Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 093 - The Ghost Murders

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THE GHOST MURDERS
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE FAKE SEANCE
? CHAPTER II. THE DEAD VOICE SPEAKS
? CHAPTER III. THE LAWS DELAY
? CHAPTER IV. AT SKYVIEW LODGE
? CHAPTER V. A VANISHED GHOST
? CHAPTER VI. A KILLER EXPLAINS
? CHAPTER VII. CRIME DISCUSSED
? CHAPTER VIII. AFTER THE SEANCE
? CHAPTER IX. DEATH TO THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER X. FIGHT AND FLIGHT
? CHAPTER XI. A MURDERER'S TRAIL
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW PLANS
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S TRAIL
? CHAPTER XIV. DIRK'S ULTIMATUM
? CHAPTER XV. CLYDE BURKE'S SCOOP
? CHAPTER XVI. WORD FROM THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVII. WORD TO THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XVIII. KERRY GAINS A TRAIL
? CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW DECODES
? CHAPTER XX. LUCK FAVORS CRIME
? CHAPTER XXI. A DOUBLE TRAIL
? CHAPTER XXII. ILL-GAINED MILLIONS
? CHAPTER XXIII. THE VANISHED SWAG
? CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHADOW SETTLES
CHAPTER I. THE FAKE SEANCE
"PHILADELPHIA... Philadelphia..."
The voice of the long-distance operator was intermittent as it came across the wire. It paused; clicking
connections followed. Then the operator's words came:
"New York calling... Ready, Philadelphia..."
The man with the fez stood listening, a smile upon his sallow lips. Attired in a gorgeous Oriental uniform,
red with gold crescents, he had the appearance of a modern Turk. Close scrutiny, however, would have
shown his features to be more Spanish than Oriental.
The room in which the man was standing was as curious as his costume. It was square and dimly lighted;
its walls and corners were a hodgepodge of Oriental furnishings. In front of a Chinese tapestry stood a
taboret that supported a metal vase of Hindu origin, a water lota.
Against the far wall rested a huge Egyptian mummy case; upon it stood a silver narghile, a vaselike
smoking pipe from Persia. Hanging on the wall above was a weapon of Turkish origin, a double-curved
sword known as a yataghan.
The pretended Turk did not appear to be disturbed by the incongruity of his surroundings. He was
holding the telephone in one hand, receiver in the other, while he waited for the long-distance call to
come through.
"Ready, Philadelphia."
"All ready," purred the man with the fez. The fake Turk shifted his wrist to note a watch that he was
wearing beneath his loose sleeve. The time was exactly seven-thirty.
"Hello... "It was a man's voice, brusque across the wire. "I'm calling Philadelphia. Is that Schuylkill
6848?"
"Hello, Tony," purred the false Turk. "You've got the right number. This is Carlos. Let's have the dope."
"I grabbed the last edition of the New York Star," informed Tony, across the wire. "Had it the minute it
hit the street, outside of the Star building. That was only ten minutes ago, Carlos."
"Good work, Tony. That will suit the doctor. He started the seance at six-thirty. He's been holding the
mugs ever since. The local reporters showed up, like we expected. The doctor's waiting for your
tip-off."
"It's a hot one, Carlos. The Star has two news flashes that weren't in the last edition. Fellow named
Oscar Lavery, killed in a taxi crash on Sixth Avenue. Well-known manufacturer of jewelry. The other is
about the cops spotting a crook named Koko Larcum, up in Providence, Rhode Island -"
"Give me the headlines, Tony," interrupted Carlos. He was stooping to use pencil and paper that lay on a
taboret beside him. "Word for word - read them right from the news flashes."
Tony's voice lost its brusqueness as he followed instructions. Carlos was swift in action as he wrote
down the statements from the man in New York. The transcription completed, Carlos finished the call.
"O.K., Tony," he stated. "I'll shoot this in to the doctor. See you later on. Good work!"
CARLOS hung up the receiver. He picked up the scribbled paper and placed the telephone upon the
taboret. He went to a broad window ledge, where spread curtains showed closed shutters beyond. A
large slate was on the ledge; with it, a piece of pointed chalk.
Carefully, the man with the fez copied the words that he had scrawled on the paper. The writing that he
inscribed upon the slate was neat; its letters tiny but clear.
The wrist watch showed seven-forty. A smile showed on the sallow face. Holding the slate with the
written side toward him, Carlos walked to a curtained door and opened it. He stepped through into a
long room which looked like a tiny theater.
A score of persons were seated there, watching events upon a little platform. They were observing a
thick-set man, whose black-bearded face was topped by a gorgeous Hindu turban. The headgear alone
was Oriental; the rest of the man's attire was American. He was wearing a well-fitted tuxedo.
Seated near the standing man was a woman in evening gown. Her hair was jet-black; her face was
dark-complexioned. Like Carlos, she was of Spanish extraction; but her nationality was not disguised as
was that of the pretended Turk.
The attractiveness of her features was distorted by her fixed stare. The woman was almost ghastly as she
gazed sightlessly toward the eyes of the bearded man.
No one noticed Carlos as he stepped to the side of the platform. The fake Turk placed his slate upon a
little table. He picked up a small stand that supported a five-inch crystal ball. Advancing, he stood where
the bearded man could see him.
"Madame Theresa!" The bearded man spoke impressively to the silent, staring woman. "You are under
my hypnotic spell. Your eyes possess the power of clairvoyance. Are you ready to gaze into the depths
of the crystal?"
A moment's pause. The woman's lips moved slowly. Her voice was a monotonous alto as she
pronounced:
"I am ready."
Doctor Mazda turned and beckoned to Carlos, who approached with the crystal ball.
"Stand here, Mustapha!" ordered Mazda, using a name that suited the Spaniard's Turkish make-up.
"Hold the crystal before the eyes of Madame Theresa."
CARLOS obeyed. Theresa stared into the crystal. Doctor Mazda stepped across the platform and
picked up the slate that Carlos had placed on the table. The written side was downward; Mazda was
careful not to reveal the chalk marks. Stepping to the front of the platform, he held the slate so its written
side was directly in front of Theresa's fixed eyes.
"Whatever Madame Theresa may speak," declared the bearded hypnotist, "I shall write upon this slate.
May I ask also that those in my audience take notes. Particularly our friends from the local newspapers."
Pausing, Mazda bowed politely to three reporters, one a woman, who were seated in the front row.
Drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Mazda proceeded to wipe the slate in a careless fashion. He
first chose the side toward himself, obliterating the writing that Theresa had already noted while
preserving her fixed gaze. He turned the slate over and wiped the other side. Every observer took it for
granted that both sides had been blank at the outset.
Drawing a piece of chalk from his vest pocket, Mazda swung about and met the stare of Theresa's eyes.
He was looking directly over the crystal ball that Carlos held with extended hands.
"Speak, Theresa," ordered Mazda. "Tell us what your eyes can see."
"I see words," stated Theresa, her glare increasing. "Words, printed in red. I see the name. It is Oscar.
After that another name. L - A - the name is Lavery. Oscar Lavery. Red letters - all large - they say
these words: Jeweler - killed - in - bad crash -"
"What else?" prompted Mazda.
"Small letters," replied Theresa. "The words are fading as I read them. Oscar Lavery - fifty-three - killed
instantly - this afternoon - cab crashed against pillar - Sixth Avenue - elevated - six o'clock - well-known
manufacturer - jewelry -"
THE words were jerky. The medium's face was twitching. Mazda quickly set the slate upon the floor and
made hypnotic passes. Theresa's features lost their strain.
"Speak more," commanded Mazda. "Gaze into the crystal, Madame Theresa. Speak."
"Killer - hunted - in - Providence." Theresa's tone was weary. "K - O - K - O - L - A - R - Larcum,
Koko Larcum. Police are searching. Providence - Rhode Island -"
Reporters were still scrawling with their pencils as Madame Theresa sank moaning in her chair. Doctor
Mazda became rapid with his mesmeric moves. He raised the medium's chin with one hand and steadied
her eyes toward the crystal.
"The spirit speaks," said Theresa, slowly. "The spirit - of Oscar - Oscar Lavery. It cries: 'The jewels - the
jewels' - it means precious jewels that are lost -"
"Gaze into the crystal, Theresa. Describe the jewels when you see them."
"They are diamonds, set in a circle. Something in the center. I - I cannot see. It fades - the spirit is gone
-"
The dark-haired woman slumped heavily. She was rolling from her chair when Doctor Mazda caught her.
Carlos hurriedly placed the crystal ball on the table; then came over to aid Mazda in reviving Theresa.
They raised her upright in the chair; Mazda held the woman's pulse and turned solemnly toward the
audience.
"Quiet, please," he ordered. "The strain has been too great. Could one of you, in the front, tell me the
exact time?"
"Seven fifty-two," replied a reporter, glancing at his watch. "It was seven-twenty when, you hypnotized
her, doctor."
"Too long, too long." Mazda shook his head seriously. "Thirty minutes of preliminary tests - then twenty
minutes for hypnosis - I am afraid it was too long. Unless I can revive Madame Theresa promptly, her
condition may prove serious."
Turning to Theresa, Mazda raised the woman's limp head and stroked her forehead. While Carlos
supported the medium, Mazda stepped back and clapped his hands. Theresa opened her eyes and gazed
blankly, wearily.
"All is well," announced Mazda, to his audience. Then, to Carlos: "Come, Mustapha. Aid Madame
Theresa to leave. She must rest at once."
Carlos helped the woman from her chair. Theresa leaned heavily on the fake Turk's shoulder. Together
they stepped from the platform and walked through the door that led to the Oriental room. Doctor
Mazda nodded in reassured fashion; then turned to the reporters as they came up to question him.
TWENTY minutes later, Doctor Mazda entered the Oriental room to find Carlos and Theresa seated on
the Egyptian mummy case, puffing cigarettes. Chuckling, Mazda removed his turban and bowled it into a
corner. He opened a little Chinese cabinet and brought out a jar of cold cream. He tugged at his black
beard; as it peeled away, he applied cold cream to soften the spirit gum that had held his make-up in
place.
"How did it hit 'em, doctor?" questioned Carlos, who was swinging his fez by its tassel. "Did they get the
idea that it might be in the newspapers?"
"They sure did," laughed Mazda. "That red-letter stuff made them think of the New York Star. Great
work, Theresa; you told them just enough. Reading the headlines word for word - that was good
business."
"How did you like the jewel bunk?" queried Theresa, her voice harsh without its monotone. "Diamonds in
a circle?"
"That was good," approved Mazda, "but you might have put a ruby or something in the center of the
ring."
"I wasn't sure about it," said Theresa, with a shake of her head. "Lots of rings have diamonds in a cluster;
but the center stone might be an emerald or a sapphire -"
"All right, Theresa. That won't matter. The main thing was to get those headlines across. We began the
seance at half past six; the last edition of the New York newspaper wasn't out until nearly half past seven.
These local reporters know that the Star is the only New York newspaper that uses red ink for its news
flashes. They'll get hold of a copy. Wait until they read about Oscar Lavery -"
"You'll get a swell write-up here in Philadelphia," put in Carlos. "Right where it will count most, doctor."
"We'll pack them in tomorrow night," decided Mazda. "We ought to be able to take care of one hundred
sitters at a dollar each. We'll run three seances; and at the last one, we'll get another message from this
dead jeweler, Oscar Lavery."
"Will you use the trumpet, doctor?"
Mazda considered the suggestion a moment; then nodded his head slowly.
"Yes," he decided. "We'll use the trumpet, Carlos. But not for Oscar Lavery's voice. Some of his friends
might show up from New York; and they'd probably figure it was phony. We'll let Oscar talk through the
voice of your control, Theresa."
"All right," agreed the woman. "We can practice the act tomorrow morning, We're rusty on the trumpet
business."
"But not on the hypnotic act," chuckled Mazda. "How did it look, Carlos?"
"It knocked 'em, doctor," grinned the pretended Turk. "Better than I ever saw it worked before. We sure
have that one working."
DOCTOR MAZDA had removed his collar and necktie. He stopped to rub his chin; then shook his
head.
"It won't do to have Oscar talk through the trumpet," he decided regretfully. "You never can tell what
kind of a voice to use in a case like this. We don't know anything about the man; that's why we can't take
a chance. But it would be a knock-out, though - a real knock-out - if somebody who knew Oscar
Lavery's voice could hear it - and recognize it - the voice of a man that's dead!"
The tuxedoed swindler spoke with real enthusiasm. He was a showman, this Doctor Mazda; and he was
correct when he stated that the voice of a dead man would create a sensation if heard by someone who
knew it.
With it, oddly, would be connected a second name that Madame Theresa had also read from the slate
that Carlos had brought to Doctor Mazda. That was the name of "Koko" Larcum, the killer whom the
law had spotted in Providence, Rhode Island.
CHAPTER II. THE DEAD VOICE SPEAKS
IT was nine o'clock that same evening. Two men were standing in the tiny living room of an apartment.
One was staring from the window, studying the lights of Providence. The distant glitter of Exchange Place
was discernible through the glow.
"Nine o'clock, Koko."
"All right, Luke. Let's move. Out through the back alley."
The two men left the darkened apartment. They descended a flight of steps, made their way through a
rear exit and crossed a gloomy alley. They clambered aboard a parked coupe. Luke took the wheel; two
minutes later, they were rolling along a broad avenue.
"Next street to the left, Luke," growled Koko. "Five blocks; then turn to the right."
"All right, Koko," responded Luke. "Say - you don't think the bulls have got on to us, do you?"
"They're wise to me being in Providence," chuckled Koko, "but that don't mean nothing, Luke. They
think I'm just hiding out here. That's about all I was doing until tonight, and -"
Luke interrupted with a warning exclamation. He had veered left; staring into the mirror he had spotted
the lights of a car behind. It had also turned from the avenue.
"Looks like there's a buggy following us -"
"Not a chance, Luke. No bulls could follow me."
Luke swung the car. Koko growled again.
"I'll be out of town tonight," he stated. "Like as not I won't have nothing to do even when I get to the
place where I'm going. I'm just covering up some funny business, that's all. You don't need to know
about it, Luke."
"That bus is still tailing us, Koko."
"Yeah? Guess again, Luke. I'm telling you that no dick is smart enough to tail -"
"Maybe it ain't a dick, Koko. Maybe it's -"
"Some G men? Guess again, Luke."
"I was thinking that maybe -"
"The Shadow?"
"Yeah."
Koko growled an oath. He peered into the mirror to note the headlamps far back along the darkened
street. He nudged Luke with his fist.
"We're close enough to where I'm going, Luke. Swing the next corner. I'm dropping off. You keep going.
Fast. Get clear of town, like I'll be doing later."
Luke turned the corner. Koko had the door opened; he plopped to a patch of grass between the curb
and sidewalk, slamming the door as he dropped. The coupe whizzed onward with the speed of a startled
rabbit. Koko dived through a hedge.
Thirty seconds later, another coupe swung the corner. Koko saw it speed onward to the chase. He
chuckled as he sneaked across a darkened lawn. The ruse had worked. Luke would soon be lost amid
the traffic of an avenue.
FIVE minutes after Koko's sneak, the trailing coupe came back along the secluded street. Koko,
however, was no longer there to witness its return. The driver of that car had guessed the game. He had
given up pursuit of Luke and was cruising about through this secluded neighborhood.
No sign of Koko. Small wonder, for the crook was no longer prowling about deserted lawns. He had
picked a house in the darkness; he had found an unlocked window. Entering, Koko had gained the
gloom of a darkened dining room. Through curtains, he could view a dim hall, where a single table lamp
was burning.
A dozen minutes passed. A chuggy motor sounded from out front. Koko guessed it to be a taxi. He was
right. One minute later the front door yielded to a key. A tall man entered, followed by a cab driver who
was carrying two bags. The man paid the driver; the fellow departed.
The tall man looked weary as he shoved the heavy suitcases into the corner. A sigh of relief escaped his
lips as he took off his hat and overcoat and flung them on a chair. He started slowly toward the steps to
the second floor; then stopped short as a telephone bell began to ring.
"Hello..." The man spoke wearily as he lifted the hall telephone from its table. "Hello... What's that? Long
distance? Yes... this is Mr. Candish... Roy Candish...
"Hello... Well, well! Oscar Lavery. Sure. I'd know your voice any time I heard it... Yes, I just arrived
home. That's right. I wired you that I'd be here about nine-thirty... I didn't expect to hear from you until
tomorrow, though...
"What's that? The good news? Certainly, I've got it... Yes, the name of the fellow who has that jeweled
cigarette case... Thomas Farren is his name. You can reach him at a place called Skyview Lodge, in the
Pocono Mountains...
"Yes, he's up there for the hunting season... No telephone; but the place is easy to find... Skyview Lodge,
in Lawson County."
Footsteps on the stairs. Candish turned to see a woman clad in dressing gown. She was gesturing with
her hands; as she caught Candish's attention, she spoke in a frightened whisper.
"Roy! Roy!" was her exclamation. "I - I heard the voice, too. On the extension telephone -"
"Hold it, Oscar," said Candish. "My wife has just come downstairs... Wants to tell me something
important... Hello... Hello..."
Angrily, Candish joggled the hook; then hung up the receiver with a bang.
"There you are, Marie!" he stormed. "You interrupted me and I muddled the call! Oscar Lavery hung up
- or we were disconnected - I don't know what happened. But it was your fault!"
"You don't understand, Roy!" protested the woman. "I heard the telephone ring, too. It wakened me. I
lifted the receiver. I heard you talking with - with Oscar Lavery. With Oscar Lavery! It - it was
terrifying!"
"Terrifying? What do you mean?"
"Didn't - didn't you know? Of course - of course you couldn't have learned. I only heard - heard about
Oscar Lavery an hour ago myself, when Mr. Jamison called me."
"Out with it!"
"That Oscar Lavery was killed this afternoon!"
ROY CANDISH stared unbelievingly as he heard his wife's words. His eyes blinked rapidly; he tried to
smile his skepticism, but failed. Marie Candish spoke in awed tone.
"It was Oscar's voice," she declared. "Like yourself, Roy, I recognized that precise English accent. It
could only have been Oscar Lavery. Yet Oscar Lavery is dead!"
"Only Oscar Lavery," repeated Candish, nodding slowly.
"And he is dead, Roy -"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. We'll soon find out." Candish picked up the telephone. "I'm going to call New
York and talk to police headquarters. There's been some mistake, maybe. Anyway, I'm going to get
facts -"
Candish paused as his wife delivered a startled scream. He dropped the telephone and wheeled. Out into
the light had come Koko Larcum. Candish faced a leveled revolver; above it he saw a hardened, leering
visage.
"Wise guy, eh?" sneered Koko, as Candish backed away with upraised hands. "Going to spill something
to the bulls. You'll have a fat chance, mug! A fat chance -"
Candish was already leaping forward. He caught the crook's wrist. The revolver spat twice; its barking
shots went wide. Snarling, the would-be murderer grappled with his foe. Candish, in turn, fought
frantically, trying to wrest Koko's gun from the grimy fingers that clutched it. Koko pulled his left hand
free and sent a jab to his opponent's jaw.
They had twisted about during their fierce wrestle. Candish was staggering back toward the darkened
dining room as Koko aimed toward his body. The crook's finger was on the trigger; another instant
would mark the beginning of deadly shots. Snarling, Koko was ready for the kill.
Then came a blast from darkness. The roar of an automatic accompanied the flame that tongued from
between the dining room curtains. Koko's leer froze. His fingers loosened; his revolver clattered to the
floor. For two long seconds, the crook swayed; then tumbled in a heap upon his useless gun.
OUT from the gloom swept a cloaked figure, a living proof that Luke's guess had been correct. The
Shadow had come back on Koko's trail.
Cruising about, he had heard the first shots from the thwarted killer's revolver. The Shadow had arrived
in time to avert the postponed death of Roy Candish.
The saved man was slumped by the wall, half groggy from the punch that Koko had given him. He was
staring past the killer's body, to where his wife stood stunned upon the stairs. Wavering as he sought to
rise, Candish suddenly saw the figure of The Shadow.
"Speak," came a whispered voice. "Quickly. Tell me why your life was sought."
"Oscar - Oscar Lavery," stammered Candish. "Dead - dead in New York. He - Oscar - wanted the
name. The name of the man who has the cigarette case with the diamond dial."
"Speak." The sibilant whisper was commanding. "Tell me the name."
"Thomas Farren," gulped Candish. "Skyview Lodge, in Lawson County. Pocono Mountains. No
telephone. I - I told Oscar Lavery when he called. Five minutes ago - from New York - Oscar's voice
-"
Fists were hammering at the front door. Orders were being shouted through the night. Neighbors were
investigating the shots. With a quick sweep, The Shadow gripped Candish by the arms; he yanked the
dazed man to his feet and sent him wavering toward the front door. Candish reached the knob and
turned it; as the latch yielded, three men surged into the gloomy hallway.
"What's happened, Candish?"
THE dazed man recognized friends from the neighborhood. He spoke slowly as he pointed. He saw his
wife rising from the steps, past Koko Larcum's body.
"A telephone call," stated Candish, vaguely. "From - from a ghost. A murderer tried to kill me. He was
killed instead. Killed by - by someone in black - someone standing right there in the -"
Candish pointed toward the doorway to the dining room; then blinked in astonishment. There was no sign
of The Shadow; that black-cloaked specter had already made a prompt departure through the interior of
the house.
Awed, the rescued man spoke again. This time he pointed toward the huddled form of Koko Larcum.
"That man tried to murder me!" he exclaimed. "But he was killed instead! Killed, I tell you! Killed by a
bullet fired by a ghost!"
CHAPTER III. THE LAWS DELAY
EVENTS came hourly on this strange night. At six o'clock, Oscar Lavery had been killed in a taxi
accident in New York. At seven, news of his death had gone to press. At eight o'clock, Doctor Mazda
had completed his fake seance in Philadelphia. At nine, Koko Larcum had fared forth to deliver murder
in Providence, only to meet his own doom when he faced The Shadow.
Ten o'clock found another change of scene. Five men were seated about a table in the back room of a
little country store, where kerosene lanterns provided the illumination for a friendly game of poker. Their
improvised gaming room was located five miles from the sprawly town of Mountainside, the county seat
of Lawson County.
A gruff-voiced man was bellowing into an old-fashioned telephone that projected from the wall.
"Yeah. This is Jake Hobarth..." The gruff-voiced man was emphatic. "Sheriff of Lawson County... That's
right... What's that? Skyview Lodge? Sure... I know the place. Yeah. Thomas Farren is there...
"Danger? Tonight? Say - who are you, anyway? Calling from New York... Police headquarters, eh?
That's different... Thought maybe you were kidding me... Yes, sir... Count on me. I won't lose no time...
Yeah, we'll have the place covered inside of half an hour... My men? I've got a bunch of 'em right here."
Hobarth hung up; then turned the old-fashioned bell handle that signified the call was ended. He swung
about and faced the table, where the flannel-shirted poker players had ceased their play.
"New York headquarters," announced the sheriff, briskly. "Thought maybe it was a hoax at first; but I
oughtn't to have. That fellow on the other end meant business. His voice was sorta mechanical. It was
New York headquarters, right enough."
Oddly, Sheriff Jake Hobarth was wrong. The methodical voice that had talked to him was that of a man
named Burbank. Contact agent of The Shadow, Burbank had received a call from his chief in
Providence. From handy files, Burbank had learned that Jake Hobarth was the sheriff of Lawson
County. He had put in a long-distance call, stating that it came from New York headquarters.
There was method in The Shadow's procedure. The Shadow knew that Roy Candish's information had
reached New York. From Manhattan to the lodge in the Poconos, the distance was no more than ninety
miles. A swift car could make it in less than two hours.
But from Providence, the distance was a full two hundred miles, even by air, with difficulty to land at the
end of the trip. There was but one way to reach Thomas Farren first; that was by telephone. Since
Skyview Lodge had no telephone, a call to Sheriff Hobarth had been the only alternative.
Ten o'clock. Ample time remained; and Burbank had impressed Hobarth with the need for prompt
action. Already, within a few minutes after the call, Hobarth was telling the details to his companions.
"SEEMS like there's some danger due for Farren," Hobarth was explaining gruffly. "It may be that
crooks are already on their way to get him. Our job will be to lay for 'em, without tipping Farren to
what's up."
"Why not see Farren, Jake?" queried one of the poker players.
"Because we don't know all the details," replied the sheriff. "Lookit. There's two roads coming up to
Skyview Lodge - leastwise, there's one goes by it; but that counts for two because you can come in from
either direction.
"The lodge sets in a mighty small clearing. Bigger clearings in back of it, of course, up toward the knoll
and down by the swamp. But there's only one way to get to the lodge itself. That's by the road that goes
by it. The one road that counts for two.
"I say two because I'm going to post some of you fellows west of the driveway up to the lodge; and the
others of you east. When that's set, I'll go up to the lodge myself and keep an eye there.
"We'll watch cars coming in; we'll watch 'em going out. Stop any of 'em if they look suspicious. We ain't
standing for no smart-Alec business in this county. Take it from me, fellows."
Hobarth paused to produce a plug of tobacco. One listener, however, raised an objection.
"You're fergetting something, Jake," observed this man, as he stroked his unshaven chin. "Suppose them
fellows come to the lodge along the east road?"
"What of it, Hank?" demanded Hobarth. "What're we going to do? Run out of gas?"
Guffaws at the sheriff's jest. Hank, however, remained serious as he shook his head.
"We're agoing to run out of something else, Jake," asserted the objector. "We're agoing to run clear out
of Lawson County. Over into Campbell County, Jake - that's where we'll be going. And for one, I'm
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THEGHOSTMURDERSMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEFAKESEANCE?CHAPTERII.THEDEADVOICESPEAKS?CHAPTERIII.THELAWSDELAY?CHAPTERIV.ATSKYVIEWLODGE?CHAPTERV.AVANISHEDGHOST?CHAPTERVI.AKILLEREXPLAINS?CHAPTERVII.CRIMEDISCUSSED?CHAPTERVIII.AFTERTHESEANCE?CHAPTE...

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