<h2 id="c10"><span class="sc">Chapter X</span> <br/><span class="small">ANOTHER INTRUDER</span></h2>
<p>For several minutes Bill stood still and
listened. Not even a board creaked. The
house was as quiet as a tomb. Of one thing
he felt certain: Mr. Zenas Sanders and his
bodyguard had left the place for good.
There would be no more visitors tonight.</p>
<p>He looked at his wristwatch. It was
quarter to eleven. Fifteen minutes more,
and he would slip out of the back door and
make his way over to Twin Heads Harbor.
More than ever now, he wanted to get in
touch with Ezra Parker. Two heads would
be much better than one in this predicament.
He must have advice. Too much hung on
the decision he must make—he dared not
rely on his own judgment alone. But there
must be some way out of this mysterious business.
Parker, that clear-headed Yankee,
would be able to suggest the proper course to
follow, if anybody could. The last thing to
do before leaving, was to make sure that the
garage was still lighted up. Parker must not
fail their rendezvous.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_144">144</div>
<p>And now Bill realized that it was no longer
necessary to leave lights burning all over the
house. Pocketing the small automatic which
Mr. Sanders had so thoughtlessly provided, he
picked up his flashlight, and set about switching
off electrics in the various rooms.</p>
<p>Working his way through the house, he
came to the butler’s pantry. Even in full
sunshine it must have been depressing. With
only the narrow beam of his flash to illumine
it, the place was dank enough to plunge the
most cheerful person into a mood of melancholy.
Bill gazed at the wall with its jail-like
row of keys, each bearing a small tag
with the name of a room in diminutive handwriting.
Above the keys was an ordinary
glass frame which enclosed the indicators of
bells from the rooms. It seemed as if he
were watching the still heart of the house,
with wires leading like bloodless arteries to
the gaunt and distant chambers. Suddenly,
Bill flashed his torch full upon the wall.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_145">145</div>
<p>He had thought he saw one of the indicators
move. The bell had not rung—or he had
not heard it—but he could have sworn that
he had seen one of the disks tremble. He
peered closer. For a full minute he watched
the indicators, but now could discern no
movement.</p>
<p>“Nerves!” he muttered angrily. “This
darned house is making a woman of me.”</p>
<p>A glance at his watch showed that it lacked
but five minutes to the hour. He strolled to
the end of the kitchen passage, returned, and
went into the hall to get his cap. The wind
had risen. He could hear it swishing through
the trees outside, a long, low whine in the
pine-needles, in vivid contrast to the deadly
stillness inside the house. He was returning
to the pantry on his way to the back door,
when he felt his heart jump—and then stand
still. Clear and unmistakable, the tinkling
of an electric bell.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_146">146</div>
<p>Bill leapt into the butler’s pantry and his
eyes scanned the double row of indicators on
the wall. Not one of them moved by the
fraction of an inch. A soft, faint whir
sounded again. In some room of the house
a finger was pressed upon an electric button.
Bill went into the passage and listened. The
sound was much clearer now. It seemed to
come from behind the closed door across the
corridor.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_147">147</div>
<p>That door was of heavy oak, and the key
was in the lock. Even without the white tag
that hung from it, Bill knew it was a second
entrance to the cellar, or so Charlie had
told him. What if the door led to a part of
the cellar that he had not already inspected?
A moment’s thought made it plain that Mr.
Evans must have left the key in the door to
prevent the insertion of a duplicate from the
cellar side.</p>
<p>The ringing stopped abruptly. Why on
earth, Bill wondered, should there be an electric
bell in the cellar? Charlie had mentioned
no such thing, and who could have
been ringing it, and why? For a few moments
Bill could not decide whether to investigate
or simply to ignore the matter. There was,
however, the possibility that it was meant to
be a message or a warning to him, and he decided
to find out its meaning at once.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_148">148</div>
<p>Extinguishing his flashlight, he gently
turned the key in the cellar door. He pulled
the door open and quickly stepped behind it.
Nothing could be heard from the cellar, not
a rustle, not a whisper. After waiting a
moment or two, Bill ventured to move into
the open doorway. A musty smell floated
up the stairs—a smell of earth and stagnant
air. With his outstretched foot, Bill explored
until he found the first step. Very
gingerly he descended into the darkness, his
hand touching the stone wall at his side for
guidance. When he reached the bottom, he
paused again to listen. But he could hear
nothing save his own breathing. Then, like
a sudden stab through his brain, the bell
pealed again.</p>
<p>This time it was quite close to him. He felt
that if he reached out he could have touched
it. The flashlight was still clenched in his
hand. He hesitated, then pressed the button
and held the light above his head. The
cellar, vast and irregular, stanchioned by
square stone pillars, lay before him, streaked
by the wavering shadows cast by his light.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_149">149</div>
<p>Bill saw at once that it was not the place
he had gone over with Charlie. Arched
wine-bins, mostly empty, made dim hollows
along the walls. But still he could not locate
the sound. With a final whir the ringing
stopped, and the conviction swept into his
mind that he had been listening, not to a call-bell,
but to a telephone.</p>
<p>Yet he could see nothing that remotely resembled
a telephone instrument. A bare
heavy table with a couple of benches beside
it stood in the middle of the floor, and he
could see nothing else in the dimness save the
blank, arched walls.</p>
<p>Ready to snap off his light at the first hint
of any lurking enemy, Bill pushed forward
and explored two short bays that ran out at
right angles to the main wine cellar, but without
result. Why, he deliberated, should there
be a telephone in this underground spot? So
far as his observation had gone, there was no
phone upstairs, and a cellar seemed a mighty
queer place to instal one. To conceal the instrument
seemed stranger still. Bill noticed
that a passage led off to the left. Avoiding
some tumbled packing-cases on the floor, he
went forward to see what he could find.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_150">150</div>
<p>After he had gone about ten yards, he was
brought up short by a heavy door. Like the
one upstairs, this door also had its key in the
lock. It was a primitive sort of lock and
made a loud click as he turned it—too loud
for Bill’s taste in the circumstances. He let
a couple of seconds go by before venturing to
proceed. His hand was on the key, ready
to pull the door open, when something happened
that made him stop and listen intently.
He snapped off his light. From behind the
iron-studded door he imagined—but was by
no means certain—that he had heard a sound.</p>
<p>After a minute or two of silence he concluded
that it must have been the wind stirring
in a loose grating in the passage beyond.
But presently he thanked his stars he had
switched off the light, for suddenly he heard
quite clearly the sound of footsteps, approaching
on the other side of the unlocked
door.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_151">151</div>
<p>The situation called for swift action. In
the blinding darkness, he quickly estimated
whether he could possibly get through the
cellar and up into the house in time to avoid
discovery. It was not likely. But there was
a shallow niche in the wall behind the door,
and he slipped into it, praying that he would
remain concealed when the door opened.</p>
<p>The footsteps grew louder, then drew to
a stop. A pause, and then he heard the
mumble of a voice from behind the door.
Somebody was talking over the telephone in
there—of that Bill felt sure. But the voice
was too low for him to distinguish the words.
Curiosity impelled Bill to risk pulling the
door open half an inch, and he peered
through the crack into the space beyond.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_152">152</div>
<p>Instantly the voice ceased. The place was
pitch dark, and though Bill stared till his
eye-balls ached, he could see nothing. Then
in the inky blackness he heard a slight rustle.
What was the man doing? Even though Bill
had used the utmost care in opening the door,
this stranger must have heard him. Glued
to the crack, he closed his eyes and listened.</p>
<p>At first he heard nothing—then it came
again—a faint rustle. It was nearer now—almost
at the door. Somebody or something
was moving stealthily toward him.</p>
<p>Bill drew back and none too soon. Bang!
A heavy body crashed against the farther
side of the door. It slammed open and back
against the cellar wall with a crash loud
enough to wake the dead. Bill had just time
to realize that had he remained at the crack
he would have had a nasty blow, when sinewy
arms gripped him and he found himself
fighting for his life.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_153">153</div>
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