About the author: Herman Petersen (1893-1973) sold his first story, “ The Seven Gilded Balls, ” to Black Mask in 1922. He worked for Utica (NY) newspapers and was the postmaster for Poolville, New York. All his mysteries were set in this area.
Bibliography (full length titles):
- 1940 Murder in the Making (Doc Miller #1)
- 1942 Murder R.F.D. (Doc Miller #2)
- 1943 Old Bones (Doc Miller #3)
- 1943 The D.A.'s Daughter (Hank Wilbur)
- 1945 Country Chronicle (autobiography)
- 1948 Night on Castle Hill (serial)
- 1950 The Covered Bridge (historical novel)
- 1950 The Road (romance)
- 1957 The House in the Wilderness (Doc Miller #4, published as a serial)
Night on Castle Hill
An Exciting Story Of Murder And Mystery
By HERMAN PETERSEN
THE STORY SO FAR: David Hartshorn, cx-U.S.
Secret Service Officer, who has just returned home from
abroad, has received an unexpected invitation from a wealthy
and beautiful neighbour, ELIZABETH TYDEMAR, to visit
her mansion on Castle Hill-to fix clocks! He is puzzled, but
accepts. In a wood near the house he secs a woman digging
at the foot of a tree. She unearths a knife, then buries it
again and hurries away. When Hartshorn arrives at the house.
Elizabeth asks him to fix a grandfather clock which stopped
exactly a year before, on the day her Uncle Henry was stabbed
to death. Hartshorn finds a knife in the clock works-a
weapon similar to the one.dug up by the strange woman in the
woods. When he returns to the woods the buried knife has
vanished! In the meantime several guests arrive at the man-
sion: Elizabeth cousin, HAZEL; a singer named MICKLEN;
a blackmarkctcer, PHIL DUGDALE; a peppery old man,
CAPTAIN EDDY; and BLANCHE CLAUDA, whom Hart-
shorn recognises as the woman of the woods.
TUGDALE'S words sharpened a feeling of uneasi-
ness that had been with me all
evening, a feeling that in this
situation on Castle Hill was
danger.
It had been building, my un-
easiness, all through the day un-
til now it seemed the danger stood
at my very side. Yet I couldn't
sec it and so know whom it
threatened.
Did Dugdale know? I put the
question to him,
"Whose blood will warm the
trail?”
He smiled and asked me in
turn: "If I could tell you, would
you stand guard in person?"
"I'd naturally do my best to
protect him-or her."
He tossed the stub of his cigr
arette into the fireplace, lighted
a fresh smoke.
"Your experience in the army,
Mr. Hartshorn, certainly has
given you an appreciation of the
fear that rides a man after he
has committed a crime. Even
your hardened criminal experi-
ences it, to a lesser degree-the
fear of having his crime pinned
on him, the fear of punishment.
"And the punishment for death
is death."
"Exactly. No man wants to
die, really. If he has killed, he
may, in desperation, kill again
in an attempt to stave off punish-
ment for his first crime."
I nodded. "I've seen that hap-
pen."
"You may see it happen again.
Some one of us, who are here
to-night, killed old Henry Tyde
mar a year ago. There's no
question about that. The ques-
tion is: What's ' the proper tool
to use to turn up that murderer?"
He flicked ash from his cigar-1
ette into the fireplace.
"What is a better tool than
fear?"
"Rather a dull tool by now," 1
said.
"Time has dulled the original
edge. It was sharp at first, when
the authorities were here work-
ing on the case.
"They gave us a bad time a
year ago, because, naturally, we
were all suspects. Each of us
had the fear then that the crime
would.be pinned on him. And
each of us had another fear
that too deep a digging into our
private lives would turn up dirt
we thought was safely buried.
The only thing that saved us a
year ago was the fact the auth-
orities were slumped by the ap-
parent lack of a motive to ex-
plain the murder."
'"You say 'apparent' lack?"
"1 believe everyone here had
a motive for scragging the old
boy. I know I did."
"You think Elizabeth knows
those motives?"
IIE held up his right hand, the
middle finger crossed over
the index finger.
"Elizabeth and old Henry were
like that," he said. "What he
did, she knew about. He kept
her informed. If he loaned a
person no more than a five-dollar
bill, he told her about it."
"They must have been in con-
stant touch with each other."
"They had to be. They were
half a world apart and old Henry
had iions in a dozen fires. Some
of them real hot fires. He could
have been badly burned if those
irons weren't handled right."
"1 suspect he had many
enemies?"
"The little group who were
here a year ago weren't the only
ones with motives for rubbing the
old boy out. He knew it. At
times he had to deal with some
mighty ruthless men. But even
ruthless men move cautiously
when they know, even before
they move, that there is a case
against them down in black and
white. Those Ãccords were his
bodyguaid, because old Henry
had them-those records and
Elizabeth. A tough combination
to buck."
"Somebody's tried to buck it."
"Some desperate soul. He got
old Henry. But that's only one
down with two to go-the rec-
ords and Elizabeth." ? He smiled
and tossed away his. cigarette.
He didn't light another. "You
know, Hartshorn, I admire her.
It takes a lot of cold nerve to do
what she's doing, offering old
Henry's killer a chance to take a
crack at her. If that happens,
you'll have to step in and work
fast."
"If anything happens to Eliza-
beth, you shall be the first one
1 suspect," 1 assured him.
"And old Henry's records, if
you can turn them up, may sew
the case about me with rather
uncomfortable- tightness. I'm
concerned about those records.
There's enough in them to slap
me in gaol for a considerable
stretch, even if I can beat the
murder rap. I'd like to make a
proposition."
"To mc?"
"You can pass it on to Eliza-
beth." He lighted a cigarette,
let it hang between his hard
lined lips. "The records will
show that 1 owe the old boy a
considerable sum of money. For
the cancellation of that debt and
the destruction of the records of
my dealings with the old man, 1
believe 1 can tip you the hand
that struck the old man down.
Her life shoukl be worth the
price."
"I'll tell. bsr," I promised. "I'll
bring you her answer as soon as
I can."
"To-night," he said. "To-
morrow may be' too late."
In the adjoining room Micklen
had burst into song. He was on
the road to Mandalay along
which the flying fishes played.
Blanche Clauda accompanied him
and the fishes on the piano.
Hazel came in from the music
room.
"Why," she asked desperately,
"do we have to suffer that, too?"
Captain Eddy awakened. He
sat up and looked about. Then
he looked at the chessboard. He
blinked at it, tugged at his white
whiskers. A sharp tug kindled a
bright light in his eyes.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed,
rubbing his thick hands together.
"If ever a king was mated, that
one is." He beamed at me and
chuckled. "You can pay me five
dqllars, my boy."
"For winning?"
"For losing. But you played
a good game. Let me congratu-
late you. A splendid game. But
I'm a hard man to beat when
I play the whites. The advantage
of the opening move is difficult
to overcome."
Dugdale laughed. "You're
beaten all around, Hartshorn. I
knew you couldn't win. Slip him
the five!"
I handed Captain Eddy a five
dollar bill.
"My loss is worth more than
it cost me," I told the captain.
"A game with, you is a lesson in
technique."
"How about another lesson?"
"Another time, perhaps."
Elizabeth's housekeeper, Mrs.
Danig, came in. Her husband,
August, was with her. He look-
ed tiny beside her.- She had, evi-
dently, put on a fresh uniform,
for the white was spotless. August
had on a black suit, his Sunday
best probably.
"Miss Elizabeth asked us to
come in," Mrs. Danig whisper-
ed to me.
"I'll tell her you are here."
1 went into the next room
where Elizabeth sat, listening to
Blanche Clauda play while Mick
Ien sang. He sang with his head
tipped back, his eyes closed.
I bent over Elizabeth. "Mr.
and Mrs. Danig are in the lib-
rary."
"Then we are ready. As soon
as Edward is finished."
She sat quietly, her mouth a
firm line, until Micklen conclud-
ed his song.
"Thank you," she said then
and stood- up. "Will you all
come into the library, please.?
Elizabeth walked slowly^across
the library to the fireplace Snd
stood with her back to it. - .
CHE looked'-in turn at each one
of the group-that faced her,
as if she checked to make certain
ali were therel
"You," she said thqn, her voice
low, "are the same persons who
were in this house one year ago
to-night. On Uncle Henry's
birthday. His _ seventy-eighth
birthday. And one of you killed
him!" .
It was, the way she said it.
more a simple statement of a
known fact than an accu-
sation.
"It's too much to expect, of
course, that any one of you will
admit guilt. And so it becomes
my unpleasant task to try to ex-
pose you."
vHazel spoke up. "Will it really
be so unpleasant, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth eyed her cousin
steadily.
"It may be very unpleasant. 1
may have to expose some of the
private lives of all of you. For
me that will not be pleasant."
"My private life is an open
book," Hazel declared. "It's
been printed in the newspapers
several times."
"All of it?" Dugdale asked her.
"If it hasn't been, don't kid your-
self by thinking »he can't expose
it. No one else here wants to
kid himself on that score either.
If you ever transacted any money
business with old Henry, and I'll
bet all of you have, you can be
sure there is a record of it and
a dossier of you with it."
"How could he know about
our private lives?" Micklen ask-
ed.
"I don't know how he did it.
I know only that he did."
"That is true," Mis. Danig
said in her strangely soft voice.
"When my son was in trouble
and I wanted to help him, I had
to have money. 1 went to Mr.
Henry. He let mc have it, but
he made me write out in my own
writing what I wanted it for. He
made me write about Carl."
"Was Carl here a year ago to-
night?" Elizabeth asked her
housekeeper. »
"No, Miss Elizabeth." Mrs.
Danig looked down at her kit-
chen-reddened hands. "He was in
gaol."
"1 borrowed money from him,"
Blanche Clauda said dully, "to
help me with my music. I was
paying him back. I still owe
two thousand dollars."
"It's on the record," Dugdale
assured her.
"It's perfectly ridiculous,"
Micklen said somewhat angrily.
"I borrowed mo'neyi from him.
Ten thousand dolÃais! The world
can know that, if it must. 1
came here a year ago prepared
to' pay him in full. We were to
settle accounts the next day. It
was a perfectly legitimate busi-
ness.','
."Legitimate or crooked," Dug-
dale said with a smile playing
with his hard lips, "there's a com-
plete record of it together with
a little write-up of everything he
knew about you."
"What could he know more
about mc than that I travelled
about the country and sang for
a living?"
"Don't put the question to me,"
Dugdale said, with a gesture as
if he pushed it away. "I don't
know what he knew about you.
But in your travels about "the
country, if you ever gypped a
newsboy out of a nickel or took
change from a blind man's cup,
you can safely bet your last dol-
lar that somehow 01 other he
found out about it and wrote it
in your dossier."
He lighted a cigarette.
"Naturally, I've never seen
your record. But," he inclined
his head toward Elizabeth, "she
has."
Captain Eddy got up from his
chair and walked to where he
could stand and face Elizabeth.
"Is Phil pulling our legs, Eli-
zabeth?".'
."No, Captain Eddy. The re-
cords exist and I know what is in
them. Uncle Henry insisted that
1 know."
"And you can produce them?"
"Yes."
The captain dug into his pocket
and produced the five-dollar bill
I had paid him. He handed it
back to me.
"Take it, boy. The old pirate
may be dead a year, but I'm tak-
ing no chances. My record's
black enough without any more
being added to it, even five dol-
lars' worth."
He returned to his chair and
sat down again.
Elizabeth stepped over to the
dining room door, opened it.
"Alphonse."
The black man came in.
She said to him in French:
"Let no one leave this room."
She turned to me. "Will you
come with me, Mr. Hartshorn?"
We went out into the hall, up
the stairs, then along the upper
hall to my room.
Elizabeth opened the door and
snapped on the light.
When I stepped in, she shut the
door. She glanced quickly about.
The door to her room stood
slightly ajar. The door to Hazel's
room was closed.
By that door to Hazel's room
was a tall secretary desk. Eliza-
beth opened it, let down the writ-
ing board.
On a sheet of writing paper
lay_a pair of gloves, brown kid.
A woman's gloves.
"Clauda's?" I asked.
"Yes."
J DREW the sheet of paper for
ward. Taking up a glove and
holding it by the tip of one finger,
1 shook ii up and down. A fine
shower of dirt fell on the paper.
'That's all I want to,know" 1
said. "She dug in the wood be-
fore she came to the house this
afternoon. She dug up a knife,
a dagger, a mate to the one I
found in the clock this morning."
I got out my tool bags and
pawed through my tools until I
uncovered the dagger. I handed
it to Elizabeth.
Her fingers' curled tightly
about the hilt. Her mouth set
in such a hard line her lips all
but disappeared.
"I think it isn't the one," I
said. "Not the one with which
your uncle was killed. I think
the other is the one. It's pro-
bably hidden in her room. Shall
we look?"
Her mouth relaxed. So did her
fingers about the hilt of the
knife.
"No. Not now. You have a
screwdriver in one of your bags?"
I dug one out.
She turned toward a picture on
the wall opposite the secretary
desk. It was a painting of a pas-
toral scene, a dark thing, not too
well done. It was not hung as
paintings usually are. Instead, it
was secured so that it was flat
against the wall.
"There are three screws on the
left side," Elizabeth said. "Turn
each one exactly three full turns
to the left."
TOMORROW: Behind the picture.
