The Shadow 063 Murder Marsh by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1934-10-15T22:57:57+00:00

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. They saw a body, arms outstretched, lying face upward on the floor.

No one spoke. All recognized that pudgy form and the fat, double-chinned face. The dead man was Merle Cray. A useless revolver glistened from his fat hand. Cray had found no chance to use it. Here, in the depths of the stone-walled cellar, the detective had been murdered at midnight!

CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW’S SEARCH

Two hours had elapsed since the finding of Merle Cray’s dead body. A solemn group was seated in the great hall of the mansion. One person, alone, was on his feet, stalking back and forth. This was Philo Halthorpe, brought from his home by one of Rokesbury’s workers.

“Until the county prosecutor arrives,” declared the rugged lawyer, “I shall remain in charge at this house. I am acting under the prosecutor’s order. I telephoned him from my home.

“My one regret is that I had not returned from my hike when your man arrived at my house, Rokesbury. I was tramping over on the other side of town. I walked farther than I had planned.

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