“Unfortunately,” declared Jornal, “Beauchamp’s chauffeur was killed by the mobsters. None of that crowd remains. As luck had it, a coupe smashed into their touring car and overturned it. I see that you have not located the driver of the coupe. That is not an important point. The man probably left the scene, fearing that he would be arrested. However, he should be commended for smashing into a car-load of crooks.
“Our problem is to find the murderer. He is a man of nerve. He shows no half measures in his crimes. He has left no clues to his identity. He has spread terror through this town.”
The prosecutor paused. He turned to Locke and told the sheriff to dismiss the deputies. The men filed from the room. Jornal remained with Locke and Thomas. He also motioned Zangwald and Vandrow to stay.
“We can now discuss the matter of the bell-tower,” announced the prosecutor. “It has figured strangely in these deaths. It appears to have a connection with the murders. It makes the crimes look like the work of a fanatic.”
“That tower’s got me licked,” put in the sheriff. “Wait’ll I tell you about it, prosecutor. The first time those bells rang, I didn’t go up there until a while after. I found the door locked. Nothing wrong. That was the time when Dunwell died.”
“Go on.”
“When Hosker was murdered, we didn’t find out about the crime until the next day. But we heard the bells ring and we got up there not long after. I had the key to the tower — I’d gotten it from Absalom Yokes. But I didn’t need it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” replied the sheriff, “the door was unlocked.”
“Unlocked?” questioned Louis Vandrow. “I thought you opened it with the key.”
“So did I,” observed Abner Zangwald. “You told the coroner that you had searched the tower.”
“Sure I searched it,” said the sheriff. “But I didn’t have to unlock it to get in. Well — I locked it up afterward. I was going to put men there last night, but I needed them at Beauchamp’s.”
“So instead,” broke in the prosecutor, “you removed the clappers. That is in your report. You also say that you visited the tower last night after the news came in that Beauchamp was killed in his limousine.”
“Yes,” said the sheriff. “I sure was stumped when I heard the bells ring without their clappers. Mr. Zangwald here can tell you that. I was over at his place. I was going to hot-foot it to the tower; but before I got started, the deputies showed up to tell us Beauchamp had been murdered.”
“So you went to the tower later?”
“Yes, and found no clappers in the bells.”
“Was the door locked?”
“Yes.”
“Then how do you explain the ringing?”
The sheriff looked at the coroner, who nodded. Evidently the two had cooked up a theory for the prosecutor’s benefit. Locke bent forward over the table.
“SOMEBODY got in the tower,” asserted the sheriff. “He must have been smart, for he had new clappers with him. He put them in the bells.”
“What! You found new clappers for the bells—”
“No. Because the man that put them there was smart enough to take them out again.”
The prosecutor scowled. The theory did not appeal to him. Nor did Zangwald approve. The bushy-browed selectman rumbled a basso laugh.
“More supposition,” he asserted. “Well, well! We are dealing with a very thorough-going murderer. One who carries his own bell clappers in case of emergency.”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed the sheriff. “Maybe the fellow was watching the tower. He might have seen me come out with the clappers.”
“Plausible,” put in the coroner.
“It’s more than that,” added the sheriff. “It’s the only answer. Because if nobody put clappers in those bells, what made the bells ring?”
The prosecutor pondered. This was a question that he could not answer. Neither Zangwald nor Vandrow made comment. The sheriff smiled triumphantly.
“A good point,” decided the prosecutor, after a pause. “One that balks us. Gentlemen, we are confronted by a mystery of the most insidious sort. Our one consolation is the fact that the reign of terror is ended.”
“Are we sure of that?” inquired the coroner.
“Yes,” decided Jornal. “There were only three in the group that has been slain. Dunwell, Hosker and Beauchamp. All are dead. Our job is not to prevent new crime. It is to solve the riddles that the past presents.”
There was an uneasy silence. Abner Zangwald was on the point of speaking. Louis Vandrow rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Sheriff and coroner were silent.
“The first question,” said the prosecutor, slowly, “is whether we are dealing with one man or two.”
Surprised expressions greeted this statement. The prosecutor smiled.
“One man,” he said, “could have killed each of those three victims. After that, he could have gone to the bell-tower. But do you think that one man would have tried it alone?”
“One man could have done it,” stated the coroner.
“No, he couldn’t!” exclaimed the sheriff. “He’d have had to work too quickly after killing Beauchamp. He had to put clappers in the bells.”
“Let us not be hasty,” warned Jornal. “We know that the murderer had accomplices. The mobsters on the road were specimens. The actual killings, coupled with the bell ringing, may have been a one-man job. On the other hand, they may have been the timed actions of two persons, working together.
“Suppose that we give this matter further thought. Get our minds to work. Be ready with our individual theories. Perhaps some of you may know of possible suspects. If you do, name them.”
Zangwald was about to speak. The prosecutor raised his hand. Jornal had not yet finished.
“We can meet tonight,” he declared. “Then we can talk at length, without undue haste. Where shall we convene?”
“At my house,” suggested Zangwald.
“Very well,” decided Jornal.
“What about my deputies?” questioned Locke.
“Put them up at the bell-tower,” retorted Jornal, in a testy tone. “Watch the stable now that the horse is gone. That’s the best place for them. They can’t blunder there.”
With that, the prosecutor arose to end the meeting. Men filed forth into the afternoon air. Their serious faces showed that they were pondering upon Jornal’s words. Locke and Thomas; Vandrow and Zangwald; all were busy with thoughts that concerned the reign of crime in Torburg.
CHAPTER XVI
HARRY’S MESSAGE
DINNER had ended at Claverly’s. The meal had been served early; and it had proven a gloomy affair. Milton was in a solemn frame of mind; he had maintained it all day, ever since the news of Beauchamp’s death.
Lester, creeping about the dining room as he served the food, was wearing a perpetual smirk. The old servant was silent because his master had ordered him to be. But he made no secret of the joy that he felt, now that the last of the three had died.
Harry Vincent was restless; Phyllis Lingle was strained and worried. They had gained no opportunity to talk. Harry knew that the girl must have some news of importance. He wanted to learn it; to get word to The Shadow.
With dinner over, all had retired to the library, with the exception of Lester. A ring at the front door brought the servant into the hall from the dining room. Lester answered the call and admitted Louis Vandrow. He ushered the lawyer into the library.
Something in Vandrow’s look told Milton that his attorney wanted a conference. In challenging fashion, the young man spoke before the attorney had the opportunity.