A myriad of gasping taunts resounded; then, through the gloom came the final touch - strange sibilant gibes that swept along the passages of the whispering gallery.
Faces filled with frozen fear surrounded the table in the center of the room. None of the persons assembled there dared move. Stark terror ruled.
Those weird echoes had come as the laugh of a ghost!
CHAPTER III
THE SHADOW DECIDES
MINUTES after that ghoulish mirth had swept through the great reception hall of Delthern Manor, Horatio Farman spoke. The lawyer, despite the pangs of chilling fear that had swept over him, was the first to regain his voice. It was fitting that he should restore calm to the gathering, for it was he who had invoked this ghostly aid.
“Winstead Delthern,” spoke Farman calmly, despite the trembling of his lips, “we are still waiting the conclusion of your remarks regarding Warren Barringer.”
Winstead Delthern held up his hands pathetically. He was quivering from terror. He could not speak. He turned toward Humphrey on his left. In his brother’s face he saw the same unmistakable fright. Winstead buried his face in his hands.
Horatio Farman glanced toward Marcia Wardrop. He saw that the girl was trying to be brave, despite the pallor on her countenance. The lawyer turned to Jasper Delthern.
Here, again, Farman saw a face that betrayed fear. Yet, in Jasper’s eyes was the gleam of challenge. Jasper caught Farman’s glance and laughed huskily.
“What is this?” he growled. “Some trick you’re playing on us, Farman?”
Winstead Delthern heard the words. He groped his way to his feet. Clinging to the table, he faced his youngest brother and tensely answered Jasper’s words.
“Do not mock the dead!” gasped Winstead. “Be silent, Jasper! Be silent!”
The ugly smile remained upon Jasper’s lips, but the youngest Delthern made no reply. Winstead, eyes staring and lips trembling, spoke pitifully.
“It was the voice of the dead!” he asserted. “For years - for decades - they have said that the spirits of our fathers met, invisible, within this very hall. My grandfather believed it; but I was a doubter. I confess it.
“Now, I believe. I know why it is that every Delthern, upon his deathbed, has ordered his heirs to meet in this great hall. I, too, shall follow that example. There is no need to fear the shades of those who have gone before us, so long as we honor their memory and their wishes.”
Winstead Delthern paused impressively. Horatio Farman was amazed at the light which shone in the speaker’s eyes. He noted that Humphrey and Marcia - even Jasper, to a degree - were listening solemnly.
“You ask me,” declared Winstead, in a voice now steady, “to conclude my statement regarding Warren Barringer. I recall the words that I was saying when the strange phenomenon occurred; that weird manifestation that we all heard. I shall complete my statement now.
“Warren Barringer’s rights are not to be disregarded! He - like my brothers and my cousin Marcia - is a lawful heir to his proper portion. I sustain your opinion, Farman. My decision is final!”
His words ended, Winstead Delthern slumped back into his chair and rested his face between his hands. He stared directly at Farman, who nodded his accord.
“Our business is finished,” asserted the lawyer, in a quiet tone. “Our meeting is ended. One month from tonight, we shall assemble again to arrange the final settlement of Caleb Delthern’s will.”
ONE by one, the heirs rose unsteadily from the table. Horatio Farman walked steadily to the door and drew it open. Wellington approached from the outer hall. The glow of electric lights gave new courage to the group.
Winstead Delthern, with the air of a man who has discharged a momentous duty, turned to the others and announced that he intended to take up his residence in Delthern Manor.
“Such is the provision of the will,” he said. “I shall carry out every term to the letter. You, Marcia, intend to remain here?”
The girl nodded.
“You, Humphrey?”
The second of the Delthern brothers paused thoughtfully. He glanced cautiously about the huge reception hall; then stared toward Winstead.
“I shall live here,” he agreed. “It - it may be my duty also.”
“Jasper?” questioned Winstead.
“Live here?” responded the youngest brother, with a forced laugh. “Not a bit of it! Say - I’m glad that you and Humphrey are between me and the top. I don’t want to hang out in this old place. The club will be all right for me.”
“That is your privilege,” declared Winstead, in a cold tone. “I am leaving now. I shall return to occupy this home tomorrow.”
Winstead stalked across the outer hall; Humphrey followed him. Horatio Farman was talking with Marcia Wardrop. Jasper Delthern stood by the door of the reception hall, watching the departure of his brothers.
As soon as the elder Deltherns were gone, Jasper swung toward the lawyer.
“Look here, Farman,” he demanded, “what was the idea of this hokum tonight? What’s your game? Trying to make Winstead play the way you want?”
“Jasper!” interrupted Marcia, in a tense tone. “It is not right for you to insult Mr. Farman. Remember, this is still my home!”
“Jasper,” said Farman quietly, “if you are referring to the strange laughter that we heard tonight, I can assure you that I am quite ignorant of its cause.”
“You believe in the ghost stuff, eh?”
“No. I do not. Nevertheless, I know that Caleb Delthern believed that strange manifestations could occur in this great room. We have had the proof of it. It is unexplainable - that is all that I can say.”
“Grandfather told me the same,” interposed Marcia Wardrop, in an awed tone. “He told me - many other things, Jasper. I - I know that this is a weird old house. It frightens me sometimes; but, after all, I do not see what harm can come to me here. I - I don’t know whether to believe in ghosts or not -“
“I’ll find out about the ghosts!” snarled Jasper. “If some smart stuntster pulled that laugh on us, he’s in here yet. I’m going to look around and see.”
JASPER swung into the candlelighted room, and prowled from one end to the other. Horatio Farman watched him with interest; Marcia Wardrop with alarm. A cursory search failing, Jasper spied the circular staircase that led to the whispering gallery.
“Maybe it came from up there!” he growled. “I’m going up to see.”
With a scowl toward the others, Jasper ascended the circular steps. A few moments later, his head and shoulders showed above the rail of the balcony. Jasper turned to face the people below.
“It’s dark as pitch up here!” he snarled.
Sibilant tones responded. Mimicking voices caught up Jasper’s words. The investigator gripped the rail of the balcony.
“It’s dark as pitch up here - dark as pitch - up here - up here -“
Echoing whispers lisped along the gallery. Jasper stood dumfounded at the effect which his words had created. Turning, he sped down the steps and reached the floor of the reception hall. As he neared the door, he regained his composure.
“Say” - Jasper’s comment was gruff - “that’s a spooky sort of place, that whispering gallery. Do you know, my voice seemed to come back louder and louder.”
“Perhaps that explains what we heard,” remarked Farman. “A small sound could be greatly amplified, perhaps. But that laughter - it was uncanny.”
Marcia Wardrop held up her hand for silence. Wellington was coming across the hallway.
“Say, Wellington,” greeted Jasper, “get a flashlight. I want you to come up in the gallery with me. Want to look around a bit.”
