“Are you inferring,” he demanded, “that Jasper had something to do with the death of my brother Winstead; that he also contemplates an attack upon me?”
“Exactly,” responded Warren quietly. “Furthermore” - the young man lowered his voice - “I can tell you with whom he was conversing. It was Wellington, your servant. Jasper mentioned his name across the wire.”
The effect upon Humphrey Delthern was astounding. It was also entirely different from what Warren had expected. An accusation directed against Jasper, Humphrey’s own brother, might well have aroused the man’s momentary indignation.
But Warren was amazed to see Humphrey display a sudden, terrific fury. The man raised his clawlike hands and clenched his fists as though he would like to press them upon his visitor’s throat.
It was a full minute before the rage subsided. The reaction was quite as unexpected. Humphrey Delthern, weakened by his own frenzy, sank back in his chair, gasping. Then, with a strange recovery, he stared directly at Warren Barringer, and spoke in a cold, sarcastic tone.
“I appreciate your visit,” he declared. “But before we discuss the matter further, let me ask you one question. Was this the same pretext that you used when you talked with my brother Winstead?”
“Pretext?” queried Warren, in surprise.
“Yes,” said Humphrey. “I have heard that you aroused his anger. I knew that you must have done so by means of outrageous statements.”
“You are wrong there, Humphrey.”
“Perhaps” - Humphrey paid no attention to Warren’s words - “you also warned him against a brother’s wiles. Possibly you told him that I - not Jasper - was plotting to end his life.”
“You mean that I -“
“I mean,” said Humphrey clearly, “that I know the truth concerning Winstead’s death. My elder brother was murdered; and his slayer was -“
“Jasper!” blurted Warren.
“Not Jasper!” exclaimed Humphrey in new frenzy. “Not Jasper, you fiend! You are the man who murdered my brother Winstead!”
Humphrey was on his feet again. He had pushed the chair back from the desk. He was standing close to the paneled wall, his pale face turned crimson, his lips trembling, and his fists shaking in anger.
Warren Barringer sat in astonishment. Fierce resentment swept his mind; but the startling effect of Humphrey’s words held him motionless.
“You came here to kill Winstead!” accused Humphrey. “You are here to kill me! You will not succeed. I can call Wellington to my aid before you can overpower me.”
With these words, Humphrey dropped his hand to his pocket. Sensing that his cousin might be drawing a revolver, Warren leaped to his feet. He started toward the door, believing that he could gain it before Humphrey could produce a weapon.
Then came blackness. At this moment of crisis, the lights in the room were entirely extinguished. A gasp of alarm came from the wall where Humphrey was standing. Warren, groping in the darkness, stumbled against a chair and nearly lost his footing.
AS he caught himself against the huge desk, Warren heard a long, rasping sigh. Something struck against the desk, and Warren felt the woodwork shift toward him. Rapping, clawing sounds rattled only a few feet away.
The lights came on. Warren blinked as he saw the same illuminated scene. Then his eyes bulged with horror.
Sprawled across the desk, face upward, lay the form of Humphrey Delthern!
Dying fingers still beat a mild tattoo upon the woodwork. Staring eyes glared upward. The fingers ceased their motion, and Warren Barringer gazed in awe at the huge handle of a knife that jutted from his cousin’s breast.
It required moments for the terror of this tragedy to impress itself upon Warren Barringer’s mind. As he realized that this was no illusion, that the sight before him was reality, Warren shrank away from the desk, and gripped the arms of a chair.
How long the lights had been out, he did not know. It might have been only seconds - perhaps minutes. The passage of time escaped his recollection. But after he stared about the empty room, and saw no one, Warren Barringer finally focused his eyes upon the figure of his cousin.
Humphrey Delthern was dead; a knife blade in his heart. Silently, some murderer had done dastardly work amid the blackness. The handle of the knife bore mute evidence of evil crime. Warren Barringer was alone in the room with his murdered cousin!
Death had struck in the dark!
CHAPTER XIII
CRIME UPON CRIME
MOMENTS had seemed very long to Warren Barringer. Now, his numbed brain experienced a reaction. As he gazed at Humphrey Delthern’s body, the young man found a deluge of thoughts sweeping through his mind.
Death had struck. In the confusion of a blackened room, someone had slain Humphrey Delthern. Warren realized that his back had been toward the door. He glanced in that direction. He saw the light switch.
Some daring murderer could have opened that door, extinguished the light, and made the swift attack. Such seemed to be the only explanation. Yet the man had gone as swiftly as he had come - and all his actions, including the murder, had occurred during those moments while Warren had groped and stumbled in the darkness.
The only trace that remained of the killer was Humphrey’s body, a pitiful, scrawny form, with the token of death extending from it. Here was Warren, an innocent person, left in the room with his murdered cousin.
Jasper Delthern?
The brother had plotted murder. Warren had heard him. He must have come up the stairs, listened through the door, and taken advantage of opportunity.
As for Wellington - Warren remembered now. Jasper had told the servant to establish an alibi, and to leave the way clear.
This gave Warren his cue. Winstead Delthern had died in this house after Warren’s departure. Suppose that Warren should be gone again when Humphrey’s body was found? The thought of flight was distasteful; but the menace that lay here counteracted it.
It would be wise to get out before Wellington returned. The servant might be bringing the chauffeur with him, on some pretext. Warren thought of Clark Brosset, back at the City Club.
This was inspiration! Back to the club; a talk with Brosset; there they could decide what might be best. Humphrey Delthern’s safety was of no consequence now. The man was dead.
Warren turned toward the door. He seized the knob, and cautiously opened the barrier. He stopped, fancying that he heard footsteps. He drew back. A moment later, he knew that someone was creeping forward. Before he could take action, Wellington came from the gloom and stood before him.
THE servant’s face hardened. Wellington stared from Humphrey’s form to Warren Barringer. His lips tightened, and Wellington broke forth in accusation.
“You have killed him!” he exclaimed. “You - you murderer! He - he told me to be here. He was afraid of you! But I thought that he was safe!”
With a sudden rage, the servant precipitated himself into the room and clutched at Warren Barringer. The young man flung Wellington to one side, and as he thrust back the servant’s attack, uttered his own defiant challenge.
“You know the truth!” cried Warren. “You - and Jasper Delthern! He is the murderer, and you know it!”
The two locked in struggle. Warren, young and powerful, hurled back the servant, whom he believed to be a traitor. But Wellington was not lacking in strength. The servant fought with a fury that could only come from actual belief that he was battling with the man who had slain his present master.
In the course of their grapple, the fighters jounced against the door and knocked it shut. They swerved across the room, struck the desk, and staggered on. Humphrey Delthern’s body teetered lazily back and forth as the desk was shaken by the conflict.
