“Let us be impartial,” suggested Ware. “You say that Wilbur received a phone call from Harvey. That can be corroborated - later - by asking Harvey. It would be unwise for me to chat with him now. If Wilbur arrived here, Harvey could also state the fact. But to my knowledge, Wilbur did not arrive. Is it not quite possible that Wilbur changed his plan?”
“Possible, but not probable,” replied Zachary. “I saw Wilbur come down the hill. I saw him reach the grove. He was bound in this direction.”
“But you did not see him actually arrive at Lower Beechview?”
“No.”
“That may be significant,” declared Ware thoughtfully.
“I wanted to come here through the grove,” asserted Galbraith suddenly. “But Beowulf - the dog here - refused to budge. That is why we came around the shore. I am beginning to think it possible that something might have happened to Wilbur among those trees.”
“A foolish notion, father,” interposed Zachary.
“Look” - Galbraith Chittenden pulled the dog over to the woods. Beowulf began to whine and draw back - “you see how the dog is acting, Mr. Ware?”
Ware nodded.
“I would like to go back through the woods now,” said Galbraith. “It is the shortest way home. I intend to leave immediately, and it would satisfy my worries to go that way.”
“There’s no good in our searching the grove, father,” declared Zachary. “Harvey called Wilbur; if Harvey is on the level, let him make some efforts to find Wilbur. Leave that with Mr. Ware. It’s a fair test. He can tell Harvey that by looking for Wilbur and coming up to see us afterward, you will forget this quarrel. Otherwise, you will talk with the lawyer who is calling you tomorrow, and Harvey will be cut off, as you threatened.”
“I don’t think Harvey would look for Wilbur or come up to see you folks,” observed Ware doubtfully.
That remark pleased Zachary. It was what he had hoped. The clash on the lawn meant Harvey’s quick elimination from the Chittenden family. Zachary had tried to propose terms that would prevent a reconciliation. He had apparently succeeded.
“Very well,” said Galbraith testily, “you may propose those terms to Harvey, Mr. Ware. Until tomorrow night. That is the limit for him to make amends.”
Ware shrugged his shoulders.
“You can count the break as permanent, then,” he said. “It will be up to you to trace your son Wilbur; I can say positively that you will hear no more from Harvey. I know him well enough for that.”
Quite viciously, Galbraith Chittenden dragged Beowulf toward the grove, which was only a few feet from where the men were standing. The dog protested with angry snarls.
“I’m going through this woods,” said Galbraith, in a determined tone. “I’m going to assure myself that Wilbur is not there. Come, Zachary, help me.”
“We can’t manage it,” protested the son. “Beowulf won’t go with us. How will we get him back? Of course, I can take him around, if you will go through alone.”
“I’m not going through alone,” growled Galbraith obstinately. “Come, Zachary - you wanted me to visit here. You were worried about Wilbur. We’re going through with the dog.”
Reluctantly, Zachary assisted with the leash. Beowulf broke away and dashed madly about the lawn.
Up on the veranda of the clubhouse, Lamont Cranston, who had arisen, now resumed his seat.
Craig Ware captured the wild dog’s leash. Beowulf snuggled his nose in the showman’s hands. Ware stroked the animal soothingly.
“Poor fellow,” spoke Ware. “He wants his master. I know animals, Mr. Chittenden - right from hedgehogs up to elephants. This is a fine dog. Come - Beowulf.”
Holding the leash, Ware brought the dog to Galbraith Chittenden at the edge of the trees. Beowulf was no longer snarling nor afraid. He seemed ready to do whatever Ware might command. The showman stroked the dog’s head.
“Try him now,” he suggested.
GALBRAITH seized the leash and started into the grove, beckoning Zachary to follow. Beowulf moved onward; then stopped, trembling, to turn back toward Ware.
“Go on, old fellow,” said the showman softly, moving his hands forward. “Go on, Beowulf. It’s all right. What’s to hurt you?”
The gentle, kindly manner of the middle-aged man reassured the police dog amazingly. Turning into the trees, Beowulf walked in a subdued manner beside Galbraith Chittenden. The old man smiled and called a word of thanks to Ware. As Galbraith started through the grove, Zachary silently followed his father.
Up on the clubhouse veranda, Lamont Cranston witnessed this unexpected change of affairs. He could see Ware encouraging the dog; he observed the showman finally walk away from the fringe of the beeches.
Until that moment, Cranston had fully expected to see the big police dog come bounding from the woods. Now that it was too late, a tense expression came over Cranston’s visage - one of those rare traces of emotion that the man so seldom exhibited.
Laying his glasses aside, Lamont Cranston arose and walked across the golf links, taking a rapid course toward the grove of beeches.
He stopped before he had gone a hundred yards. It was too late now. The sudden change in the dog’s demeanor had frustrated Cranston’s plans. Already, Galbraith and Zachary Chittenden must be in the depths of the grove far beyond recall.
Chance had sent them there. What would be the outcome? Death lurked amidst those beautiful copper-boughed trees.
Moving back to the clubhouse, Lamont Cranston could do nothing more than wait to see the outcome of this new venture into the grove of doom!
CHAPTER XI
IN THE GROVE
GALBRAITH CHITTENDEN had entered the gloom beneath the beeches with surprising energy for a man of his age. With rapid strides, he took a straight course toward the heart of the woods - directly along the way that he knew Wilbur must have come from the opposite direction.
The police dog, no longer protesting, began to strain forward, whining at times, growling at intervals. It had seemingly caught the spirit of the search. Galbraith, intent of purpose, did not sense the hideous atmosphere of these brown-matted, irregular corridors. Beowulf, eager for his master, looked up as though asking to be loosed. The old man responded by leaning down and unclasping the hook that held the dog’s collar. Beowulf bounded forward; then stood waiting.
Galbraith Chittenden looked around for Zachary. The old man saw his son lagging far behind. Zachary’s evil face looked grotesque in this strange light. It wore a sickening, pallid expression.
“Come on!” ordered Galbraith.
“Go ahead,” said Zachary. “I’ll follow. I’m looking around a bit. You’re moving too fast, father.”
Galbraith Chittenden snorted contemptuously. He marched straight forward. The police dog, scenting the ground curiously, circled about the old man, covering a much wider area. Zachary Chittenden, a worried look upon his face, crept onward, slowly veering toward the right.
One could see a considerable distance beneath the trees, due to the uniform height of the trunks to the lower branches. Off to the left and farther ahead, Zachary could spy his father; and every now and then, the grayish form of Beowulf bounded in the air into distant view.
They were deep in the grove now, Zachary still keeping the right, increasing his pace so that he would not lose ground. Fully did the malicious-faced young man realize the impending danger that hovered above this low-roofed acreage. By swift, circuitous travel, Zachary gained more ground until he was more than fifty yards ahead of Galbraith and the dog; and still a considerable space to the right.
Suddenly, Zachary stopped his progress and gripped the trunk of a tree. He was experiencing the same sensations that Calvin Merrick had gained herein, save that Zachary’s mind was ravening as well as intuitive. Zachary recognized the presence of a hidden threat; he knew, however, that the danger lay over his father, who was now pacing slowly at the very center of the grove.
Wilbur’s dog was traveling in a wide, continuou
s circle, its muzzle against the ground. Whines became snarls; then came excited barks. Steadying himself, Zachary was tense. He knew that something was about to happen, not here, but over there, fifty yards away.
THE dog sprang suddenly forward. Galbraith Chittenden followed it. Beowulf stopped and growled; then bounced forward, barking in wild excitement. Again the dog stopped; its bark became a currish howl - as its pointed nose stared up toward a tree branch.
A streak of gray whisked rapidly along the ground as the howling beast began to run from something that it had seen.
Zachary saw the bounding dog tearing off through the trees. He saw a wild, frantic leap that seemed to carry Beowulf five feet in air. The howl became terrific; a frightened yelp followed; then all was silent. Try as he could, Zachary could not trace the dog. It had vanished - upward - and had not returned.
Galbraith Chittenden was shouting, calling the dog by name. Zachary could see his father striding forward among the trees, then turning in an effort to learn what had become of Beowulf. It was then that Zachary sensed a greater danger than before.
Galbraith’s cries were frantic. His form disappeared beyond two trees that formed a blocking path to Zachary’s vision, due to the angle from which the young man was watching. Zachary mopped cold perspiration from his forehead.
“Zachary - Zachary!” The call came wildly through the grove. Its sound seemed suppressed within the blanket of gloom that lay everywhere.
“Zachary!” It was Galbraith Chittenden’s shout - a cry of hopeless, helpless terror.
Then came a gurgling, muffled call that formed a gigantic gasp within these cloisters where fierce evil dwelt. Zachary knew the meaning of that cry. It was his father’s last, pitiful summons for aid, in the face of complete annihilation.
Zachary Chittenden did not respond. Instead, he turned and fled post-haste, off through the grove to the right. His flight was unrestrained. With a long yardage of safety from the spot where doom had fallen, Zachary was heading for the fringe of the grove beside the beach.
It was a mad dash for safety that ended only when the blueness of the Sound trickled through among the tree trunks. With a last spurt, Zachary plunged over the final stretch of matted brown and hurled himself headlong toward the white sand. He sprawled beneath the shade of the last fringe of trees, then rolled until his fingers clutched the hot granulation of the beach.
For long, wearied minutes, Zachary Chittenden lay panting, staring up at the blueness of the sky. A wisping breeze cooled his face; it seemed to end as it neared the edge of the grove that he had left, for not a leaf was stirring on those copper-tinged boughs.
Rising, Zachary went along the shore beside the trees. The close proximity of the overhanging branches brought a shudder to his shoulders. Here, in the open sunlight, back in a world where all was bright, the man was in a daze as he hurried to shake off the hideous impressions of that fatal cavern-like grove.
NOT until he reached the golf course did Zachary Chittenden recover from his groggy trance. He moved stolidly across the carpet-like grass, and arrived at the foot of the hill, where he made his way to Upper Beechview. He paused to rest upon the terrace, and, as he leaned his elbows on the parapet, Zachary Chittenden allowed an evil smile to play across his bloated lips.
He, alone, had witnessed the striking power that lay within the fearful grove. Before his eyes, his father and Wilbur’s dog, Beowulf, had been carried into oblivion. Walter Pearson; then Wilbur Chittenden; now Galbraith Chittenden. Father, lawyer, and second son - all were gone.
They were dead!
The passing of these three was shrouded in mystery. Who could tell of it? It would be long before the search for the missing lawyer would end; as for Galbraith and Wilbur Chittenden, no one would suspect their absence for days to come.
That would be the beginning of a long procedure, in which the estate of Galbraith Chittenden would eventually go to the surviving members of the family. Well did Zachary know the terms of the will - so worded that the eldest living son would be the chief recipient.
There were two sons living, now - two sons of Galbraith Chittenden. Harvey was one; Zachary was the other. Should Harvey die - Zachary’s smile widened as he stared across the grove to the lawn of Lower Beechview - then there would be but one.
Until but one Chittenden remained to claim undisputed title to the family wealth, there could be no peace. Those who had died to date - outsiders as well as those of the family - had perished because they were obstacles to ambition. The next encounter lay between Harvey and Zachary; that was the cause of Zachary’s smile. For this evil schemer was mentally alert, planning the death of his sole remaining brother.
ONCE again, dusk was creeping over Upper Beechview, while Zachary Chittenden watched. The grove of doom was blackening in the glow of early evening. It lay like a huge, unmoving monster, in the midst of the land below.
A sound from beside the house attracted Zachary’s attention. He recognized his man, Banks, coming past the terrace. Leaning over the edge, Zachary called in a low tone.
“Keep close watch tonight, Banks.”
The man nodded.
“Expecting trouble?” he asked.
“Maybe,” said Zachary. “We’ll see. But I have a hunch we’ll be starting some before any comes our way. I want to see you and the rest of the crew some time tonight. So be around, about midnight.”
When Banks had gone, Zachary Chittenden went back into the house. The scene upon the terrace gave no sign of human presence. Off beyond the parapet, however, a silent shape was gliding along the ground. That shape signified The Shadow.
The master of darkness was here at Upper Beechview. Once more had Lamont Cranston assumed his mysterious identity. The Shadow, weird phantom of the night, had come to watch Zachary Chittenden, the only living person who - beside The Shadow, himself - had emerged unharmed from out the grove of doom!
CHAPTER XII
THROUGH THE NIGHT
THAT same evening, at Lower Beechview, a small, tense group sat discussing the affairs of the late afternoon, up until the departure of Galbraith and Zachary Chittenden. The members of this conversing group were Harvey Chittenden, Mildred Chittenden, and Craig Ware.
Harvey was bitter in his remarks. Seated in the living room of his home, he voiced his animosity toward his father and his brothers, while Mildred sat hushed, and Ware solemnly smoked his pipe.
“Coming here to look for Wilbur!” sneered Harvey. “A fine excuse, I call that! I’ll tell you why they came here; they wanted to see what I was doing; they wanted to spy on me. First they sent Pearson; then maybe Wilbur sneaked around; at any rate, they became bold enough to walk right in on me during the day. If they come again - well, I’ll be ready for them.”
“I think you’re wrong to feel that way, Harvey,” observed Ware, in a frank tone. “Your father seemed very much perturbed, this afternoon. He seemed sure that some harm had befallen Wilbur. Remember, too, that Walter Pearson has disappeared. I do not wonder that your father is alarmed.”
“What do I care?” questioned Harvey. “If my father should disappear - and Zachary, too - it would not matter to me. I have suffered too long from my family’s persecution.”
“Harvey,” said Mildred mildly, “I cannot understand the malice that you display toward your only relations.”
Harvey Chittenden looked toward his wife. Mildred was very beautiful tonight. In the lamplight, her eyes shone clearly, and her raven hair glistened with an entrancing hue. An angry sentence died on Harvey’s lips. His manner softened, and he spoke quietly.
“It is not malice, Mildred,” he explained. “It is worry. All my life I have been beset by constant fear. I have always felt that Wilbur and Zachary would spare no effort to harm me.
“As for my father - if he could only see what I have suffered, I could feel deep affection for him. But circumstances have made him one with Wilbur and Zachary. The animosity that I have displayed is really a desire for self-protection. That
is all.”
Craig Ware puffed at his pipe while Mildred nodded to indicate that she understood Harvey’s feelings.
“Self-protection,” repeated Harvey. “That is why, Craig, I talked with Jessup this afternoon, and arranged for him to keep the workmen on the premises. They appear to be good, capable fellows, and they are armed. I actually fear that someone may attack this place at night.”
“That is ridiculous,” responded Ware. “Nevertheless, Harvey, it is wise for you to keep your men, if it gives you any peace of mind. But I do not see any need of fearing prowlers.”
Instantly, Mildred’s mind reverted to the night when she had watched from the bench beside the shore. She had seen two prowlers then. Had they come from Upper Beechview, through the grove?
The girl could picture the fiendish Chinaman, who called himself Lei Chang, and who had spoken of a mysterious Koon Woon. Was Koon Woon the phantom form in black? What terrible secret lay buried in that grove so close to Lower Beechview?
ODDLY enough, Harvey, replying to Craig Ware, was voicing thoughts that had entered Mildred’s mind, although his ideas were general, where hers had been specific.
“That woods beside the house,” Harvey was saying, “is a good place to keep away from. I don’t like it, and I would suggest that you and Mildred stay out of it. If any of those people on the hill” - his eyes glistened in unrestrained animosity - “should choose those trees as a place to hide, they could watch us here at mighty close range. I can’t help it, Craig, if I regard my brothers as snakes. They have shown themselves as nothing better than reptiles. Evil natures, such as theirs, seldom undergo a change.”
“Your father and your brother went into the grove,” remarked Ware quietly. “Your father seemed to have an idea that Wilbur might have lost his way there. They took Wilbur’s dog with them. A ferocious-looking beast, that dog, until I quieted it.”
New, fanciful thoughts were passing through Mildred’s mind. She remembered how Walter Pearson had gone into the grove - later to be declared missing. The girl shuddered as she thought of the proximity of those trees, ready to ensnare all venturers. She wondered if anything could have happened to either Galbraith Chittenden or his son Zachary.
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