The Bat

M >> Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood >> The Bat

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He lowered the detective to the floor and straightened up again,
listening tensely. So brief and intense had been the struggle that
even now he could hardly believe in its reality. It seemed
impossible, too, that the struggle had not been heard. Then he
realized dully, as a louder roll of thunder smote on his ears, that
the elements themselves had played into his hand. The storm, with
its wind and fury, had returned just in time to save him and drown
out all sounds of conflict from the rest of the house with its giant
clamor.

He bent swiftly over Anderson, listening to his heart. Good--the
man still breathed; he had enough on his conscience without adding
the murder of a detective to the black weight. Now he pocketed the
revolver and the blue-print--gagged Anderson rapidly with a knotted
handkerchief and proceeded to wrap his own muffler around the
detective's head as an additional silencer. Anderson gave a faint
sigh.

The Doctor thought rapidly. Soon or late the detective would return
to consciousness--with his hands free he could easily tear out the
gag. He looked wildly about the room for a rope, a curtain--ah, he
had it--the detective's own handcuffs! He snapped the cuffs on
Anderson's wrists, then realized that, in his hurry, he had bound
the detective's hands in front of him instead of behind him. Well--
it would do for the moment--he did not need much time to carry out
his plans. He dragged the limp body, its head lolling, into the
billiard room where he deposited it on the floor in the corner
farthest from the door.

So far, so good--now to lock the door of the billiard room.
Fortunately, the key was there on the inside of the door. He quickly
transferred it, locked the billiard room door from the outside, and
pocketed the key. For a second he stood by the center table in the
living-room, recovering his breath and trying to straighten his
rumpled clothing. Then he crossed cautiously into the alcove and
started to pad up the alcove stairs, his face white and strained with
excitement and hope.

And it was then that there happened one of the most dramatic events
of the night. One which was to remain, for the next hour or so, as
bewildering as the murder and which, had it come a few moments sooner
or a few moments later, would have entirely changed the course of
events.

It was preceded by a desperate hammering on the door of the terrace.
It halted the Doctor on his way upstairs, drew Beresford on a run into
the living-room, and even reached the bedrooms of the women up above.

"My God! What's that?" Beresford panted.

The Doctor indicated the door. It was too late now. Already he
could hear Miss Cornelia's voice above; it was only a question of
a short time until Anderson in the billiard room revived and would
try to make his plight known. And in the brief moment of that
resumee of his position the knocking came again. But feebler,
as though the suppliant outside had exhausted his strength.

As Beresford drew his revolver and moved to the door, Miss Cornelia
came in, followed by Lizzie.

"It's the Bat," Lizzie announced mournfully. "Good-by, Miss Neily.
Good-by, everybody. I saw his hand, all covered with blood. He's
had a good night for sure!"

But they ignored her. And Beresford flung open the door.

Just what they had expected, what figure of horror or of fear they
waited for, no one can say. But there was no horror and no fear;
only unutterable amazement as an unknown man, in torn and muddied
garments, with a streak of dried blood seaming his forehead like a
scar, fell through the open doorway into Beresford's arms,

"Good God!" muttered Beresford, dropping his revolver to catch the
strange burden. For a moment the Unknown lay in his arms like a
corpse. Then he straightened dizzily, staggered into the room, took
a few steps toward the table, and fell prostrate upon his face--at
the end of his strength.

"Doctor!" gasped Miss Cornelia dazedly and the Doctor, whatever
guilt lay on his conscience, responded at once to the call of his
profession.

He bent over the Unknown Man--the physician once more--and made
a brief examination.

"He's fainted!" he said, rising. "Struck on the head, too."

"But who is he?" faltered Miss Cornelia.

"I never saw him before," said the Doctor. It was obvious that he
spoke the truth. "Does anyone recognize him?"

All crowded about the Unknown, trying to read the riddle of his
identity. Miss Cornelia rapidly revised her first impressions of
the stranger. When he had first fallen through the doorway into
Beresford's arms she had not known what to think. Now, in the
brighter light of the living-room she saw that the still face,
beneath its mask of dirt and dried blood, was strong and fairly
youthful; if the man were a criminal, he belonged, like the Bat, to
the upper fringes of the world of crime. She noted mechanically
that his hands and feet had been tied, ends of frayed rope still
dangled from his wrists and ankles. And that terrible injury on
his head! She shuddered and closed her eyes.

"Does anyone recognize him?" repeated the Doctor but one by one
the others shook their heads. Crook, casual tramp, or honest
laborer unexpectedly caught in the sinister toils of the
Cedarcrest affair--his identity seemed a mystery to one and all.

"Is he badly hurt?" asked Miss Cornelia, shuddering again.

"It's hard to say," answered the Doctor. "I think not." The
Unknown stirred feebly--made an effort to sit up. Beresford and
the Doctor caught him under the arms and helped him to his feet.
He stood there swaying, a blank expression on his face.

"A chair!" said the Doctor quickly. "Ah--" He helped the
strange figure to sit down and bent over him again.

"You're all right now, my friend," he said in his best tones of
professional cheeriness. "Dizzy a bit, aren't you?"

The Unknown rubbed his wrists where his bonds had cut them. He
made an effort to speak.

"Water!" he said in a low voice.

The Doctor gestured to Billy. "Get some water--or whisky--if
there is any--that'd be better."

"There's a flask of whisky in my room, Billy," added Miss Cornelia
helpfully.

"Now, my man," continued the Doctor to the Unknown. "You're in the
hands of friends. Brace up and tell us what happened!"

Beresford had been looking about for the detective, puzzled not to
find him, as usual, in charge of affairs. Now, "Where's Anderson?
This is a police matter!" he said, making a movement as if to go in
search of him.

The Doctor stopped him quickly.

"He was here a minute ago--he'll be back presently," he said,
praying to whatever gods he served that Anderson, bound and gagged
in the billiard room, had not yet returned to consciousness.

Unobserved by all except Miss Cornelia, the mention of the
detective's name had caused a strange reaction in the Unknown. His
eyes had opened--he had started--the haze in his mind had seemed
to clear away for a moment. Then, for some reason, his shoulders
had slumped again and the look of apathy come back to his face. But,
stunned or not, it now seemed possible that he was not quite as
dazed as he appeared.

The Doctor gave the slumped shoulders a little shake.

"Rouse yourself, man!" he said. "What has happened to you?"

"I'm dazed!" said the Unknown thickly and slowly. "I can't
remember." He passed a hand weakly over his forehead.

"What a night!" sighed Miss Cornelia, sinking into a chair.
"Richard Fleming murdered in this house--and now--this!"

The Unknown shot her a stealthy glance from beneath lowered eyelids.
But when she looked at him, his face was blank again.

"Why doesn't somebody ask his name?" queried Dale, and, "Where the
devil is that detective?" muttered Beresford, almost in the same
instant.

Neither question was answered, and Beresford, increasingly uneasy
at the continued absence of Anderson, turned toward the hall.

The Doctor took Dale's suggestion.

"What's your name?"

Silence from the Unknown--and that blank stare of stupefaction.

"Look at his papers." It was Miss Cornelia's voice. The Doctor
and Bailey searched the torn trouser pockets, the pockets of the
muddied shirt, while the Unknown submitted passively, not seeming
to care what happened to him. But search him as they would--it
was in vain.

"Not a paper on him," said Jack Bailey at last, straightening up.

A crash of breaking glass from the head of the alcove stairs put a
period to his sentence. All turned toward the stairs--or all
except the Unknown, who, for a moment, half-rose in his chair, his
eyes gleaming, his face alert, the mask of bewildered apathy gone
from his face.

As they watched, a rigid little figure of horror backed slowly down
the alcove stairs and into the room--Billy, the Japanese, his
Oriental placidity disturbed at last, incomprehensible terror
written in every line of his face.

"Billy!"

"Billy--what is it?"

The diminutive butler made a pitiful attempt at his usual grin.

"It--nothing," he gasped. The Unknown relapsed in his chair--
again the dazed stranger from nowhere.

Beresford took the Japanese by the shoulders.

"Now see here!" he said sharply. "You've seen something! What
was it!"

Billy trembled like a leaf.

"Ghost! Ghost!" he muttered frantically, his face working.

"He's concealing something. Look at him!" Miss Cornelia stared at
her servant.

"No, no!" insisted Billy in an ague of fright. "No, no!"

But Miss Cornelia was sure of it.

"Brooks, close that door!" she said, pointing at the terrace door
in the alcove which still stood ajar after the entrance of the
Unknown.

Bailey moved to obey. But just as he reached the alcove the terrace
door slammed shut in his face. At the same moment every light in
Cedarcrest blinked and went out again.

Bailey fumbled for the doorknob in the sudden darkness.

"The door's locked!" he said incredulously. "The key's gone too.
Where's your revolver, Beresford?"

"I dropped it in the alcove when I caught that man," called
Beresford, cursing himself for his carelessness.

The illuminated dial of Bailey's wrist watch flickered in the darkness
as he searched for the revolver--as round, glowing spot of
phosphorescence.

Lizzie screamed. "The eye! The gleaming eye I saw on the stairs!"
she shrieked, pointing at it frenziedly.

"Quick--there's a candle on the table--light it somebody. Never
mind the revolver, I have one!" called Miss Cornelia.

"Righto!" called Beresford cheerily in reply. He found the candle,
lit it--

The party blinked at each other for a moment, still unable quite to
co-ordinate their thoughts.

Bailey rattled the knob of the door into the hall.

"This door's locked, too!" he said with increasing puzzlement. A
gasp went over the group. They were locked in the room while some
devilment was going on in the rest of the house. That they knew.
But what it might be, what form it might take, they had not the
remotest idea. They were too distracted to notice the injured man,
now alert in his chair, or the Doctor's odd attitude of listening,
above the rattle and banging of the storm.

But it was not until Miss Cornelia took the candle and proceeded
toward the hall door to examine it that the full horror of the
situation burst upon them.

Neatly fastened to the white panel of the door, chest high and
hardly more than just dead, was the body of a bat.

Of what happened thereafter no one afterward remembered the details.
To be shut in there at the mercy of one who knew no mercy was
intolerable. It was left for Miss Cornelia to remember her own
revolver, lying unnoticed on the table since the crime earlier in
the evening, and to suggest its use in shattering the lock. Just
what they had expected when the door was finally opened they did
not know. But the house was quiet and in order; no new horror faced
them in the hall; their candle revealed no bloody figure, their ears
heard no unearthly sound.

Slowly they began to breathe normally once more. After that they
began to search the house. Since no room was apparently immune from
danger, the men made no protest when the women insisted on
accompanying them. And as time went on and chamber after chamber
was discovered empty and undisturbed, gradually the courage of the
party began to rise. Lizzie, still whimpering, stuck closely to
Miss Cornelia's heels, but that spirited lady began to make small
side excursions of her own.

Of the men, only Bailey, Beresford, and the Doctor could really be
said to search at all. Billy had remained below, impassive of
face but rolling of eye; the Unknown, after an attempt to depart
with them, had sunk back weakly into his chair again, and the
detective, Anderson, was still unaccountably missing.

While no one could be said to be grieving over this, still the
belief that somehow, somewhere, he had met the Bat and suffered at
his hands was strong in all of them except the Doctor. As each
door was opened they expected to find him, probably foully murdered;
as each door was closed again they breathed with relief.

And as time went on and the silence and peace remained unbroken, the
conviction grew on them that the Bat had in this manner achieved his
object and departed; had done his work, signed it after his usual
fashion, and gone.

And thus were matters when Miss Cornelia, happening on the attic
staircase with Lizzie at her heels, decided to look about her up
there. And went up.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE HIDDEN ROOM

A few moments later Jack Bailey, seeing a thin glow of candlelight
from the attic above and hearing Lizzie's protesting voice, made
his way up there. He found them in the trunk room, a dusty, dingy
apartment lined with high closets along the walls--the floor
littered with an incongruous assortment of attic objects--two
battered trunks, a clothes hamper, an old sewing machine, a
broken-backed kitchen chair, two dilapidated suitcases and a shabby
satchel that might once have been a woman's dressing case--in one
corner a grimy fireplace in which, obviously, no fire had been
lighted for years.

But he also found Miss Cornelia holding her candle to the floor and
staring at something there.

"Candle grease!" she said sharply, staring at a line of white spots
by the window. She stooped and touched the spots with an
exploratory finger.

"Fresh candle grease! Now who do you suppose did that? Do you
remember how Mr. Gillette, in Sherlock Holmes, when he--"

Her voice trailed off. She stooped and followed the trail of the
candle grease away from the window, ingeniously trying to copy the
shrewd, piercing gaze of Mr. Gillette as she remembered him in his
most famous role.

"It leads straight to the fireplace!" she murmured in tones of
Sherlockian gravity. Bailey repressed an involuntary smile. But
her next words gave him genuine food for thought.

She stared at the mantel of the fireplace accusingly. "It's been
going through my mind for the last few minutes that no chimney flue
runs up this side of the house!" she said.

Bailey stared. "Then why the fireplace?"

"That's what I'm going to find out!" said the spinster grimly. She
started to rap the mantel, testing it for secret springs.

"Jack! Jack!" It was Dale's voice, low and cautious, coming from
the landing of the stairs.

Bailey stepped to the door of the trunk room.

"Come in," he called in reply. "And shut the door behind you."

Dale entered, turning the key in the lock behind her.

"Where are the others?"

"They're still searching the house. There's no sign of anybody."

"They haven't found--Mr. Anderson?"

Dale shook her head. "Not yet."

She turned toward her aunt. Miss Cornelia had begun to enjoy
herself once more.

Rapping on the mantelpiece, poking and pressing various corners and
sections of the mantel itself, she remembered all the detective
stories she had ever read and thought, with a sniff of scorn, that
she could better them. There were always sliding panels and hidden
drawers in detective stories and the detective discovered them by
rapping just as she was doing, and listening for a hollow sound in
answer. She rapped on the wall above the mantel--exactly--there
was the hollow echo she wanted.

"Hollow as Lizzie's head!" she said triumphantly. The fireplace
was obviously not what it seemed, there must be a space behind it
unaccounted for in the building plans. Now what was the next step
detectives always took? Oh, yes--they looked for panels; panels
that moved. And when one shoved them away there was a button or
something. She pushed and pressed and finally something did move.
It was the mantelpiece itself, false grate and all, which began to
swing out into the room, revealing behind a dark, hollow cubbyhole,
some six feet by six--the Hidden Room at last!

"Oh, Jack, be careful!" breathed Dale as her lover took Miss
Cornelia's candle and moved toward the dark hiding-place. But her
eyes had already caught the outlines of a tall iron safe in the
gloom and in spite of her fears, her lips formed a wordless cry of
victory.

But Jack Bailey said nothing at all. One glance had shown him that
the safe was empty.

The tragic collapse of all their hopes was almost more than they
could bear. Coming on top of the nerve-racking events of the night,
it left them dazed and directionless. It was, of course, Miss
Cornelia who recovered first.

"Even without the money," she said; "the mere presence of this safe
here, hidden away, tells the story. The fact that someone else
knew and got here first cannot alter that."

But she could not cheer them. It was Lizzie who created a diversion.
Lizzie who had bolted into the hall at the first motion of the
mantelpiece outward and who now, with equal precipitation, came
bolting back. She rushed into the room, slamming the door behind
her, and collapsed into a heap of moaning terror at her mistress's
feet. At first she was completely inarticulate, but after a time
she muttered that she had seen "him" and then fell to groaning again.

The same thought was in all their minds, that in some corner of the
upper floor she had come across the body of Anderson. But when Miss
Cornelia finally quieted her and asked this, she shook her head.

"It was the Bat I saw," was her astounding statement. "He dropped
through the skylight out there and ran along the hall. I saw him
I tell you. He went right by me!"

"Nonsense," said Miss Cornelia briskly. "How can you say such a
thing?"

But Bailey pushed forward and took Lizzie by the shoulder.

"What did he look like?"

"He hadn't any face. He was all black where his face ought to be."

"Do you mean he wore a mask?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

She collapsed again but when Bailey, followed by Miss Cornelia, made
a move toward the door she broke into frantic wailing.

"Don't go out there!" she shrieked. "He's there I tell you. I'm
not crazy. If you open that door, he'll shoot."

But the door was already open and no shot came. With the departure
of Bailey and Miss Cornelia, and the resulting darkness due to their
taking the candle, Lizzie and Dale were left alone. The girl was
faint with disappointment and strain; she sat huddled on a trunk,
saying nothing, and after a moment or so Lizzie roused to her
condition.

"Not feeling sick, are you?" she asked.

"I feel a little queer."

"Who wouldn't in the dark here with that monster loose somewhere near
by?" But she stirred herself and got up. "I'd better get the smelling
salts," she said heavily. "God knows I hate to move, but if there's
one place safer in this house than another, I've yet to find it."

She went out, leaving Dale alone. The trunk room was dark, save
that now and then as the candle appeared and reappeared the doorway
was faintly outlined. On this outline she kept her eyes fixed, by
way of comfort, and thus passed the next few moments. She felt
weak and dizzy and entirely despairing.

Then--the outline was not so clear. She had heard nothing but
there was something in the doorway. It stood there, formless,
diabolical, and then she saw what was happening. It was closing
the door. Afterward she was mercifully not to remember what came
next; the figure was perhaps intent on what was going on outside,
or her own movements may have been as silent as its own. That she
got into the mantel-room and even partially closed it behind her
is certain, and that her description of what followed is fairly
accurate is borne out by the facts as known.

The Bat was working rapidly. She heard his quick, nervous movements;
apparently he had come back for something and secured it, for now
he moved again toward the door. But he was too late; they were
returning that way. She heard him mutter something and quickly turn
the key in the lock. Then he seemed to run toward the window, and
for some reason to recoil from it.

The next instant she realized that he was coming toward the
mantel-room, that he intended to hide in it. There was no doubt in
her mind as to his identity. It was the Bat, and in a moment more
he would be shut in there with her.

She tried to scream and could not, and the next instant, when the
Bat leaped into concealment beside her, she was in a dead faint on
the floor.

Bailey meanwhile had crawled out on the roof and was carefully
searching it. But other things were happening also. A disinterested
observer could have seen very soon why the Bat had abandoned the
window as a means of egress.

Almost before the mantel had swung to behind the archcriminal,
the top of a tall pruning ladder had appeared at the window and by
its quivering showed that someone was climbing up, rung by rung.
Unsuspiciously enough he came on, pausing at the top to flash a
light into the room, and then cautiously swinging a leg over the
sill. It was the Doctor. He gave a low whistle but there was no
reply, save that, had he seen it, the mantel swung out an inch or
two. Perhaps he was never so near death as at that moment but
that instant of irresolution on his part saved him, for by
coming into the room he had taken himself out of range.

Even then he was very close to destruction, for after a brief pause
and a second rather puzzled survey of the room, he started toward
the mantel itself. Only the rattle of the doorknob stopped him,
and a call from outside.

"Dale!" called Bailey's voice from the corridor. "Dale!"

"Dale! Dale! The door's locked!" cried Miss Cornelia.

The Doctor hesitated. The call came again. "Dale! Dale!" and
Bailey pounded on the door as if he meant to break it down.

The Doctor made up his mind.

"Wait a moment!" he called. He stepped to the door and unlocked it.
Bailey hurled himself into the room, followed by Miss Cornelia with
her candle. Lizzie stood in the doorway, timidly, ready to leap
for safety at a moment's notice.

"Why did you lock that door?" said Bailey angrily, threatening the
Doctor.

"But I didn't," said the latter, truthfully enough. Bailey made a
movement of irritation. Then a glance about the room informed him
of the amazing, the incredible fact. Dale was not there! She had
disappeared!

"You--you," he stammered at the Doctor. "Where's Miss Ogden? What
have you done with her?"

The Doctor was equally baffled.

"Done with her?" he said indignantly. "I don't know what you're
talking about, I haven't seen her!"

"Then you didn't lock that door?" Bailey menaced him.

The Doctor's denial was firm.

"Absolutely not. I was coming through the window when I heard your
voice at the door!"

Bailey's eyes leaped to the window--yes--a ladder was there--
the Doctor might be speaking the truth after all. But if so, how
and why had Dale disappeared?

The Doctor's admission of his manner of entrance did not make
Lizzie any the happier.

"In at the window--just like a bat!" she muttered in shaking
tones. She would not have stayed in the doorway if she had not
been afraid to move anywhere else.

"I saw lights up here from outside," continued the Doctor easily.
"And I thought--"

Miss Cornelia interrupted him. She had set down her candle and
laid the revolver on the top of the clothes hamper and now stood
gazing at the mantel-fireplace.

"The mantel's--closed!" she said.

The Doctor stared. So the secret of the Hidden Room was a secret
no longer. He saw ruin gaping before him--a bottomless abyss.
"Damnation!" he cursed impotently under his breath.

Bailey turned on him savagely.

"Did you shut that mantel?"

"No!"

"I'll see whether you shut it or not!" Bailey leaped toward the
fireplace. "Dale! Dale!" he called desperately, leaning against
the mantel. His fingers groped for the knob that worked the
mechanism of the hidden entrance.

The Doctor picked up the single lighted candle from the hamper, as
if to throw more light on Bailey's task. Bailey's fingers found
the knob. He turned it. The mantel began to swing out into the
room.

As it did so the Doctor deliberately snuffed out the light of the
candle he held, leaving the room in abrupt and obliterating darkness.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ANDERSON MAKES AN ARREST

"Doctor, why did you put out that candle?" Miss Cornelia's voice
cut the blackness like a knife.

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