Chapter XVI.The Voice in the DarkIt 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.
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.