Part 8 (1/2)

Meanwhile The Shadow was moving deeper, knowing that his more skillful footfalls would be drowned by Roger's. Hearing the door creak after Roger's exit, The Shadow focused his flashlight on the important inner corner. Finding a loose piece in the tiled wall, The Shadow tested it, with no result.

Apparently the sliding floor had locked automatically. To operate, it would first have to be released from below. Probably Wiggam took care of that detail whenever visitors were expected, a good point for future reference. Turning, The Shadow moved from the mausoleum.

Roger wasn't very far ahead. The combined result of darkness, tombstones and applejack was making his course a stumbly one. The ghostly face that blinked from the back of Jennifer's cloak kept dipping and sidling in a rather ludicrous fas.h.i.+on.

There was no special point in following Roger further. From his direction The Shadow knew that he was going to a spot along the eaved wall of the mansion, just short of Margo's room. Last night, The Shadow had suspected that wallwhen Roger and Wiggam kept blazing their flashlights away from it. At that time they had been loading in their ghosts and wanted to blind any prowlers who might be on hand.

Later, The Shadow had seen the ghosts return, while everyone else was out front. He had watched the three men hurry to the mausoleum and file inside it.

It would be useless to trap Roger in the course of a prowl unless his three stooges were along.

Nevertheless, The Shadow was keeping fairly close to Roger when two chance circ.u.mstances combined to produce some startling results. Just as the dull moonlight gained an increase through the open walls of the old watchtower, a wayward wind rattled a cl.u.s.ter of thick gra.s.s.

The ghost face vanished.

Worried by the moonlight, startled by the rustle, Roger had turned around.

The ground was too dark to reveal The Shadow, even if Roger had been less befogged, but in turning, Roger swung the back of the ghostly deathhead toward the house. Unwittingly he was revealing his location to an observer other than The Shadow.

A WINDOW flew open on the middle of the second floor. At the sound, Roger wheeled and ran for the corner of the mansion. His mere act of turning caused another vanish of the luminous ghost mark that Roger unwittingly carried. To the man at the window, the effect was uncanny.

The Shadow made one guess regarding the man at the window and sprang for the shelter of the nearest tombstone, grabbing it as he had done before.

Having been left squarely in the path that the ghost face indicated, The Shadow had good reason to take cover.

A shotgun blasted, not once, but twice, its loads spreading wide enough to include the tombstone. Gustave was giving both barrels from a new shotgun, aiming at the spot where the glowing face had disappeared.

No damage was done.

Roger was away in time and The Shadow was ensconced behind the tombstone, which was tilting backward in the usual style. Yet The Shadow did not release his weight, for he knew the stone would stop, which it did. Clinging to it, The Shadow waited to learn if Gustave intended to unload more firearms from his a.r.s.enal, but the shooting was over, for the window clattered shut.

In her room, Margo heard the double roar and hurried to the door. She saw old Jennifer poke her head in sight as Clyde hurried past. Farther footsteps proclaimed Hector's arrival as the servant appeared from the far turn in the pa.s.sage.

The arrivals were met by Gustave, who stepped from the door of the Colonial Room, shaking so badly that he could scarcely hold his shotgun.

”I just saw a ghost!” Gustave might have been referring to himself, his face was so pale. ”I fired at it twice and I think I wounded it!”

”Donald's ghost, of course,” returned Jennifer. ”But you can't harm Donald.

He belongs to the dead.”

”I wouldn't hurt Donald,” protested Gustave. ”Really, if he came back, I'd welcome him!”

”The dead do return,” reminded Jennifer. ”Perhaps that is the reason foryour fear, Gustave.”

Tightening his grip on the shot-gun, Gustave steadied.

”I meant if Donald returned to the living,” he said. ”But that would be too much to hope. Only I'm worried -”

”About the ghost?” sneered Jennifer. ”Come with me, Gustave and we shall view your victim. I am not afraid to visit the graves where our loved ones sleep.”

Gustave looked appealingly to Clyde who nodded for Hector to come along.

Margo decided to sit this one out, preferring her window to a trip to the weird cemetery. However, she had scarcely reached the window before she regretted her choice. From the pa.s.sage that the others had just left, came footsteps that to Margo's overstrained imagination were very, very ghostly!

Huddled by the window, Margo hoped that the creeping sound would go another direction. Briefly, they seemed to approach; then Margo heard them turn. As they started down the stairs, they suddenly become louder, making a very human clatter.

Her courage restored, Margo hurried to the door to see a figure turn the bottom of the stairway. Looking past the lamp in the little upstairs hall, Margo saw Jennifer's cape back on its hook.

Roger had returned!

FORTUNATELY for Roger's game, Jennifer had forgotten to look for her cloak because of her desire to reach the cemetery. So Roger was playing it still further by becoming himself again and chasing after the others to pretend that he had been slower in responding to the excitement that the shotgun caused.

The thing that troubled Margo was how Roger had returned. The Shadow had spoken of an exit on the second floor, but he hadn't mentioned where it was.

Back at her window, Margo saw Roger overtake the rest behind the house.

Then the moonlight became too blurred to distinguish their further progress.

Relaxing, Margo decided to let Clyde bring her further details.

The group reached the tilted tombstone.

Fixing her eyes downward, Jennifer murmured: ”Poor Donald!”

Gripping his sister's arm, Gustave demanded excitedly: ”What do you mean! I don't see Donald! Where -”

Jennifer was pointing to the tombstone. On it was carved the name of Donald Stanbridge with the dates of his birth and death.

”This is Donald's grave,” reminded Jennifer. ”I have visited it too often to forget it. Strange that you should have forgotten, Gustave. You buried Donald here.”

Gustave muttered as though talking to himself. Turning away he ran squarely into Roger who placed a steadying hand upon his shoulder.

”Steady, Gustave.”

”I wonder if I did see Donald!” Gustave's speech was suddenly coherent.

”Would he - could he return to look at his own tombstone?”

Eyeing his brother narrowly, Roger decided to make the most of the situation.

”Strange things can happen, Gustave,” said Roger solemnly. ”You are beginning to convince me, despite the explanations that we heard last night.” Examining the tombstone, Clyde saw the scars of buckshot. He was standing beside the slanted slab when the others left, testing it to learn how easy it would wobble. It seemed probable that the charge from the shotgun had jarred it loose, but it was odd that the stone hadn't toppled farther.

Clyde was wondering about something else.

Since Roger had escaped intact, Gustave might have fired at some other person. Clyde drew a flashlight intending to spread its gleam along the ground.