"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 032 - The Ghost of the Manor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

reached by a circular staircase in the corner. The thick posts of the balcony railing were so close together
that all was darkness between them.

The candles, too, added gloom to the gallery. The waxen tapers were set in brackets that protruded from
the solid portion of the balcony beneath the rail posts.

A full hundred in number, these candles threw a weird light throughout the room. To offset the darkness
in the center, a candelabrum had been placed upon a long table that was in the middle of the room.

Horatio Farman looked toward the table.

There were six chairs there; one at either end, two to each side. The elderly man approached the table
and deposited his portfolio in front of one of the end chairs.

Forgetting his interest in the old room, Farman became suddenly businesslike, and turned to Wellington.

"Who has arrived?" he questioned.

"Mr. Winstead and Mr. Humphrey, sir."

"Jasper?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Marcia is here?"

"In her room, sir."

"Very well," stated Farman. "I shall be ready to meet all of them at twelve o'clock. You may usher them
here at that time."

Wellington bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Horatio Farman stood alone in the vast reception hall. With bowed head he gazed at the portfolio which
he had brought with him. Suddenly, the old man's eyes became quizzical. He had the strange sensation
that someone was watching him.

SWINGING about, Horatio Farman stared toward the balcony. Its blackness was weird. Despite the
fact that he had been in this room often, during his years as attorney for Caleb Delthern, now deceased,
Farman had never overcome an uneasiness that gripped him here.

The flickering candlelight added to the mysterious gloom. At one spot on the balcony, Farman fancied
that he saw a blot of extending blackness.

As he stared, the old attorney caught a momentary glimmer that gave the illusion of burning eyes gazing
from Stygian depths. Those momentary spots disappeared. Farman repressed a shudder.

This room had been old Caleb Delthern's pride. The dead owner of Delthern Manor had been a recluse,
and he had spent many long hours in this gloomy apartment.