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

It had been said - and Caleb Delthern had believed it - that ancestral ghosts had chosen this hall as their
abiding place; that all the meetings of the Deltherns held within this room were viewed by the shades of
those who had passed before.
Horatio Farman had been too wise to laugh at this story when Caleb Delthern had presented it. The
lawyer had privately classed it as a foolish tale; nevertheless, he was forced to admit that a creepy
atmosphere clung to the place.

It was Caleb Delthern's belief in the supernatural that had caused the old man to provide for the reading
of his will within this hall. That was the business set for tonight.

Farman still stared suspiciously at the gallery. He considered that protruding passage as the strangest
feature of the room. It was a whispering gallery, through which any sound would carry to a remarkable
degree. Caleb Delthern had been proud of the balcony as a place of marvelous acoustic properties.

The old lawyer smiled. He wondered about this huge reception hall. He liked it because of its antiquity;
he dreaded it because of its strangeness. In the past, he had been here only with Caleb Delthern. Now
that his old client was dead, Farman, for the first time, felt a full sensation of foreboding gloom.

His mind reverting to Caleb Delthern's theory of spectral visitants, Farman found himself half believing
that the ghost of the last Delthern might, itself, be here! But as he blinked and saw no further sign of the
glowing spots that he had detected in the darkness, Farman set the whole thought aside as mere fancy
and seated himself at the end of the table. He adjusted a pair of spectacles to his nose.

Extracting papers from his portfolio, the old lawyer began to sort them. Engrossed in his work, he forgot
all about the end of the balcony behind him.

Once again those glowing spots appeared - this time they remained. A watcher in the darkness was
viewing the man below!

Silence reigned. Horatio Farman considered his papers beneath the flickering light of the candelabrum. A
huge grandfather's clock - a massive piece among the furnishings of the room - ticked away so softly that
its mechanical noise did not reach Farman's ears.

It was only when a whirring sound came from the clock that the lawyer looked up, startled. He could
barely see the face of the timepiece, but he did not need to observe the position of the hands. The chime
of the clock followed the whir, and it announced the arrival of midnight.

Musical notes; then twelve, slow, solemn strokes. Horatio Farman, as he instinctively watched the clock,
never thought to turn about. Had he done so, he might have noted that other eyes were watching from the
gallery!

THE twelfth chime sounded. Horatio Farman arose and turned toward the door. A moment later, one of
the sliding barriers moved back. Wellington, in the outer hall, was motioning to a group of persons who
stood beside him.

Two men and a girl entered. Before Wellington could slide the door shut, another man appeared from
beyond, and hastily slipped into the big room.

The sliding door closed. Horatio Farman, stoop-shouldered at the table end, was facing the heirs of
Caleb Delthern.