Shadow 063 - Murder Marsh 10-01-34, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

A SCREAM came from the second floor. Dorothy Brent had reached the top of the stairway. The girl snapped a light switch. On came the brackets of the lower hallway. For one brief instant, Dorothy saw Twindell struggling with a blackened form. Then the two went twisting from her view.

Bravely, the girl started down the stairs. Her pace was hesitating. Hence she did not see the finish of the struggle in which Twindell was engaged. At the far end of the great hall, The Shadow overcame the servant’s frenzied strength. With a quick twist, he sent Twindell sprawling to the floor. The servant’s head jolted against a chair. Twindell lay half-groggy, while The Shadow swept off through the passage that led to Merle Cray’s corner room.

Dorothy Brent reached the lower hall. The girl was excited and bewildered. She saw Twindell rising weakly from the floor. Forgetting all danger, Dorothy hastened to aid the old servant. She helped Twindell to a chair. It was a full minute before the man recovered from the effects of the struggle and the jolt.

Shuffling footsteps. Dorothy turned. Her uncle had arrived, clad in slippers and dressing gown. He was holding a .32 revolver. Either excitement or his chill caused his hand to shake. In quavering voice, Brent demanded to know what had happened.

“I don’t know,” declared Dorothy. “Twindell can tell us. Who fired those shots, Twindell?”

The servant was lapsing into new grogginess. Dorothy looked about. She saw the outer door, still opened. She pointed as she exclaimed to her uncle:

“Some man was struggling with Twindell! He must have fled through the outside door!”

Brent shuffled along the hall. As he reached the door, he heard a hail through the night. He turned on the light above the entrance. Then figures came dashing into view. Nicholas Rokesbury, a trio of workmen at his heels, had come over from the causeway. Dorothy, staring from beside Twindell, gave a sigh of relief as she saw the newcomers enter with her uncle.

As Rokesbury and his men stamped into the hall, another person appeared. It was Professor Darwin Shelby. Half dressed, the tall man had come downstairs. He was standing at the foot of the steps, blinking through his large-lensed spectacles.

“What has happened, Dorothy?” demanded Rokesbury. “Has any one been hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” replied the girl. “I think that Twindell is all right.”

The servant was rising as the girl spoke. Yet his stare remained blank. Rokesbury ordered his men to search the ground floor. A result came promptly.

“Open door here, boss,” called a worker who was flicking a flashlight. “Leads down into the cellar.”

Wildemar Brent was closer than Rokesbury. The naturalist moved toward the cellar steps, clutching his .32. Rokesbury followed close behind. Dorothy boldly joined him. Brent pressed a light switch. They descended into the illuminated cellar, followed by Professor Shelby and Rokesbury’s men.

A sharp exclamation came from Brent as the owner of the mansion reached the bottom of the steps. The others stopped and looked in the direction of Brent’s pointing finger.

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