A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
BOB GALVIN looked around the room and smiled. He remembered the place from his boyhood — this quaint old room, with its dark, oak-paneled walls.
He still felt a slight trace of the awe that had gripped him here, for this had been his uncle’s room — the uncle whom Bob remembered as a stern, gray, grim-faced man.
“Does it remind you of old times, sir?”
The question came from Hodgson, the old servant. Hodgson had been Theodore Galvin’s attendant for many years. To Bob, he seemed like a part of this old room.
“Yes,” replied Bob, “it does. So do you, Hodgson. You’re just the same as you were — why, it must be nearly twenty years ago!”
The servant nodded.
“Close to that since you left here, sir. I’m not the same as I was then, sir. I can’t see the way I did once. My eyes” — he shook his head sadly — “are very poor, sir. It seems like I feel my way about the house, Mr. Bob. I know the place so well—”
But Bob Galvin wasn’t listening. Instead, he stiffened as his eyes, turning toward the heavy casement window, fixed themselves for a moment on a strange form outside.
It was a face, shrouded in the shadows. The lower part of the face was hidden in blackness, but the piercing eyes seemed to be studying Bob’s own features. Bob only had a chance to see the face an instant — then it was gone.
The old butler sensed that something was wrong. He turned toward Bob.
“What — what was it, sir,” he stammered. “Did you feel suddenly — suddenly ill?”
“No — a face! Out the window! Peering in at me! Did you see it, too, Hodgson?”
Then, Bob realized that Hodgson had indeed spoken the truth when he said he was nearly blind. The old man’s stonelike, groping expression told that. Hodgson shook his head.
“No, sir. It might have been something caught in those branches that sway against the window. There’s a single tree in the garden out there.”
Bob pushed back his chair and crossed the room to the window. He unfastened the latch and opened the casement. Only the branches of the lone tree swayed mournfully against the casement in the night wind. Nothing more.
Bob bolted the casement again, and shook his head, his lips compressed.
“Strange — strange,” he muttered. “I could have sworn some one was out there, spying on me.”
Then he turned again to Hodgson. “Did my uncle have any — enemies, Hodgson? Men who wanted his ruin — his life, perhaps?”
“No, sir. Not that I know of, sir.”
“Well — have you noticed anything peculiar about the old place, Hodgson? Is — is Miss Betty all right?”
The old man moistened his lips and hesitated. Then he spoke.
“EVERYTHING is just as it used to be, sir. When Mr. Galvin went away, he closed the house. I went out to the country house with Miss Betty. We were there when we learned that your uncle had died.
“I came in and opened the place, sir, when I knew that you were coming home. Miss Betty is still in the country. She said she would wait until you arrived.”
“I am going to phone her shortly.”
“She will be glad to hear from you, sir. She has been waiting there several days now.
“I am glad that I came in alone, sir. I wouldn’t have wanted her to see what I found — in this room!”
“What was that?” Bob’s interest was evident.
“A dead man, sir! He was lying right where you are standing — by the desk.”
“A dead man! Then there was something! Who was he?”
“The police have not learned his name, sir,” Hodgson continued. “Perkins, the chauffeur, was with me when I stumbled on the body. The detectives were sure the man was a thief.”
“What killed him? Was he shot?”
“He was strangled, sir. He must have been dead for two or three days when we discovered him.
“We couldn’t tell how he came in — all the doors were locked, and the shutters were closed and barred. The detectives think he must have had a key that opened the little side door.
“They are sure he came here with another man — both of them probably thieves—”
“Ah, I understand,” interrupted Bob. “One killed the other and escaped. What could they have been after, Hodgson?”
“I can’t imagine, sir,” the servant said. “There was nothing here of value. We could find nothing missing, sir.
“The detectives think that one man had a grudge against the other. That he brought him here to kill him—”
Bob’s face gleamed with understanding.
“I see their idea!” he exclaimed. “The murderer told his pal this was a place worth cracking. Then, when they got in here, he strangled him. No noise — plenty of time to get away—”
“That’s just it, sir,” replied Hodgson, admiringly. “That’s just what the inspector said. There was quite a piece in the paper about it, sir; but it was while you were still on the boat, coming home—”
THE dull ring of the doorbell came as an interruption. With slow, faltering steps, Hodgson left the room to answer.
Bob Galvin watched the old servant as he passed into the gloomy hall. Hodgson seemed truly to be feeling his way through this old, somber house.
Two minutes passed. The servant returned and almost tottered into the room.
“Mr. Mallory is here, sir,” he said.
Bob advanced to greet Hiram Mallory. Mallory had been one of his uncle’s oldest friends. Bob recognized him immediately — a quiet, kindly-faced old gentleman who still bore himself with youthful vigor.
“Most regrettable, your uncle’s death,” said Mallory, when he and Bob were seated at the flat-topped desk. “It was a great mistake for him to travel so far away in his state of health. Asuncion, Paraguay, still has its yellow fever at times — and it brought your uncle’s death, Robert.”
“Whatever did he go for?” asked Bob.
“He was depressed, Robert. His real estate business here in New York was a large one, and successful, but recent unwise investments have lost him a great deal of money. I fear there is little or nothing left of the estate.”
Bob’s face grew thoughtful, “I heard from him very seldom, you know. I suppose South Africa, where I’ve lived for the past twenty years, made it seem to him as if I was in another world.
“So you think the estate is in bad shape?”
“I’m afraid so. Have you seen the will yet?”
Bob shook his head. “I received a letter from the lawyers,” he said. “Whatever’s left is to be shared by myself and Betty Mandell, my uncle’s ward. She’s lived with my uncle since she was a child.”
Mallory smiled a wry smile. “That means,” he said, “that she will be virtually penniless. She will have no home, and what money she receives cannot last long.”
“She needn’t worry,” smiled Bob. “I’ve done well in South Africa, Mr. Mallory. She’ll live here, as she’s always done. And that reminds me, sir, I have to call her. Pardon me for a few minutes.”
Bob consulted a card he drew from his pocket and reached for the desk phone. In a few moments, Mallory smiled again, observing the beam of happiness on Bob’s face as he spoke.
“Yes, Betty,” Bob was saying, “this is Bob… I’m glad to hear your voice, too… A good many years since we’ve seen each other… You are coming in to-morrow? That’s great… No, Betty, you mustn’t talk that way. This is your home, as it has always been… I’ll see you to-morrow, then? Wonderful!”
After the phone call, Bob chatted with his uncle’s old friend. He was glad to meet some one in New York.
Bob had left, when only a youth, to seek his fortune in South Africa, where his father, Theodore Galvin’s brother, had left him some property.
He told Mallory of his adventures there. He brought out papers from his suitcase, and showed them to his uncle’s old friend. The papers were piled upon the desk by the time their conversation had ended.
Hiram Mallory arose. He held out his hand.
“You have done well, Robert,” he said. “I only regret that your uncle did not live to see you and talk with you as I have. He would have been delighted to learn of your success.
“He was a broken man when he went away, Robert. He wanted to go to some distant country, where he could relieve his mind from all his worries.
“He was old, Robert, but I believe that he would have recuperated some of his losses if he had returned. But that was not to be—”
Mallory paused speculatively as he stood by the doorway. He glanced at his watch and smiled at the lateness of the hour.
“Half past eleven,” he said. “I am usually in bed by ten o’clock. I must go. I shall see you again, Robert.”
“Good night,” replied Bob. “I’m certainly glad you dropped in, Mr. Mallory. I’ll turn in myself — after I’ve gone over those papers on the desk. That will mean an hour’s work, at least.”
Alone, in the gloom of the oak-paneled room, Bob lost himself in the work before him.
He had come away from South Africa rather hurriedly; but on the boat he had attended to all details. He had only these final matters left. As soon as they were finished, there would be no reason for him to worry about the affairs that he had left.
Bob worked quickly. It required less time than he had anticipated. The old clock in the hallway was striking twelve when he completed his labors.
His own business ended, Bob began to study some documents that Hodgson had laid on the desk. They referred to his uncle’s affairs, but were of minor importance.
While Bob was considering these, he became conscious of a slight noise behind him. He swung in his swivel chair, expecting to see Hodgson.
A startled gasp came from Bob’s lips as he found himself staring into the muzzle of an automatic.
The gun was held by a man who wore a dark overcoat and a black cap. The stranger’s face was partly obscured by the collar of his coat. The peak of his cap hid his eyes.
“No noise!” warned a low, growling voice. “Put up your hands!”
Bob obeyed, wondering. He remembered the burglary that Hodgson had mentioned.
But this was a more daring entry — and its futility was perplexing. There was nothing of value here. Neither did Bob have any great amount of money on his person.
He arose at a command from the man who held the pistol. The stranger’s left hand tapped Bob’s pockets in search of a weapon, but none was there.
“Put on your hat and coat,” the man ordered, motioning toward the corner. Bob followed instructions.
The stranger was beside Bob now.
“You’re coming with me,” he said in a low voice. “No funny business. Understand? Don’t try to tip off that old guy that works for you. Tell him you’re going out. Get me?”
Bob nodded. Then he was being urged forward. They entered the hallway. Bob could feel the pressure of the automatic pressed against his side.
They encountered Hodgson in the dimly lighted hall.
“Are you going out with Mr. Mallory, sir?” questioned the old servant.
The gun nudged Bob. He realized that Hodgson did not know that Mallory had departed half an hour before.
The old servant’s poor eyes could distinguish but the forms of two men. The blankness of his gaze indicated that Hodgson was simply assuming the other man’s identity.
“Yes,” said Bob huskily, “I’m going out for a while, Hodgson.”
“You have the key with you, sir?”
“Yes, Hodgson.”
“All right, sir. Shall I wait up?”
Bob hesitated. If Hodgson remained waiting for him, it might be to his advantage. The old servant would suspect something wrong if he did not return.
“You might do that, Hodgson,” he said.
The man with the gun made no comment. Bob smiled as he was nudged along the hall. His ruse had worked. Hodgson would be waiting.
The old servant moved hurriedly ahead of them. He opened the door and stood by the darkened vestibule, while Bob Galvin and his captor walked out into the night.