Tonight, The Shadow had no desire to use the secret route. He was leaving it to the men he planned to trap. The Shadow was choosing his own mode of entry into Stanbridge Manor, the house of many windows, all barred. He was picking the

one.

inlet that everyone had overlooked, the open-work watchtower.

No longer were the doors to the tower locked; the investigation at Stanbridge Manor was over. Thus the tower offered access to the house itself, and more. The Shadow happened to know that the tower, too, connected with the hidden pa.s.sages within the manor. From the tower, The Shadow could control all.

Using special suction cups, The Shadow reached the porch above the music room. Diverting his course, he again applied the rubber suckers to the shingled wall and reached the top of the second floor, to continue up the sheer wall of the tower itself. The only sounds the disks gave were soft squidges, heard by The Shadow alone.

Nevertheless, the cloaked climber halted. Keeping a four-point grip on the wall, thanks to the suction cups that he wore on hands and feet, The Shadow looked below.

Two figures were stealing from the mausoleum. They represented Dorthan and Crispin, though The Shadow identified them only as two of the three embezzlers.

Reaching the side of the mansion, they disappeared, in by the secret pa.s.sage.

Placing his ear against the wall, The Shadow listened.

He could tell by the sounds he heard that one ghost was stopping off at Colonial Room. That man happened to be Dorthan, alias Donald, specially geared to appear as a person back from the dead. The other, namely Crispin, was climbing up inside the wall where The Shadow clung outside, to play the tower ghost.

Again, The Shadow looked below. He saw another man move from the mausoleum, hesitate, and continue to the house. It was Freer, and from the fellow'sactions, The Shadow knew that he had spotted some of the long-range twinkles that Torrance's men were unwisely giving with their flashlights.

Almost at the house, Freer halted and looked straight upward. Against the straggly moonlight, he saw the outline of The Shadow's clinging form, but it was gone too soon for Freer to identify it as anything actual. The Shadow went from sight by the simple expedient of shifting his body around the corner of the tower.

A warning from Freer would spoil the entire show, but The Shadow felt sure the fellow would withhold it. Lights were too distant, The Shadow's shape too vague, for Freer to sound a real alarm. Besides, he was too late to overtake the others. Probably he'd wait for them in the secret pa.s.sage between the parlor and the music room.

THERE was just one feature of the situation that The Shadow did not recognize. It was the Donald angle. What tricks the ghosts intended, was an unimportant phase, according to The Shadow's a.n.a.lysis. He knew the crooks were here to terrorize Gustave, but violence was the one thing they would most avoid.

It would be The Shadow's business to supply it when the time came, but in a swift, certain way. The right course was to overpower these fakes one by one, beginning with the tower ghost, so that the law could find the criminals on its own.

But there was still that unknown factor, Dorthan's impersonation of Donald!

It was Margo Lane who first saw the long-forgotten face. She was watching through a perfect peek hole, a slit that Clyde Burke had obligingly cut through the thin backing of the Green Room door. Already damaged by Gustave's shotgun, the door had enough c.h.i.n.ks to camouflage the one that Clyde had widened.

Familiar with the pictures of the three embezzlers, Margo was sure she could identify any of them. But the girl gave a repressed gasp when she saw the man who did appear.

Donald Stanbridge!

The manor contained several pictures of its former master. At sight of Donald's unique face, Margo felt positive that here was a ghost, at last. Too transfixed to move, she kept watching and her dread suddenly pa.s.sed.

Donald's actions were too human. He kept peering into rooms along the pa.s.sage, as though expecting to find someone. Finally he turned and came toward Margo's door. Shrinking away, Margo decided to hide beyond the bed, on the chance that the man would only glance into the Green Room. Then Donald's footsteps paused.

Looking again, Margo saw that the pa.s.sage was empty. She thought at first that Donald had gone down the back stairs. Then suddenly he reappeared from the door of the Colonial Room. Why he had gone back there, Margo couldn't understand, but ghost or human, he had certainly picked up confidence. His eyes no longer stared, nor did his lips twitch in a fashion that Margo had first noticed.

This time Donald stole directly to the back stairs and began a slowdescent. Seized with the spirit of emergency, Margo felt she ought to inform Clyde of the trick that was being played. All it would take, would be a quick trip down the front stairs, to show Clyde a batch of notes.

Opening her own door, Margo stepped out into the pa.s.sage. She was scrawling some notations on a pad she carried, and feeling very bold in her capacity as a legitimate guest, Margo went a few steps farther and peered through the open door of the Colonial Room. What she saw, opened her eyes.

Until now, Margo had been much in the dark, regarding the secret of Stanbridge Manor. All that was over, for from what she saw, Margo could picture the rest.

Mentally, Margo Lane was no longer in the dark. Physically, she was going deep into it, much faster than she'd ever traveled before!

CHAPTER XVI.

GHOSTS OF DEATH.

THE thing that caught Margo's attention was the closet in the Colonial Room. Its door was open and so was the ceiling of the closet. Hanging down from that ceiling was a broad, hinged board, crossed with cleats that enabled it to serve as a ladder.

Entering the closet, Margo looked upward. Instead of a shallow s.p.a.ce above the hanging ceiling, she saw a vertical shaft, also equipped with ladder rungs.

At the top, a trapdoor was closing; in fact, Margo could hear it thump into place. That trap was the landing at the top of the tower stairs.

Even when the trapdoor was closed, Margo could see enough to tell her more.

Just above the open ceiling of the closet, a narrow chute went down at an angle, beneath the tower stairs. It meant that those stairs were double, the s.p.a.ce beneath them leading down to the secret pa.s.sage on the ground floor, between the parlor and the music room.

Despite her fascination, Margo couldn't resist sketching the arrangement, which she did quite swiftly, intending to add it to her notes, to show Lamont that she could find out things on her own.

Studying the rough drawing, Margo realized that the ground floor pa.s.sage must run at right angles to the slanted hole that came up beneath the tower stairs, so she added a little drawing to cover that point.

During the process, Margo was thinking about the crooks. Obviously one, impersonating Donald, had dropped down into the Colonial Room and was going down through the kitchen, to sneak around and frighten Gustave.

Another had gone up into the tower, a fact proven by the closing trapdoor.

He would use the ladder that went up from the landing at the stair top and put on something white to pa.s.s as the tower ghost.

Where the third man was, Margo didn't care. Even if he happened to be lurking in the secret pa.s.sage below, he could do no harm there. At least, so Margo supposed, as she finished her added sketch.

All Margo wanted was a look down into the chute that ran beneath the tower stairs. To gain that look, she put the notebook in the pocket of her dress andplaced her foot upon the lowest cleat of the hanging ceiling, grabbing higher with her hands.

It happened in a flash.

The ceiling was automatic, geared with huge springs that Margo hadn't noticed. It flew up like a springboard, carrying Margo with it. Her attempt to drop away was so slow that it didn't even start until the ceiling clacked shut.

Then, since she was lying flat, her wild wiggle started Margo right down the chute beneath the stairs.

The chute had no cleats. Evidently the ghosts worked up and down it by squeezing against the side walls, but Margo didn't have time to figure that

one.

out. She was still clawing at the sliding board when she reached the hole above the secret room. There she dropped through, grabbing at the rungs of a ladder that slightly broke her fall.

However, the jolt was enough to stun Margo quite thoroughly. This time, her senses, like herself, were completely in the dark. Lying limp, Margo didn't see the flashlight that sprayed across her face, nor hear the angry snarl that came from Freer. Starting up the ladder, the reserve ghost was on his way to summon Crispin, the specter of the tower.

DOWN in the great hall, Gustave was brooding by the fire, while Jennifer kept watching him across the planchette, which she was guiding with her fingers.

Outside, the wind was whistling, bringing thumps from shutters, sounds that drowned the m.u.f.fled finish of Margo's plunge into the secret room.

"The train stopped again tonight, Gustave," spoke Jennifer, solemnly.

"Perhaps it is bringing Donald."

"Ghosts don't ride on trains," retorted Gustave savagely. "What things you do think up, Jennifer!"

Jennifer clucked happily.

"So at last you admit there are ghosts," she toned. "With your new wisdom, you think you can speak for their habits. You are wrong, Gustave. Ghosts can go anywhere, do anything!"

The planchette was beginning to scrawl. Jennifer gave an eager glance at the wheeled pencil table. From his corner, Clyde saw Roger and Wiggam exchange the slightest of nods. The time was ripe for their great hoax.

Stepping over to Clyde, Roger drew him to the front door and started to open it.

"Take a look for Torrance's car, Burke," suggested Roger. "Doc said he might drop in later. I'd rather you brought him in quietly so he can see how Jennifer is baiting poor Gustave. I hope he comes soon, though. I'm afraid Gustave is going to crack."

Something ghostly was due, though just what, Clyde didn't know. He decided the best thing was to play dumb, rather than spoil it. Once outside, he could look through a window and witness the thing that he wasn't supposed to see.

But before Clyde could open the front door, the thing happened.

Though Dorthan's cue was to come from Wiggam, apparently the impersonator decided to jump it. Except for Clyde's presence, the deed was justified, for Jennifer was unwittingly giving a better cue than any that Roger and Wiggamcould have planned.

"Read this message, Gustave!" exclaimed Jennifer, ripping the paper from beneath the planchette and waving it at her brother. "It says: 'I am with you.'

Only Donald's spirit could have given us that message. He is with us, Gustave!

Donald is home again!"

As she finished, Jennifer was staring at Gustave's frozen face. His eyes were fixed beyond her shoulder, so Jennifer turned in the same direction, toward the door of the dining room.

There, to all appearances, stood Donald Stanbridge in the flesh!

How Dorthan was to act at this dramatic juncture, was something that Roger had left to the impersonator, though Dorthan had been coached on some family facts that he could spiel at Gustave by way of convincers. But the best they expected from Dorthan was small compared to the delivery that came.

"h.e.l.lo, Gussie," spoke the ghost. "This all looks very cheerful, so much like the night I died. You don't look as cheerful as you did, though. Are you surprised to see me back?"

"I am not surprised," put in Jennifer. "I have seen you often, Donald.

You have been here all the time."

"In spirit, yes," agreed Donald, placing his hand upon Jennifer's shoulder.

"But not as I am at present. My mind was here, I suppose, because it was not with me. But when it returned, I came back. The Stanbridges always return."

"Even from the dead!" echoed Jennifer triumphantly.

"Take Roger for instance." The ghost's lips twitched a characteristic smile, as he gestured a hand toward the youngest Stanbridge. "He is staring as though he can't believe I'm here. Why should he believe it, Gussie, after what you did?"

Roger shot a quick look at Wiggam, who was stepping forward as thought to meet the ghost. Wiggam's fault, this, coaching Dorthan so well that he was playing the game too strongly. Not that Roger minded Dorthan using the nickname Gussie which Gustave hadn't heard since boyhood, nor even the business of a hand on Jennifer's shoulder, which she would probably claim brushed her anyway.

What bothered Roger was the reference to himself, along with Wiggam's mistake of seeing the ghost. Both Roger and Wiggam were supposed to stare right through the imitation Donald, so later they could declare they hadn't seen him.

It wouldn't have mattered so much, with only Gustave and Jennifer present, since both were looking straight at Donald, and noticing no one else. But Clyde's presence made the situation untenable.

IT would take some convincing to make the reporter think he hadn't seen anything, and to make matters even worse, the front door swept open at that trying moment, to admit Dr. Torrance, arriving far earlier than Roger had expected him.

Two witnesses to declare the ghost was real! Men whose testimony would nullify the whole act.

In that dilemma, Roger showed how he could use the wits that rated him a top man among criminals. Deeming that Clyde and Torrance were sold on the idea that fraud existed in the manor itself, Roger played a clever stroke.

"It's only Hector!" shouted Roger. "Grab him, Wiggam, so we can prove the fakery this time!" Rising to the situation, Wiggam made a quick halt and looked toward the front door. Seeing Clyde and Torrance, Wiggam turned as though to obey Roger's command. Of course all that hesitation was a perfect opportunity for Dorthan to make a quick departure.

The man who stopped such flight was Gustave.

All this time, Gustave had been proving that Stanbridges thrived on the unexpected. Though he had been speechless while listening to the ghost, Gustave had not shrunk from sight of his dead brother Donald. Now Gustave was on his feet, charging for the gray-haired man who faced him. As he drove forward, Gustave bellowed: "You're not Hector! They can't fool me with this trick. You're trying to make me confess to a murder that never happened. I'll end this sham -"

By then, Gustave had reached the man who pa.s.sed as Donald. They locked in a struggle wherein Gustave showed the murderous fury that he had only a moment ago denied. Jennifer shrieked real fears for Donald, as Gustave reeled him back against the wall. There, in a corner near the dining room, they encountered the loaded shotgun and Gustave s.n.a.t.c.hed it as Donald madly squirmed for the doorway.

Roused by the emergency, Wiggam dashed after them, his figure disappearing in the gable beyond the door. There was a crash as the dining room table overturned under the force of spilling bodies. The shotgun spoke with a fiery roar. Hard upon that burst came the quick stabs of a revolver.

Roger was rushing for the dining room with Clyde and Torrance behind him.

On the way, Roger purposely blundered into Jennifer, tumbling with her, so that the doorway was blocked. Coming to his feet, Roger thrust Jennifer aside, and turned the other way. Drawing a revolver as he rushed for the front stairs, Roger called back: "Get in and help Wiggam! I'll block off Hector before he gets upstairs!"

In the darkened dining room, a man was crawling out from beneath the overturned table. It was Wiggam; during his crawl, he encountered something that he picked up, stared at dumbly, and then handed to Dr. Torrance. The object was a revolver.

There was another figure lying under the table, beside it a shotgun. As Wiggam removed himself from the light, Clyde and Torrance saw the dead face of Gustave, staring upward. Below that face was a shirt front stained with blood.

The shots from the revolver that Wiggam found, had been planted squarely in Gustave's heart.

As for the man who looked like Donald, he had disappeared so completely that Torrance, staring at Gustave's body, could almost have sworn that Gustave Stanbridge had been slain by a murderous ghost!