Lionel's enemy. A fine theory, sheriff, except for the fact that I never met
my distant relative, Lionel Brendaw. I knew nothing about him, except that he
摘要：

DeathTurretsbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedinTheShadowMagazine#137November1,1937Highoverthecountryside,theyloomed~sentinelsofthedoomthatwastobefallthosewithin!OnlyTheShadowcouldpenetratethedeathpallthathunglikeashroudovertheweird,castle-likemansion!CHAPTERI.TOWERSOFDOOM.THEbig,high-poweredroadst...

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