The Voice in the Dark
It had been an afternoon filled with unexpected things. But even the
murder of the gardener had not startled me as much as the horrified
exclamation of Bartley. No one thought of disbelieving him or even
questioning what he had said. There would not have been time for the
latter, for he was running up the hill in the direction of the
library. Without a word Ranville had started after him, and after our
first stunned second of surprise Carter, Patton and I followed.
What Bartley had meant by saying we might be in time to prevent
another murder I could not understand; but the tone of conviction in
his voice when he had said this was overwhelming. He knew something of
which the rest of us had not the slightest idea.
He reached the library before we did. In fact, when we went up on the
veranda and paused at the open door, he was talking to the chief very
seriously and quickly. We had no time to enter the room before he came
to our side. Just as we followed him down the steps, he turned and
called to the chief, who had come to the door:
“Remember; say nothing to any one about the murder of the gardener.
Wait until you hear from me.”
We hurried down the path and out to the car waiting before the iron
gate. Carter climbed into the front seat, and Ranville and I took the
back seat with Bartley. At his command to rush to the house, Carter
guided the car around in a sweeping curve, and started down the
street. In a moment we were going over fifty miles an hour.
I shot a glance at Bartley. He was leaning back in his seat, but I
could tell that his body was tense. There was a burning flame in his
eyes, and his lips were shut in a thin line. As the car swept around
the bend and then headed straight for Carter's, Ranville asked in a
questioning voice:
“You have found something, John?”
There came a quick response. “I think so. It may be that I am wrong.
To me it seems the theory I have is the only solution there can be to
this case. I had a theory when you told me of Warren's death—a vague
one. Now the death of the gardener makes it the only solution in
sight.”
“It seemed a crazy thing to kill the gardener,” was Ranville's
comment.
Bartley gave him one quick look. The car was lurching into Carter's
drive and was already on the verge of stopping. As it came to a pause,
Bartley answered the questioning comment of the Englishman.
“Yes,” was the only thing he said.
We piled out of the car onto the lawn. I noticed that Bartley stood a
moment, his gaze apparently fixed upon some point. It was already
dark, and would soon be much darker. In the sky the clouds were
hanging low and black, with the promise of rain any moment. The wind
was rising and already was sweeping across the lake in stormy gusts.
Down in the garage the dog, hearing the car stop, howled long and
loudly.
For some reason Bartley did not seem to be in the same hurry as a few
moments before. We followed him into the house and watched him go up
the stairs to his room. Carter, who had been watching him with a
puzzled air, turned to me and asked:
“Do you know what is on his mind?”
I shook my head, started to speak, only to hear Bartley from above
calling to Carter to be sure and get his gun. With a startled glance
at Ranville, Carter gave a shrug of his shoulders and left the room.
Both he and Bartley returned at the same moment, and it needed but a
glance at the squatty automatic which he carried to see he had obeyed
his friend's instructions.
But though he had obeyed it, he was not satisfied. In a voice which
was bursting with curiosity he turned to Bartley.
“For God's sake, John! What have you up your sleeve?”
“Carter,” came the slow reply, “there is not time to tell you now just
what I am afraid of, but I have the idea we are going to put our hands
on the murderer of both Warren and the gardener. That is not my chief
object. I am going to save the secretary from a similar fate.”
“I don't see how you can say that—” burst from Carter's lips.
He would have said more, but his friend placed his arm around his
shoulder saying:
“I may be wrong, Carter. But you know my way of working very well.
There is but one logical solution to this entire affair; that is the
one I am going to test now. If I am wrong, there is no damage done;
but if I am right, then I save further trouble. I only ask you to do
one thing; do not lose your head. Say nothing, and if you have to
shoot, do not be afraid of shooting to kill.”
Bartley led the way out of the hall. As we reached the front door, he
slipped a revolver in the hands of Ranville and myself. And at that
second for the first time I discovered Patton was not with us and had
not come into the house when we got out of the car. In a surprised
voice I asked where he might be—asked, only to have Bartley respond
that Patton was following a suggestion he had made, and that we would
see him in a short while.
With Bartley in the lead we went down the steps and across the grass.
Where we were going, I did not have the slightest idea and wondered
greatly. I half expected we would take the car, but instead he struck
off over the lawn in the other direction. This puzzled me, and as we
came to the opening in the hedge, I became more perplexed than ever.
For the high hedge separated Carter's grounds from the wide sweeping
lawn which ran to the stone church.
Even in the few moments we had been in the house, the wind had
increased. Now it came sweeping across the lake from the distant
mountains—not in the wild gusts of a few moments before, but with a
steady strength which seemed to be increasing. A few drops of rain
dashed against my face, and I could hear the lake as it started to
pound upon the shore. The clouds seemed very low, and not a star was
in the sky.
As we came through the hedge, for the first time we felt the full
strength of the wind. Out in the street, where the few street lamps
gave the only brightness in the dense darkness, I saw a newspaper go
whirling up the hill in a crazy fashion. In front of us, just an
indistinct dark mass in the gloom, was the church. No lights were to
be seen at the rectory windows, and save for the wind no other sound
came to our ears.
With Bartley a few steps in front of us, we went up the slight incline
and across the close-cropped grass which formed the lawn. Where we
were heading, I could not tell; but Bartley kept in the lead, hurrying
with the certainty of a man who knew just where he was going and what
he expected to discover. We followed, though several feet behind. No
one spoke, and as we bent forward against the wind, I wondered what
Carter and Ranville might be thinking.
We paused under the shadow of the tower, which divided the church from
the rectory. It loomed above us in the darkness, but as I put out my
hand, I discovered that the door leading to the top was closed. I
pressed down the latch, only to find the door was locked. I had begun
to wonder why we had stopped in the place we did when above the roar
of the wind I heard a sound. At first I could not tell what it was,
for it rose for a second and died away—rose and fell, to suddenly
swell forth into a great volume of sound. And then I recognized what
it was. Some one was playing the organ in the church.
Ranville started to speak, and in fact said one word, but there came a
sharp command from Bartley, and he became silent. As Bartley started
in the direction of the church, we followed. We crept along the
ivy-covered wall and reached the three steps which led to the
entrance. When we were before the oak door and tried the latch, we
found it was locked. Stopping a moment, we listened. Above the wind
the notes of the organ came faintly from within.
I half expected Bartley might pound on the door, though why he should
care to enter the church I could not see. Instead, he walked down to
the grass, and we went to his side. Our eyes turned toward the rich
glass windows of the building. In the darkness it was almost
impossible to even perceive the place where they were. One thing was
certain; though some one was within the church—some one playing upon
the pipe organ—yet the church was dark. Not a ray of light was
reflected from the windows out into the darkness.
Puzzled by this, we followed Bartley back again to the side of the
church, and this time paused directly under one of the windows. It was
placed only a few feet above the ground, for the church building was
rather low. At Bartley's suggestion I placed myself so he could step
on my hand and reach the window sill. Reaching it, he stood balanced
against the glass for some moments, then dropped to the ground without
a word. Coming to our side, he said shortly:
“There is some one in the church, and there seems to be a light there.
But it is a very feeble one at the best. We will go down to the last
window. This time we will let Pelt look inside and tell us what he
sees.”
We went down the side of the church until we reached the last window.
Here Bartley aided me as I scrambled up to the sill and stood upon the
rather large ledge. The window was partly covered over with ivy, but I
found a clear place and pressed my face against the glass. For a while
as I looked within, I saw nothing. In fact, the church was simply a
vast dark cave, the darkness so dense that I could not distinguish any
of the objects within.
But I did discover something else. Somewhere near my ear there must
have been a hole in the glass, or a broken section, for the sound of
the organ was much louder than when I heard it before. Within the
church some one was playing—playing with a feeling and a power which
was hard to describe. The loud notes rolled down to my ear,
increasing, it seemed, in sound every second. And the music was
indescribable, like nothing I had ever heard before and, for that
matter, nothing that I would care to hear again.
It seemed to contain a note of victory mingled with some wild,
barbaric strain of exaltation; music unlike anything I had ever heard
before, and music, which for some unknown reason, made my blood run
cold. One thing was certain, whatever was being played it was not the
type of music which one hears in a church. The wild, barbaric strains,
now shrieking forth in gleeful triumph, now seeming to cry defiance to
one's enemies, was not church music. It was too loud and far too
primitive for that. And then, suddenly, I saw something.
With my face pressed against the glass, I had tried to penetrate the
darkness within. But the gloom hid everything from sight as if a heavy
thick blanket had been drawn across my vision. As my glance swept down
the length of the church and then upward, I suddenly saw a light. It
was the merest pin point of a light, far up in the organ loft. As I
gazed at the speck of brightness in the darkness, I saw something
else.
It seemed to me that the light must be from a candle placed somewhere
upon the organ. It was so small that it could not give much
illumination. From where I was it did not seem much larger than a
dollar. But beside the light, mostly in the shadow, could be seen the
indistinct figure of a man—a man bent over the keyboard of the organ,
his figure swaying back and forth as he played. But it was impossible
to distinguish who the man might be.
With the wild notes of the organ ringing in my ears, I dropped to the
ground and told what I had observed. Bartley turned at once to the
window and, with my assistance, climbed upon the sill. For several
moments, with his face against the glass, he remained motionless.
Then, sliding to the ground, he came to our side.
“Is there a balcony in the church?” he asked Carter.
Carter thought a moment and replied that he thought there was. Then
Bartley said he wished Carter and I to go into the church and to reach
the balcony. He and Ranville would join us in a short while. If we
succeeded in getting into the balcony without being heard, we were to
simply watch the person playing the organ and wait until Bartley
joined us. We started to ask him what he expected would be discovered.
He made no reply to the question; instead he said he thought he would
be able to pick the lock of the front door of the church.
Wondering just why he wished us to go into the church and, above all,
puzzled as to where he and Ranville might be going, we followed him to
the church entrance. For a second the flame from his flash light
played upon the great door. Then as we screened him, Bartley fumbled
for a moment or so with the lock, using a thin piece of steel, and
before we knew it the door was open.
With a whisper that we might close the door, as he could open it
again, Bartley slipped away in the darkness. Silently, Carter and I
stole softly into the church. As we closed the door behind us, we
stopped a moment to listen. There came to our ears the muffled sound
of the organ, telling us the man was still playing. With a whisper
that we did not have to be very careful as the organ would drown out
any noise we made, Carter turned on his flash light.
The flame lasted but a moment, but long enough to allow us to get our
bearings. We were in the vestibule of the church. On each side of the
hallway stairs ran to the other floor, no doubt to a balcony. In the
front near the stairs were two doors leading into the church. They
were glass doors, but the glass was covered with some sort of cloth.
There was not much necessity to be over quiet. The organ prevented any
sound we might make from being heard. We went to the stairs, and with
our hands on the wall climbed to the next floor. We crept carefully
through several rows of chairs and managed to reach the front railing
of the balcony without any noise. There we sank back in the nearest
chairs and peered over the rail.
Before us the church stretched away to the organ loft, which was above
the pulpit. Below us lay a great pit of darkness, while almost on a
level with us we could see the tiny splotch of light—a light which
flickered and twisted as the flame of a candle will. It was set
somewhere upon the organ, for we could catch the reflection of several
of the golden pipes. But the man at the keys we could not distinguish.
There was but the black outline of his figure as, with head bent low,
he played to the silent church.
As we sat there in the darkness, it dawned upon me that perhaps never
again would I hear such music—that is, if one could call the wild
strains which came from the organ music. It was unlike anything I have
ever heard, wild, fantastic and even devilish in its suggestion. For
the first time I began to understand what some people had in mind when
they called certain music immoral. Now the tones would swell, swell
until the echo reverberated from the wall. Next it would die down to a
soft, sobbing croon to last but a moment, and then suddenly burst
forth in a wild satanic laugh. It was the eeriest music I have ever
heard, and as time passed on, it seemed to frighten me.
Then came a moment when the organ died down to a strain so low we
could barely hear it. In that second, suddenly there was a terrific
flash of lightning—one which threw the rich glass of the windows in
high relief and caused the interior of the church to flare for a
moment into sight. Then followed a heavy crash of thunder, which
seemed to roll down the roof of the church. The next instant there
came the heavy dashing of rain upon the roof above our heads. And all
at once, as the sound of the thunder died away, the organ seemed to
falter, and the music stopped with a sudden crash. At the same time
the light in the organ loft went out.
As the light vanished, Carter gripped my arm. Bending over the
railing, I tried to figure out what had happened as if the very
tenseness of my gaze could pierce the blackness. A sound behind caused
me to jump, but the next instant there came Bartley's low whisper:
“It's all right, Pelt. Keep still.”
There came another flash of lightning more vivid than before, which
seemed to play across the window above the organ, a window which was
blood-red in the second I was able to see it. The clap of thunder
which followed appeared to shake the church to its very foundation.
And then in that second of silence which seems to follow a
thunderclap, there came ringing through the black church a voice—a
voice unlike anything I have ever heard. The tone exultant,
triumphant, ringing above the sound of the rain upon the roof and the
sweep of the wind around the building. A voice chanting a disconnected
series of words.
“A sign, O Lord. A sign to thy servant. The Lord will deliver his
enemies into my hands. A sign, O Lord. A sign I cried for. And it
came, it came.”
The shrill voice rose higher and higher until the broken phrases were
almost a shriek. I felt Carter's hand sink into my arm. In his
intensity he did not know that his grip was painful. None of us moved,
but I heard a short gasp come from some one. And I knew that the eyes
of the three were trying, like my own, to pierce the darkness.
The voice died away to a sobbing whisper, then all became still. Above
our heads the rain was dashing in sheets against the roof. Somewhere
outside I heard the shrill wail of an automobile as the driver blew
the horn. But within the church was only darkness and silence. Again
there came a vivid flash of lightning, followed by the rumble of the
thunder. As it died away the voice rose again—rose in a wailing cry:
“A sign to thy servant. A sacrifice to thy power.”
Silence again, in which I tried to figure out just where the man might
be. That he was somewhere in the front of the church I knew, somewhere
near the altar. But why the candle had been extinguished, and above
all why he should stay in the darkness I could not tell. Of one thing
I was certain. No sane man had been playing the organ. And the voice
we had heard had tones and inflections which I had never heard in any
normal person.
Again came the voice. This time it was not so shrill, but far more
serious—speaking with the tone of one who was lifted above the world
by some mystical vision within them, and yet the tone and the words
made me shudder.
“Blood—will wipe away all sins. Blood—” the voice wailed.
I heard a muttered “God” in a horrified voice from Carter. He half
started to rise, only to fall back in his seat at Bartley's whispered
command.
The voice came again above the sound of the rain and the noise of the
wind—the words came ringing down to us through the darkness:
“Blood will wipe away all sins,” were the words chanted in a singsong
voice. “Blood. A sacrifice upon the altar.”
The voice died away. There came a muttering, the words so low that we
could not hear a single one. For several moments it went on. Suddenly
it ceased, and we heard the sound of some one stumbling down some
steps—stumbling and half falling. Then came the sound of feet half
running—running down the aisle of the church—running, yet stumbling
and falling against the pews. At the sound Bartley whispered:
“Down the stairs! Let the man get out on the lawn, and then follow
him. Do not let him see us.”
We groped our way up the short aisle, then down the stairs which led
to the vestibule. Just as we reached the turn in the steps, we heard
the man fumbling with the front door—heard him fling it open, and then
followed the loud bang as the wind slammed it shut. With that we
leaped down the remaining steps, across the hallway to the door. In a
second some one had flung it open.
As we piled out on the lawn, the rain swept across our faces. Coming
from the dense darkness of the church, we found we could see but a few
feet ahead of us. Though we looked on all sides, we saw nothing of the
man. Suddenly there came a flash of lightning, and in the glare I saw
far down the lawn a running figure—a figure headed for the lake.
We started on a run, Bartley a little in the lead. The lake was
several hundred yards away, and above the wind I could hear the water
as it dashed against the shore. By the aid of another flash of
lightning, we glimpsed for a second the dark figure. This time he was
almost by a small building which faced the water.
As we reached Bartley's side, Carter gasped:
“I think I know where the man is going. There is a stone boat house
down there.”
I wondered later why it was we were not observed, for as the man
reached the boat house, we heard him fumble with the lock, and the
door was slammed almost in our faces. We stood for a second by the
door of the building. It was a small stone affair built of heavy
granite blocks. It stood directly upon the shore of the lake, and the
water was but a few feet away. As we gazed at the building, suddenly
far above our heads came the reflection of a light from within. I gave
a start, for the light was directly above us. There came Carter's
quick voice:
“John, this place has no windows at all. It was once a studio, and
there is a large skylight in the roof. When I was a kid, I often
climbed on the roof and watched the artists working inside.”
“Can you get up there now?” questioned Bartley.
“Without any trouble at all,” Carter retorted. “On the other side of
the building there is a big tree. You can climb the tree, then go out
on a branch and drop on the roof. It's easy.”
Without a word Bartley rushed around the side of the building, we
after him. There we found it was as Carter had said. There was a large
tree several yards from the building, and I could see from the light
reflected above the roof an overhanging branch. As the limbs hung low,
Bartley had no difficulty in climbing, and I saw him drop upon the
roof. In rapid succession we followed him. For a moment as the branch
swayed with the wind I felt a feeling of suspense, but in a second I
dropped lightly on the roof of the building.
A large skylight formed the larger part of the roof. From it a light
was streaming out into the night. Bending over the skylight, their
eyes intent on something in the room below, were Carter and Bartley.
Ranville and myself reached the glass at the same moment and bent
forward to look into the room.
In the first glance I noticed nothing out of the way. There was simply
a large, unkempt room, littered with old chairs and odds and ends. By
the door which faced the lake there was a small rowboat. Then my eyes
fell upon a broken-down sofa, which was in one corner of the room and
then I gave a quick gasp of horror, for there upon the broken-down
piece of furniture lay a still figure—a person whose eyes were closed
and whose face was very white. Below us upon the sofa lay the
unconscious figure of the secretary.
My first startled thought was that she was dead. But I saw the breast
rise a little and knew that she was breathing. She did not move,
however, and her eyes were closed. The white dress was stained with
dirt, and half of the thin waist was torn away from her shoulder. One
could see the white curve of her arm and the ivory whiteness of the
half-exposed breast. Across the naked shoulder was a long red mark,
either a cut or a scratch. The dress was far above her knees, and the
rolled stockings exposed her legs, which were covered with dirt.
The first startled thought had been one of surprise. Though Bartley
had told us that it was his opinion the girl was in danger, yet for my
part I had failed to believe him. But as I looked down upon the
unconscious figure, I realized he had been right. Some one started to
speak when in the rear of the room a door suddenly began to open.
I watched the door as it swung slowly open, and then a man came into
the room. His face I could not see, for he entered in a sideways
position with the body bent far over. His hair was very much
disheveled, and the black suit which he wore was a mass of wrinkles.
Slowly, with his head bent low, he shambled over to the sofa and, with
the hands hanging down, stood looking at the girl. The face I could
not see, but as I looked at the uncouth figure, it began to dawn upon
me that I knew who the man was.
Suddenly he raised the long thin arms above his head and waved them in
a threatening manner over the unconscious girl. For a few seconds he
stood silent, then shuffled to the corner of the room and fumbled
under a bit of sail cloth. He straightened, his face still hidden from
my sight, and then to my consternation I saw he held in his hand—a
knife. As he raised it above his head, the long thin steel caught the
reflection from the electric light and glittered in a strange fashion.
As if testing the force of his blow, he swept the knife downward
through the air and then turned to gaze in a reflective manner at the
form on the sofa. At the same second I saw Ranville, who was next to
me, pull his revolver from his pocket.
For some reason the man remained quiet a moment, then went very slowly
to the opposite corner of the room. From where we were on the roof we
were unable to see what he was doing. As I bent my face closer to the
glass, Bartley suddenly spoke in a low voice:
“Carter, I am going to take Pelt and go down and break in the door.
You remember what I said. If it is necessary, do not be afraid to
shoot—and shoot to kill. There may come just a second when it will be
a question of taking the life of that insane person below or saving
the girl. There is only one choice.”
With a touch on my shoulder to follow him he went over to the branch
of the tree and pulled himself along to the trunk, when he slid to the
ground. I followed him, reaching the foot of the tree at almost the
same moment. Without a word he hurried around the side of the building
to the front door, I after him. There, adjusting his flash light so
the flame would remain fixed, he turned it on the door.
There is a certain instrument by which any door may be opened. It is,
in fact, a very powerful lever which simply forces the lock out of
position and crushes the door open. The door before us was of heavy
wood, and though he fumbled a moment at the lock with a bit of steel,
he had no success. Taking the lever from his pocket, he applied it in
the proper manner and then began to use his strength. There came the
sound of creaking wood, a splintering crash as the door gave way. And
then, just as he started to push it open, there came a voice from a
figure running over the lawn.
“Mr. Bartley,” cried the voice.
We turned quickly as Patton came in the range of the flash light. He
rushed to our side, much out of breath, and his questioning eyes swept
over the two of us. Telling him to keep a little behind us, Bartley
turned again to the door. He gave it a push, then a shove, and it
swung open, ripped half off the hinges.
We found ourselves in a small entryway littered with rubbish of all
kinds. In front of us was a partly opened door, and from the light
which came through it I knew it led into the room which we had looked
down upon. We took one step in the direction of the door and then
paused suddenly as a voice came ringing out upon the silence:
“A sacrifice to the Most High,” pealed the voice. And the tones were
those of one carried away by some stern purpose. They contained not
only a note of cruelty, but also one of high resolution—the voice of
one from whom sanity had long since departed.
“Blood—will—wash away all sin,” chanted the voice. The tone rose
higher and higher until it was almost a shriek. “Blood—a sacrifice to
the Most High—” Then as the voice sank, there came a silence and the
half-sobbing refrain:
“The Lord chooses his servants to punish his enemies—Blood—”
With a leap Bartley reached the half-open door and flung it wide. I
was in the room at almost the same moment, and there for a second we
stood. Before us, the girl lay upon the sofa, and in the first quick
glance I gave I saw that she still did not move. Before her stood the
unkempt figure, his suit drenched by the rain, holding in the right
hand the long knife.
As we burst into the room, the man's voice died away in his throat; he
whirled around and glared at us. His face was working convulsively,
and the mouth was partly open, showing the long narrow teeth. The eyes
glared at us in an unearthly manner, and his left hand opened and
closed. He gave us one startled look—a look which contained nothing of
recognition—and half gathered himself for a spring. And then suddenly
there came a change in the expression of his face.
The eyes which had swept over Bartley and myself shifted their gaze to
something which was behind us. As we looked, the wild expression which
had glared at us began to fade away; instead there came a
half-bewildered look, the faint dawning of remembrance. Slowly I saw a
look of astonishment give place to the greatest horror. He gave one
step in our direction and pointed a wavering hand at the object behind
us. I gave a quick look to see what it might be. But only Patton stood
behind us in the doorway.
Advancing very slowly, one foot in front of the other, with the
outstretched hands wavering, yet ever pointing, the man took two steps
in our direction. He tried to speak, and I saw the lips move in a vain
effort. Then as his face worked strangely, there burst forth the words
in a half shriek:
“You—you. You were killed.”
Bartley's voice broke in upon the silence, cool and sharp:
“No! You killed the wrong man.”
The uncouth figure half stumbled, and there came a despairing moan
from the trembling lips. The hand dropped limply to his side. He gave
one wild, appealing look around the room, then his eyes came back to
Patton. I saw the veins in his forehead swell, and his face flush a
vivid red. He half started to gather himself for a leap in our
direction—started, only to partly turn. There came a half groan from
his lips—a despairing cry, and then suddenly he fell with a crash to
the floor. Fell, to move his hands convulsively for a moment, and then
become very still. Carter's next-door neighbor—the minister—lay dead
at our feet.