Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 074 - Bells of Doom

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BELLS OF DOOM
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE FOUR PLAYERS
? CHAPTER II. TWO TALK TERMS
? CHAPTER III. THURSDAY NIGHT
? CHAPTER IV. THE SHADOW'S PART
? CHAPTER V. THE LAWYER SPEAKS
? CHAPTER VI. LESTER SPEAKS
? CHAPTER VII. FROM THE TOWER
? CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW ENTERS
? CHAPTER IX. DEATH DISCOVERED
? CHAPTER X. THE NEXT EVENING
? CHAPTER XI. MIDNIGHT APPROACHES
? CHAPTER XII. THE SHADOW MOVES
? CHAPTER XIII. AT ZANGWALD'S
? CHAPTER XIV. OUTSIDE THE HOUSE
? CHAPTER XV. THE LAW CONFERS
? CHAPTER XVI. HARRY'S MESSAGE
? CHAPTER XVII. THROUGH THE CRYPT
? CHAPTER XVIII. IN THE MANSION
? CHAPTER XIX. MURDERERS FOILED
? CHAPTER XX. IN THE CRYPT
? CHAPTER XXI. CRIME DISCLOSED
? CHAPTER XXII. THE FINAL DEATH
CHAPTER I. THE FOUR PLAYERS
"ANOTHER deal, gentlemen?"
The question came in a suave tone. It was uttered by a shrewd-faced young man who was one of a party
of four. The men were seated at a card table; the tuxedo-clad speaker was riffling a pack of cards as he
spoke.
"Let's call it quits, Claverly," responded a second player. This man, middle-aged and portly, was pleasant
in tone. "We dock in New York early tomorrow. Some sleep wouldn't do us any harm."
"All right, Messler," agreed Claverly. "You're the heavy loser. You're the one to choose."
Messler hesitated. Claverly's statement made him think of the other players. Messler looked across the
table toward a hatchet-faced individual who was clicking a depleted stack of chips.
"You have lost also, Rosling," observed Messler. "If you would like to extend the game, I am willing."
"Not for me," growled Rosling. "I've been hooked for enough dough already. You're the banker,
Claverly. Here're my chips. Cash 'em."
As Claverly complied, Messler turned to the fourth player. He was facing an impassive, hawk-visaged
personage who had made no comment. Messler put a formal question to the fourth player.
"How about it, Cranston?" he queried. "Do you agree that it is time to end the game?"
"Yes," came the quiet response.
Chips were clattering. Rosling was turning in his small stack. Messler had an even smaller pile. Cranston's
chips, however, were many and of varied colors. Claverly, eying them as he prepared to pay, realized
instantly that Cranston, like himself, was a heavy winner.
Dull, muffled throbs were audible all the while. These four were aboard the steamship Laurentic, in
passage from Liverpool to New York. The pounding of the engines accounted for the throbs, for the ship
was wallowing through a heavy sea.
These four men were alone in the smoking room of the liner. It was past midnight; other passengers -
stragglers who had ventured from their cabins - had retired. Yet these four, untroubled by the roughness
of the weather, had continued the game that they had begun earlier in the evening.
It was not surprising that the rough passage had not troubled them. During their acquaintanceship aboard
the Laurentic, each had learned that the others were accustomed to ocean travel. Augustus Messler, the
portly gentleman, was a wealthy New Yorker who was completing a voyage around the world. Milton
Claverly, the suave young chap, was ending a trip from Australia. Charles Rosling, the man with the
hatchet face, had declared himself to be a frequent transatlantic traveler.
The fourth member of the party - Lamont Cranston - had proven to be the most experienced voyager of
all. He had sailed every ocean and was familiar with lands which, to the others, were no more than
names.
Cranston had arrived in London just in time to board the Laurentic. He had reached the English capital
after a journey through the heart of Africa, from Capetown to Cairo.
Accounts settled, Augustus Messler began to comment on these facts. Settling back in his chair, the
portly man puffed at a huge cigar and chuckled as he surveyed his companions. He seemed undisturbed
by the money that he had lost. The opportunity for a last chat was more important.
"Travelers, all of us," commented Messler. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance,
gentlemen. It is odd, the way that people meet. Each man with his own story of the world.
"Myself, for instance. My trip around the world began as a pleasure journey. I had no expectation of
adventure until I decided to visit the north of India. My trip to Delhi changed everything. It was there that
I acquired the jewels of the Rajah Salgore.
"From then on, my trip required caution. I hired guards for my journey from Delhi to Calcutta and it was
well that I did so. Twice, attempts were made to rob me. I did not feel safe until I was out of India."
Messler paused to chuckle. Claverly was eying him shrewdly. Rosling was interested, although he tried to
feign indifference. Cranston, impassive, was watching the speaker with steady gaze.
"I worked a clever trick in Calcutta," resumed Messler. "I engaged passage on a P O liner; then took a
boat that left two days earlier. That was a wise course. They arrested five men aboard the P O ship
before it reached England. Those fellows were held as suspicious characters. It is believed that they came
aboard to rob me.
"In London, I conferred with the authorities at Scotland Yard. They arranged for my passage aboard the
Laurentic. My jewels are safe on this ship. The New York police will see that I am protected when I
arrive tomorrow."
Messler paused with a beaming smile. He looked toward Cranston, as though expecting his companion
to give a story that would equal his own. Cranston spoke, quietly.
"My experience differs from yours," he stated. "I went to South Africa, prepared for adventure. I trekked
the veldt; then set forth through the jungle. I was the only white man in the expedition, until we had
passed Lake Victoria.
"Yet in my search for adventure, I found none. The entire trip lacked excitement. Danger existed; but it
never came close enough to be a menace. We bagged big game; but always in easy, methodical
fashion."
MILTON CLAVERLY smiled suavely. The contrast between the two stories amused him. He felt that it
was his turn to speak; so he presented a tale that differed completely from the others.
"I've been to a lot of places," stated Claverly, "and I've had my share of adventures. I wound up in
Adelaide, Australia, and I had pretty well decided to remain there, until a month ago.
"Then I received a cable. It announced the death of my father. The cable was from his lawyer. I was
needed back in the States. So here I am - on my way to collect a legacy. There's something of a mystery
about it, as near as I can make out."
"How so?" inquired Messler.
"My father was reputed to be very wealthy," replied Claverly. "At one time he just about owned the little
town of Torburg, where he lived. But his lawyer informs me that the affairs of the estate were quite
involved at the time of my father's death.
"I'll collect a worthwhile inheritance, I suppose. But it won't be as large as I might have expected. I guess
my father slipped plenty when he grew old. Lost his hold on business. Poor investments, probably. But
I'll make out all right. Torburg will be my home instead of Adelaide. Twelve thousand miles apart - that's
all - and it doesn't make much difference to a man who's traveled as often as I have."
Charles Rosling had risen from his chair. Steadying himself as the boat rolled, the hatchet-faced man
growled a few brief remarks.
"I've traveled plenty, too," asserted Rosling. "But it hasn't been for pleasure or adventure. Business -
that's all. I've got no jewels, no big game, no legacy. I don't want 'em. I'm tired of crossing this big pond
on a lot of tubs that jump around in bad weather. But I've got to do it, on account of business.
"That's my story. My idea of pleasure and adventure is holding some good hands in a card game. I didn't
get any tonight. All I did was get hooked for a bunch of dough. So I'm turning in to see if I can get six
hours' sleep out of the bum bunk I've paid too much for. Good night."
Rosling strolled from the smoking room, lurching with the roll of the ship. The others watched his
departure. Messler shook his head.
"Some people get very little from life," observed the portly man. "That fellow Rosling is one of them. He's
not even a good loser in a card game. Well - we meet a lot of his type.
"I like to keep up acquaintanceships that are worthwhile. Now that Rosling has left us, let me extend an
invitation to you two gentlemen. You have heard me speak about the jewels that I acquired in India.
Probably you would like to see them."
MESSLER paused to look from Claverly to Cranston. The former showed only mild interest; the latter
was impassive. Messler chuckled at this indifference. It pleased him.
"On Thursday night," declared Messler, "I expect to invite a few chosen friends to my home on Riverside
Drive. They will have the opportunity of viewing the gems. I should like to have both of you among the
guests. Can I count on that pleasure?"
Claverly frowned as he lighted a cigarette. He was considering the invitation, glancing toward the ceiling
as he flicked his match. Finally, he nodded.
"I'm due in Torburg," he said, "but I can probably arrange to stay a few days in New York. I'd like to
look about town before I leave. I'll call my father's lawyer by long distance, to tell him that I am detained.
Yes, Messler, I can be there on Thursday."
"And you, Cranston?" inquired Messler.
"Suppose I call you," responded Cranston. "I am not yet sure of my plans. I am contemplating a trip to
Patagonia, which may offer some of the adventure that I failed to find in Africa. But it will probably be
necessary for me to remain in New York at least two weeks."
"I think I can count on you, then," decided Messler. He arose and Cranston copied his example. "Good
night, gentlemen. Don't be surprised if you see a squad of police when you dock. They will merely be
detailed to protect my jewels."
Claverly was still seated when the others left the smoking room. The suave young man was finishing his
cigarette. He watched Messler waddle from the room. He saw Cranston follow, a few moments later.
Unlike Rosling and Messler, Cranston did not experience trouble from the rolling of the ship. Across the
smoking room, he caught his balance with each lurch. The same was true when he reached the
passageway.
Tall, sweeping in stride, this traveler from Africa moved as steadily as if he had been walking on solid
ground. He descended a stairway, followed another passage, and paused at the door of a first-class
cabin. He unlocked the barrier and entered the darkened room.
There was a click as Cranston drew the cord of a table lamp. His tall form showed as a dim outline just
beyond the range of light. The shaded illumination revealed him stooping above a bag that rested on a
rack.
Black garments came into view. A cloak swished over shoulders. A broad-brimmed slouch hat settled
upon Cranston's head. Then came a soft, whispered laugh as the transformation was completed.
Lamont Cranston had become a being of blackness. Thin gloves were slipping over his long-fingered
hands. His outline was that of a mammoth blot.
A hand drew the light cord. The blackened figure merged with the solid darkness of the room.
The door of the cabin opened. Out stepped the sinister form that had developed within. Silent in tread,
this shape moved along the deserted passage. A ghostly visitant was aboard the steamship.
MEN of crime would have faltered had they seen that figure. For this being was one of whom they talked
in hushed voices. He was no haunting ghost; he was a grim reality. This strange creature who had
replaced Lamont Cranston was The Shadow.
In places where danger lay; in spots where opportunity lured men of crime - there one could expect The
Shadow. Master of darkness, a fighter who battled evil, The Shadow made it his task to thwart the
hordes of crookdom.
Suspects aboard a P O liner - radioed reports of attempts to gain a fortune in jewels - these had been
sufficient to bring The Shadow from New York to Liverpool, in time to board the steamship Laurentic.
Scotland Yard had relied upon the strength of the ship's safe to guard Augustus Messler's gems. Men
had been stationed aboard as an added precaution. Messler was confident that his possessions were
protected; otherwise, he would not have talked.
But all the while, the rare gems were also under the guard of an unseen watcher. Safes could be blown;
detectives could be shot down. But The Shadow, his very presence unknown, could not be eliminated.
He was here, ready to step in where others might fall.
The voyage was nearly ended. The Shadow, ever-watchful, had decided that the jewels were safe. They
would reach New York; they would be carried to a place of safety; but the trail would not end there. The
Shadow could judge the future as well as the present.
Keenly, The Shadow knew that danger lay ahead. Already he could scent the plans of scheming minds.
Before the Laurentic docked, final ways of crime would be prepared. To learn of those arrangements
was The Shadow's present purpose.
The Shadow had dropped the guise of Lamont Cranston. In his chosen character of blackness, he was
stalking forth to learn the schemes that brewed.
CHAPTER II. TWO TALK TERMS
TEN minutes had elapsed since Lamont Cranston had strolled from the smoking room. A man was
coming along one of the narrow passages of the Laurentic. He stopped before the door of a cabin and
unlocked it. He turned on a light switch as he entered the room. The glare showed the features of Milton
Claverly.
The young man closed the door behind him, but did not lock it. He smiled in a somewhat leering fashion
as he drew a stack of bills from his pocket and deposited the money upon a table.
Forgetting his winnings for the moment, Claverly doffed coat and vest and walked to a wardrobe in the
corner of the cabin.
The door of the wardrobe was open. Claverly hung the garments on a coat hanger and slammed the door
as he turned away to remove his necktie and collar. The door of the wardrobe bounced open: the roll of
the ship swung it toward the wall. As Claverly turned, he saw the door hanging there as if glued in
position.
The ship lurched; the door wavered. It still remained open. Claverly shrugged his shoulders. He
wondered why the door did not swing shut again, but he had no time for such trifles. He gathered up the
winnings that lay on the table and stuffed the bills in his pocket. Hardly had he done so before a cautious
knock sounded at the door of the cabin. Claverly strode over and opened the door.
Rosling entered. The sharp-faced man glowered as he closed the door behind him. He shot the bolt; then
looked at Claverly, who was smiling in sophisticated fashion.
"Well?" growled Rosling, by way of query, "what did you find out?"
"Not much," responded Claverly, as he lighted a cigarette. "Messler left shortly after you did."
"Yeah?" Rosling's voice was gruff. "Then how about that dough I was hooked for."
"Hooked?" quizzed Claverly. "I don't like the word, Rosling. It's a poor way for a fellow to talk. The fault
was your own. You don't know how to play cards."
"Maybe I don't," retorted Rosling, "but a guy that can slide the pasteboards the way you do - well, a guy
like you don't need luck. You're a card sharp; there's no use arguing that point. Come on. Divvy."
"That's not in our arrangements."
"No? Well, it wasn't arranged for you to fool around and get nowhere with Messler."
CLAVERLY smiled. He blew a cloud of smoke and eyed Rosling narrowly. The door of the wardrobe
was still open and wavering with each pitch of the ship. Claverly did not notice it; nor did Rosling.
"Let's get things straight, Rosling," suggested Claverly, in a tone that had a smooth purr. "You and I met
aboard this steam ship - strangers until we had left Liverpool - and we made an acquaintanceship. Am I
right?"
"Yeah."
"Last night" - Claverly seemed reminiscent - "you paid me an unexpected visit in this cabin. On that
occasion, you were equipped with a businesslike revolver. You said you had come to demand a
showdown. I did you the honor of thinking you were a detective."
"Well - maybe I look like one."
"You didn't appear dumb enough."
"Lay off the hokum. Listen here, Claverly; we came to an agreement about -"
"I am about to mention that point, Rosling. I merely want to make the details plain before we continue.
Last night, after I withdrew my theory that you were a detective, you insisted that I was a crook. You
stated that I was after Augustus Messler's jewels."
"That's what I said, and I meant it."
Claverly smiled. He eyed Rosling carefully. There was a smoothness to Claverly's countenance that the
hatchet-faced visitor could not match. Claverly proceeded.
"You jump to conclusions, Rosling," he said. "First, you decided that my luck at cards proved me to be a
sharper. That meant that I must be a crook. Next, I was friendly with Messler. That proved that I was
out to trim him. Finally, you knew that I had come to England on the P O liner that Messler had planned
to board at Calcutta."
"That's right," added Rosling. "The ship that had a bunch of crooks aboard."
"Exactly," agreed Claverly, "and those suspects are now held by Scotland Yard. I am not among them. I
am traveling freely on the high seas. Which proves -"
"That you're wiser than those guys they grabbed in England. Too wise for Scotland Yard; but not wise
enough to fool Hatch Rosling. Get that, Claverly?"
"Your nickname is a good one, Hatch," observed Claverly. "It makes you appear to be exactly what you
claim to be - a New York crook. I admire your frankness, Hatch. After you accused me of being a
crook you admitted that you were one yourself."
"Sure I did. Why shouldn't I? We're birds of the same feather, Claverly."
THE young man smiled. His suave expression indicated an agreement with Rosling's statement; but
Claverly did not commit himself with words. Rosling caught the implication.
"Quit the hokum," ordered the hatchet-faced man. "All that counts is one thing: we'd both like to grab
those jewels of Messler's. That's agreed, ain't it?"
"Yes," admitted Claverly, "I must confess that the rajah's gems intrigue me. However, I had not formed
any plans for obtaining them. Messler is welcome to them."
"Sour grapes," growled "Hatch. "You ran into the same trouble I did. Couldn't figure a way to snatch the
swag. The jewels are safe aboard this tub. But after we get to New York, it'll be different."
"Yes, you will be in your own territory. You will have the opportunity that you need. But my position will
be quite different. Assuming that I did want Messler's jewels, New York would be the last place that I
could get them."
"But I said we could team up -"
"And that is what surprised me. Here, aboard ship, our positions are equal. We could be of use to each
other. But in New York, all is in your favor. I am useless."
"So that's it, eh?" Understanding showed on Rosling's sharp countenance. "You've been thinking things
over since last night?"
"I have," answered Claverly, in a dry tone.
"Well, do some new thinking," ordered Hatch. "Look at it this way. You've made friends with Messler.
You can work from the inside. All you need is the mob to come in and grab the jewels when you give the
signal. It's a set-up."
"Yes," agreed Claverly, "I admit that my position would be a good one. I could work from the inside; you
from the outside. Nevertheless, the proposition has one fault."
"What's that?"
"It sounds too good."
"How do you mean?"
"The terms. A fifty-fifty split. Rather a generous concession on your part, Rosling. You could hire another
inside man for a lot less."
Rosling had begun to scowl; his expression changed as Claverly's statement ended. Rosling had an
answer. He gave it, frankly.
"Listen, Claverly," he asserted, "there's two reasons why we ought to go fifty-fifty. First, because you're
the best person I could get for the inside job. Second, because either one of us could queer the other.
"Suppose you worked from the inside and snagged those jewels by yourself. I'd know what you were
doing. I could take the swag away from you afterward. See? And suppose I came busting in with a job
of my own. You could gum it, couldn't you?
"Well - there's the lay. There's only one answer. Teamwork. A divvy. There's no catch to it. We talked
things over last night. What we decided on - well, it goes. That's all."
CLAVERLY considered it. Rosling watched him light a second cigarette from the stump of the first. Then
came a half minute of thought on Claverly's part. Finally, the young man spoke.
"All right, Hatch," he said. "You'll go after those jewels anyway. So we might as well talk turkey. You
figure that I can be around when Messler shows the gems to his friends."
"Yeah. You're going to be there. That's your part of the Job. Get it?"
"Very well. I suppose you will be watching to see that I take the opportunity."
"Yeah. You'll have to grab the first chance you get, or tell me the reason why."
"I've found that chance."
"You have? When?"
"Thursday night."
"You mean -"
"Messler talked after you left the smoking room," explained Claverly. "He spoke to Cranston and myself.
He invited us to visit his home on Thursday night. We are to view the rajah's jewels."
"Say!" exclaimed Hatch. "That makes it all jake!"
"Under the circumstances," added Claverly, "I shall remain in New York. I shall probably meet Messler
off and on before Thursday. Of course, I shall express anxiety about getting back to Torburg."
"That's a good stall," agreed Hatch. "But don't overplay that talk about your father's estate."
"Why not?"
"Because some smart dick might look into it."
"What if he does?"
"Well, he might find out that it was hokum."
"But it isn't." Claverly delivered a broad smile. "You made a bad guess, Hatch, when you thought that I
was passing out a phony line."
"You mean you really are coming into a pile of dough when you get to Torburg?"
"Precisely. The estate will not be large; but it actually exists. That's why I'm coming in from Australia."
"And you heard about Messler jewels when you were aboard the P O ship?"
"Yes."
"Say" - Hatch paused to chuckle in commending fashlon - "there ain't any guy but you for the inside
work. You've got a straight story. You can back it up. Messler's invited you to his place. It's sweet."
The chuckle continued as Hatch turned toward the door. His hand on the knob, Hatch delivered a
parting statement.
"Don't worry about the dough I lost tonight," he said. "Keep your winnings. It was worth it. We know
how to get in touch with each other after we reach New York. We talked over the job last night.
"We'll pull it just as we planned. The guys outside, waiting for the signal. You give the tip and act like you
were surprised like everybody else in the joint. Thursday night - that's set. Unless something goes sour."
HATCH unbolted the door and departed. Claverly puffed his cigarette alone. Turning, he strolled to the
wardrobe and took out his coat and vest. Donning the garments, he folded the coat collar around his
neck. It was plain that he intended to take a short stroll on an upper deck, as a relief from the stuffiness
of smoking room and cabin.
Claverly strolled out. He closed the cabin door behind him, but did not lock it. This was proof that he
would return within a few minutes.
Silence reigned in the room where the light still burned. The door of the wardrobe wavered.
Timed to a slight roll of the ship, the door swung shut. This was the first time that it had acted in such
fashion. The explanation came a moment later when blackness moved from between the wardrobe and
the wall.
Blackness became a living shape. Materializing from the darkened area, the figure of The Shadow grew
into being. Tall and sinister, the cloaked form moved silently across the cabin and paused by the outer
door. Then came a soft whisper.
A sibilant laugh, confined to the limits of the creaking cabin. That was The Shadow's aftermath to the
conversation that he had overheard. The Shadow had reached this cabin ahead of Milton Claverly. From
a place of concealment, he had heard all.
The door of the cabin opened. The tall shape glided into the corridor. The door closed.
A few minutes later, Claverly returned. The door of the wardrobe was swinging free. The young man
pushed it open so that he could hang up his coat and vest. Then he closed the door. This time it remained
shut.
Two had talked terms within this cabin. Those terms had concerned Augustus Messler's jewels. The
gems, though safe aboard the Laurentic, would be in jeopardy on Thursday night. Crime lay in the offing.
When it came, The Shadow would be ready.
CHAPTER III. THURSDAY NIGHT
THE Laurentic had docked. Thursday night had arrived. Augustus Messler was at home in his Riverside
Drive apartment. This was the evening scheduled for the display of the rajah's gems.
Messler lived on the fourth floor of an imposing apartment house. Situated on an eminence above the
river, this building appeared lofty from the Drive. Observed from the streets above, it nestled against the
side of the hill and lost its high proportions.
From that direction, where thorough-fares were seldom frequented, approach to the apartment house
was an easy matter. A side entrance - a fire tower - both offered opportunity for easy access to the
building.
It was on one of the rear streets that a coupe had stopped. Two men, in the darkness of the car, were
talking in low voices. Their conversation ended as a sibilant whisper came from the street side of the
coupe.
Instructions followed, delivered in a strange, uncanny voice. Then blackness detached itself from the side
of the car. Streetlights revealed a glimpse of a fleeting form that moved away in ghostlike fashion. After
that, blackness alone was dominant.
The two men stepped from the car and followed in the direction that the phantom shape had taken.
These two were Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland. Aides of The Shadow, they had driven to this spot,
there to await instructions. The Shadow had investigated the methods of approach to Messler's
apartment. He had given his agents orders, to post them in strategic places.
THE SHADOW reached the fire tower. He ascended. The only traces of his passage came when he
passed lighted balconies that indicated the floors of the building. There his form materialized momentarily,
only to fade when he continued his ascent.
The Shadow reached the fourth floor.
There were two entrances to Messler's apartment. The one that led to the kitchen was situated near the
fire tower. The other entrance was further along the hall. The Shadow chose the kitchen entrance. He
passed through the kitchen and came to a deserted living room.
There was a door opposite. It was ajar. The Shadow could hear the sound of voices. He approached
and peered within. He saw Messler talking with Milton Claverly; the two were in a room that was fitted
like a study. Evidently Claverly had been the first of the guests to arrive.
The Shadow listened to snatches of conversation; then came an interruption - the buzz of the bell at the
front door of the apartment. The Shadow turned and glided quickly across the living room. He chose the
path through the dining nook; here he paused.
Messler had come from the study and was on his way to answer the door. The Shadow could hear the
opening of the barrier. Voices followed and two men appeared, following Messler back to the study. The
Shadow, gazing from his secluded corner, recognized the visitors.
Both were from headquarters. One was Detective Joe Cardona. A stocky, swarthy-faced individual,
Cardona was recognized as an ace among dicks. He was at present serving in the capacity of acting
inspector. His presence here meant that Messler had decided that police protection would be necessary
when the rajah's jewels were displayed.
Cardona's companion was Detective Sergeant Markham, who frequently accompanied the ace when
Cardona needed an aide.
As the three men - Messler and the sleuths - went into the study, The Shadow laughed softly. His tones
were not audible beyond the confines of the dining nook.
摘要：

BELLSOFDOOMMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THEFOURPLAYERS?CHAPTERII.TWOTALKTERMS?CHAPTERIII.THURSDAYNIGHT?CHAPTERIV.THESHADOW'SPART?CHAPTERV.THELAWYERSPEAKS?CHAPTERVI.LESTERSPEAKS?CHAPTERVII.FROMTHETOWER?CHAPTERVIII.THESHADOWENTERS?CHAPTERIX.DEATHD...

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