BY SINCLAIR GLUCK
HOUSE OF THE MISSING
THE WHITE STREAK
THIEVES’ HONOR
THE GREEN BLOT
THE FOUR WINDS
DRAGON IN HARNESS
THE DEEPER SCAR
THE LAST TRAP
MAN WHO NEVER BLUNDERED
SHADOW IN THE HOUSE
SHADOW IN THE HOUSE
By SINCLAIR GLUCK
AUTHOR _of_
“The Deeper Scar,” “The Four Winds,” “The Green Blot,”
“The House of the Missing,” “The Last Trap,” “The
Man Who Never Blundered,” “Thieves’ Honor,” etc.
[Illustration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Dodd Mead & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, 1929,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I “WE ALL SHOOT” 1
II THE BLUNTED ARROW 12
III THE BROKEN ARROW 24
IV SUSAN HAD HYSTERICS 32
V “A SOMEWHAT POMPOUS MAN” 41
VI ALL THE YOUNG PEOPLE 52
VII THE BUTLER’S SUITE 61
VIII STIMSON WONDERS TOO 69
IX “SHOW THE GENTLEMAN OUT” 79
X “SOLICITOUSLY” 90
XI THE OLD MAN WHO CALLED 101
XII THE DECENCY NOT TO INQUIRE 107
XIII “A BIT OF A RISK” 117
XIV THE MISSES HARRISON 124
XV “WITHOUT CONSULTING ANYONE” 132
XVI A LACE HANDKERCHIEF 141
XVII “WALK INTO MY PARLOR” 150
XVIII “NOTHING MUCH ANYHOW!” 160
XIX WHY MRS. GRAHAM SCREAMED 168
XX ANOTHER LOCKED DOOR 180
XXI GRAHAM IS NOT A FOOL 192
XXII A QUESTION OF ANGLE 206
XXIII THE WORST POSSIBLE TASTE 217
XXIV THE SOUND OF RUNNING FEET 232
XXV BERNARD OFFERS A HINT 244
XXVI MOTIVE AND METHOD 257
XXVII “SO HOME AND TO BED” 271
SHADOW IN THE HOUSE
[Illustration: Harrison Residence
Plan of ground floor, garages & environs]
CHAPTER I
“WE ALL SHOOT”
On one side at least, the dinner party had been marked by a sort of
ebullient reticence. Landis and Elsa had returned two days since from
their honeymoon and were still feeling a little dignified and unique.
Erect and formidable in her stiff chair, Mrs. Paul Bernard appraised
the radiance of her niece and found it genuine. Her direct regard swung
over upon her recently acquired nephew-in-law. His expression diffused
the subdued glow of a vast inner content, whereat she smiled.
Something drew her eyes down the table to her own husband. Her smile
faded slowly.
“And now,” Bernard was saying to Landis, “you’re coming back on the job
at Headquarters to show up the old rough-and-ready methods of my day.
Well, times change!”
“I am, sir! But sarcasm eludes me tonight!”
To their words Mrs. Bernard paid no heed, though she noted the veiled
affection in her husband’s voice. His eyes twinkled with amusement.
He seemed more animated than usual, yet his change of mood threw into
relief something of which she had been only subconsciously aware--a
slightly patient droop to his shoulders and to his mouth. Perhaps her
effort had been not to see it.
Abruptly, with a novel pang of doubt, she recalled the concluding scene
of the case[1] which had brought them all together, a scene wherein
she had practically bullied him into an autumnal marriage. Believing
her guilty, he had led the hunt away from her and upon himself. She
had tried to repay him by giving him her heart and then taking most
capable charge of him and his bachelor ineptitudes. She had found him a
worthy idol for the deeper, more tranquil devotion of her later years.
Intuition had said that he loved her. If he were not content, then
intuition had lied and she had taken rather than given.
[1] “The Last Trap,” Dodd, Mead & Co., New York City, N. Y.
Recalling his latest words, she banished her doubts. Of course, he
loved her! It was the game that he missed! Paul Bernard, a name
familiar and respected in official circles on two continents, had
retired. Was ever a famous man content with love alone?
Nor did she blame him--much.
The reunion with Elsa and Landis had been a success. But she smothered
a sigh as she gave the signal to rise.
“Come along, Elsa! These two head-hunters want to talk shop. We’ll
leave them to steep themselves in crime!”
With a backward glance at her husband she slipped her arm about the
girl and led her out of the room.
Bernard and Landis entered the drawing-room and settled themselves
in the midst of that surprising conglomeration of savage weapons and
hunting trophies with which their hostess had decorated the place. To
them appeared Mrs. Bernard’s soft-footed houseboy, Tsu. He set tiny
cups of coffee and tall, icy glasses at their elbows and as silently
withdrew.
“Pretty decent of you to come back and hobnob with a murderer,”
observed Bernard at length.
Landis cocked an ironic eye at him, then shook his head slowly. “Don’t
rub it in, sir!”
“Why, you pinned the thing on me and I admitted it! If Charles Carson
hadn’t murdered Foot, where would I be today?”
“Where you are, d--n it!”
Landis had flushed a little. “When I offered not to denounce you that
day I felt very skilful and very magnanimous. Since then I’ve felt less
so, on each count. There wasn’t a link missing in the chain that led to
you. You confessed readily--too blamed readily. A man of your character
and achievements simply couldn’t commit a cold-blooded murder and try
to hide it. I don’t know your motive. But if you know who _did_
murder Carson, for the love of Mike, tell me!”
“What steps will you take?” smiled Bernard. “You’re in harness yet,
remember, while I’m out to graze.”
“If _you_ haven’t taken any, I won’t!”
Thereupon, preceded by a brief, slightly apologetic explanation of his
own reason for confessing, Bernard named the real murderer of Henry
Carson.
Landis was too surprised to offer any immediate comment. Moreover, he
was busy with a swift readjustment of the evidence in the light of what
he had heard.
At length he laughed. “So simple we never thought of it! Well, I’m glad
you didn’t guess either, until you were told. It was a pretty white
thing you did.”
Bernard frowned and fumbled with his pipe.
“That heart attack you had on the stairs!” cried Landis suddenly. “It
was fake after all!”
“If there’s anything wrong with me,” growled Bernard, “it isn’t my
heart!”
There the Carson case reached a final summation.
Now Landis, who had grown very fond of his gruff colleague, had been
watching him during dinner. He had found the old detective just a
little subdued. Maybe domesticated was the word. Nor had he altogether
missed a softening doubt--a trace of worry--in Mrs. Bernard.
With an eye on the face of his host he probed a little, after a fashion
of his own.
“Well, marriage is a great institution, sir! And yet, though I’m almost
ashamed to admit it, I shan’t be sorry to get back to work!”
Someone with a turn for imagery once compared the look of Bernard to
that of a weatherworn and rocky cliff with the sun on it. At this
moment a shadow darkened that roughhewn profile as though a cloud were
passing overhead. “We’re both lucky--” Bernard declared with slow
precision, “luckier and happier than we deserve, young fellow!”
“We certainly are, sir! But then, a man needs his work to round out the
picture!”
Bernard frowned and stirred restlessly. He turned his head and caught
his guest’s eyes on him. Landis was smiling a little. Bernard thumped
back into his chair until it creaked beneath his weight.
“Why, you--you d--d, young billygoat!” he snorted. “Pumping me, were
you! That’s what a man gets for crawling on the shelf--rusty wits!”
“I’ll probably need you!” Landis explained blandly. “To me, sir, you’re
like a fine, staunch craft in harbor, with the winds of the open sea
whispering through the rigging. Says I to myself: if I can just whistle
loud enough through that rigging, why maybe he’ll put to sea again!
Only don’t tell Mrs. Tall--Mrs. Bernard. Fact is, the real top-notchers
are badly needed these days!”
“And you’re the boy to supply the wind,” Bernard growled. “Now it’s
flattery, eh?”
With a laugh of acknowledgment entirely unabashed, Landis went off at
a tangent. “You see, sir, I’m waiting for one of those cases where a
man’s pretty sure but not quite--and where there’s not enough evidence
to satisfy the grand jury. Then you’re stuck--”
“Third degree,” growled Bernard.
“Given a clever criminal with no previous record, who won’t scare,
where are you? You’re not certain! And remember, sir, there’s no third
degree practiced any more!” He cocked a whimsical eye at his host. “So
you can’t go too far in that direction!”
Bernard puffed at his pipe. “Bluff!” he suggested. “Traps! Surprises!
There’s always a way, or almost always. No matter how hard they try,
guilty people can’t _always_ act _exactly_ as they would act
if they were innocent!”
“I think I see,” nodded Landis gratefully. “When the case crops up we
can dope out a way together, sir.”
This time Bernard laughed. “Is tha-at so? My lad, you’ll have to
whistle pretty loud to get this hulk out of harbor. Marion and I are
quite contented, thank you!”
“Wouldn’t disturb you for the world!” Landis turned. Tsu, the houseboy,
stood in the doorway.
“Mistee Landis,” he intoned, “Headqualtees ling on telephone. Say you
please come, chop chop!”
Landis sprang from his chair and disappeared into the hall as the
Chinese stepped back. Tsu followed him.
Puffing away at his pipe, Bernard began to smile. Landis had long since
won his rather difficult approval. He admired the boy for sacrificing
an excellent social position in order to serve society--a society more
and more closely beleaguered by the criminal element--in a practical
way. He was clever and not too conceited; just lacked experience. When
he had that, he would make a name for himself!
Reverting to their conversation just past, Bernard started a trifle and
uttered a faint snort.
After a while he heard Landis in the hall calling Elsa. Then the young
man appeared in the doorway, an expression of awe on his misleadingly
frank countenance.
“Headquarters it was, sir! I’ve got to go. Wow, what a case!”
“All wasted!” snapped Bernard. “You knew the call was coming! Think you
can fox me?”
Landis burst out laughing. “Not this call, sir! Mason Rees
Harrison--Harrison, the sugar king--was murdered tonight in his own
library! It happened at seven-thirty, about the time we sat down to
dinner. Somebody out there telephoned Headquarters. The Chief gave me
the good word and I’m deputized. My papers are waiting--commission to
the case from the local prosecutor!”
“Suppose you can deputize anybody you like?” asked Bernard suspiciously.
“That’s the usual courtesy, I believe.” Landis contrived a tone of
silken preoccupation. “On the other hand,” he added suddenly, “no doubt
the Chief gave me the job because he knew you’d help. He knows I’m
here, you see.”
“Young fox!” Bernard growled.
“My hat! Why the harsh words?”
Both men turned and Bernard heaved himself to his feet. In the doorway
stood Elsa and Mrs. Bernard, the one, who had just spoken, radiating
force and a blunt sort of charm; the other a little flushed and
prettier than ever.
“Harrison the millionaire,” said Landis quickly. “He was shot tonight
and I’ve got the case. Of course, I’d like Mr. Bernard to help me, just
as he--er--helped with the Carson case.” He smiled engagingly at Mrs.
Bernard.
She looked with swift surprise at her husband. After an instant her
expression changed and grew subtly questioning. Bernard shook his head.
“He’s trying to drag an old hulk out of harbor, Marion! Nice I’d look,
leaving you!”
There was a little pause.
“Do you want to go, Paul?”
He turned away to knock the dottle out of his pipe. “Certainly not, my
dear! The boy’s crazy--”
His wife strode forward and put her hands on his shoulders. She was
very tall for a woman but he was nearly a head taller and half again as
broad in his massive old shoulders. She turned him about and looked up
at him.
“If you want to go, go! Hunting man is in your blood just as hunting
animals is in mine. Think I care if it’s dangerous? Think I’m the kind
of woman to keep a man tied to her apron strings--a _man_, Paul?”
she demanded.
“Humph!” Bernard fumbled with his pipe, dropped it, started to pick it
up, changed his mind and kissed her. “Well,” he grumbled, “I might just
look the ground over, my dear.”
“You’ll go and do as you please,” said his wife.
Bernard grunted something and stooped for his pipe. Only Landis caught
the momentary quiver of Mrs. Bernard’s lips as she turned away. A
little remorseful, he looked down at Elsa who had tucked her arm
through his. Luckily her youth and optimism, her confidence in him,
spared her what he had seen in the older woman’s face. She was pouting
a little.
“Back to work so very soon?” she protested.
“’Fraid so, Honey! Worst of it is, I can’t very well take you into town
again. This place is an hour’s run from here in the other direction
and I’ve got to get out there at once. It isn’t likely we’ll get back
tonight.”
“She’ll stay here, of course,” interrupted Mrs. Bernard, and turned to
Elsa. “We’ll go pack a bag for the two of them!” She hustled her niece
out of the room with her.
The detectives made their journey to the scene of the murder in the car
Landis had bought for his honeymoon.
An hour later, they turned into a long upward drive toward a mansion
which seemed ready to burst with the light streaming from its many
windows. In view of the wealth of the victim, the case might prove
delicate to handle. If the local authorities had been willing to send
for outside help, it was almost certainly a difficult one.
Landis drew up in front of a deep, brightly lighted veranda, and they
mounted three broad steps, passed between two groups of vacant hammocks
and wicker chairs and rang the bell. From the veranda the main building
ran back, unbroken on the left where the windows looked out upon lawns
and trees, broken on the right by a large wing at right angles to it.
So much they had seen as they drove up.
The butler admitted them to a tiled vestibule from which doors opened
into cloakrooms on either hand. The vestibule was gilded and frescoed
to an ornate chilliness, while high, expensive looking vases flanked
the entrance to the hall beyond.
At this second doorway they faced a long hall two stories high,
surrounded by a second-floor balcony. Straight ahead of them a wide,
pseudo-Venetian staircase led up to a landing where it branched left
and right to the balcony.
Through open doorways on their left they could see a bit of the
over-furnished drawing-room and of the dining-room beyond. On either
side of the staircase narrow passages ran back to green baize doors.
Midway in the right-hand wall a wide doorway opened into a big room
lined with books. On their immediate right a smaller door was closed.
A slow glance registered these details in both their memories. Then
they eyed the butler, Landis studying the man’s face while Bernard
looked at his hands. These last hung quite naturally and did not
tremble. The face, narrow and aquiline, with slightly sunken dark eyes,
was unusually handsome. At the moment it was smoothly pale and rigid
with aloof dignity.
Bernard looked up.
“You the butler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Stimson, sir.” The tone was entirely unruffled and
distinctly chilly. “Er--Mr. Landis?”
Now Landis had already introduced himself. So the butler was snubbing
Bernard! It was a situation not without humor, if Stimson had known.
Landis proceeded to tell him.
“I’m Landis, as I believe I mentioned already,” he said. “This is Mr.
Bernard--Mr. Paul Bernard--of whom you may have heard, Stimson!”
The man stepped back a pace and bent slightly.
“I have, of course, sir. You’ll pardon me. Your manner was a trifle
abrupt and I did not know.”
A most astonishing butler, thought Landis.
If Bernard had any retort to make, it was checked by the sudden
opening of the door on their right and the appearance of a youngish
man in evening clothes. He closed the door behind him and came forward
unsmiling.
“Mr. Landis?” he inquired.
Landis bowed. The young man directed a glance of dismissal at the
butler who turned without haste and moved away toward the dining-room.
“This is Mr. ----?” inquired Landis politely.
“My name’s Graham. I’m junior member of the law firm employed by Mr.
Harrison. My wife and I have been guests here for a week and I was here
tonight when Mr. Harrison was murdered. So I took charge until the
police came.” He glanced quickly at Bernard.
Landis introduced them and Graham’s face brightened a little.
“Glad to meet you, sir! If you’re here officially, we’re lucky. Of
course, I know your name--”
“And never heard of mine,” Landis smiled. “Well, Mr. Bernard is going
to help us!”
Graham’s features relaxed in a smile that betrayed signs of strain.
He was of the clear-cut, capable, rather highly strung type of young
business man whose good breeding and rigid code of ethics often lead to
the law.
“The coroner has been here and gone again,” he explained. “He’s coming
back in the morning for the body.”
Landis studied the direct, dark blue eyes.
“Who sent for me?” he inquired.
“I did. The coroner agreed that expert help was advisable and arranged
your papers with the local authorities.”
“Why?” asked Bernard suddenly.
“Because the murder looks like an inside job, Mr. Bernard!” Graham
smoothed his short brown hair nervously. “But you can judge for
yourself, of course.”
“Where’s the body?”
Graham turned and led them through the doorway from which he had
emerged. They found themselves in a small, brilliantly lighted
reception-room furnished with polished console tables and stiff gold
chairs.
Toward the far side of the room, the pale gray carpet bore a large,
irregular stain of moisture from which bits of broken glass caught the
light. Immediately in front of them a big man lay sprawled on his back,
his arms outflung, his feet pointing toward the open door which led
into the library. A local policeman stood guard over the body.
Drawing nearer, the detectives saw that the dead face still bore the
imprint of emotion. On the gross, slightly sunken features rested the
shadow of a furious amazement. The evening clothes had been disarranged
and approximately replaced.
“How was he killed?” rumbled Bernard.
“He was shot in the back--with an arrow.”
“An arrow!” Bernard frowned his incredulity.
“Yes. The broken shaft of it is still under him.”
“Has the body been moved then?” asked Landis.
“The doctor examined it and so did the coroner. But they replaced him
exactly as they found him. The doctor is still here, waiting for you in
the library.”
“He gives this arrow as the cause of death?”
“Yes. There doesn’t seem to be any question about that, Mr. Landis.”
“Do you mean to say that Harrison was shot here in his own house with
an arrow, and nobody knows who did it?”
“That’s the strange part of it! There were two women here in this room
who saw him fall. But they can’t help us. That’s why I telephoned
Headquarters.”
“There must be somebody in the household, or somebody who was here
tonight, who knows how to shoot with a bow and arrow!” snapped Bernard.
“Nine people out of ten don’t know how--couldn’t shoot straight.”
“We--we all shoot!” said Graham.