“Because of your deputies, up by the tower? So you still have faith in your men. Even though they failed to prevent the death of Willis Beauchamp.”
“I’m counting on my deputies,” grinned Locke. “But not on what they’re going to do. I’m counting on what they’ve done, tonight. While I was up there.”
“What have they done?” demanded the prosecutor.
“They’ve taken out the bells,” returned Locke, “that’s what! I gave them the key. They brought the bells down from the tower. They stuck the bells on a truck and took them to the town hall. That’s where the bells are now. Locked in a room, with two men guarding them.”
“Forget the bells,” rumbled Zangwald. “We are concerned with murder. Claverly’s house is but a few minutes’ ride from here. Let us pay that young man a visit. Are you agreed?”
All nodded with the exception of Vandrow. The lawyer came to his feet. His objection sounded like a plea. He addressed his companions as he might have spoken to a jury.
“It’s unfair!” he exclaimed. “Unfair to go so soon. If we appear exactly at twelve o’clock, our action will place an undue strain upon Milton Claverly. We will come as inquisitors, not as friends.”
“What is the difference?” rumbled Zangwald.
“Much.” Vandrow wheeled to the prosecutor. “Don’t you see that the suggestion is unfair? We have no evidence against Milton Claverly.”
“That is why my plan should be followed,” challenged Zangwald. “What do you think, Jornal?”
“I believe that you are right, Mr. Zangwald,” granted the prosecutor. “If Milton Claverly is concerned in murder, we should take any advantage in quizzing him. If he is innocent, it does not matter when we call upon him. We will follow your suggestion, Mr. Zangwald.”
Nods from coroner and sheriff. Louis Vandrow was overruled. The lawyer shrugged his shoulders and looked glum.
“Very well,” he said. “But if events prove that we have acted unfairly, remember that you have acted against my protest.”
Vandrow delivered the statement in an emphatic tone. It had almost the ring of an accusation. Zangwald glared; the others looked stern. Vandrow turned toward the door, to indicate his willingness to follow the majority, now that his protest had been made.
The lawyer stopped short. His eyes widened. The others, still staring at him, wondered what had caused his abrupt halt. Zangwald wheeled to face the door; the three officials copied his example.
Framed in the wide double-doorway were five masked men. Each held a glistening revolver. In wedge formation, they had chosen separate targets. Each of the intruders was covering a different man.
THE central invader growled an order. The tone of his voice made it plain that these five were mobsmen. Their rough clothing; the blue bandannas that served them as masks; the words of the temporary leader — all were proof that these were killers.
“Smart guys, eh?” rasped the middle gorilla. “Tryin’ to make trouble? Well, we’ll give it to you. There’s one bozo in your outfit that thinks he can queer things. He’s the guy we’re here to get. So the best you mugs can do is stand quiet. There’s four of you that ain’t goin’ to get hurt; but there’s one that is. After we’ve plugged that gent, we’re takin’ it on the lam. Savvy?
“We’ll make a get-away, too. Don’t worry about that. We ain’t worried about none of you guys stoppin’ us. We came out here an’ got our orders. Rub out one of you, let the others ride. So don’t squawk.”
While five crooks held their living targets at bay, those covered men were staring. Each seemed to feel that he was the one toward whom the coming shots would be intended. The gorillas awaited their leader’s command. When it came, they would copy his lead. Five killers would form a firing squad.
The leader was covering the prosecutor. But his eyes swung away, to move from man to man. It was not certain whom he would pick as the single victim. His finger was on the trigger of his gun. The lips beneath the bandanna spread to deliver a snarled order.
Crash!
A terrific smash came from the side of the room. Someone had hurled himself upon a pair of French windows that led to a side porch. The hinged barriers came hurtling inward from the fierce blow. Glass shattered with the concussion. Hinges broke away as a tall form came hurtling into view.
Crimson flashed from the lining of a sweeping cloak. Black replaced red as the unexpected figure whirled toward the double-doorway. Burning eyes glittered from beneath the brim of a slouch hat. Hidden lips delivered a mocking laugh. Gloved fists flourished their unlimbered automatics.
“The Shadow!”
THE snarl came from the central mobsman. Revolver hands swung toward the cloaked intruder. But the startled gorillas were too late. The aiming automatics boomed with instantaneous precision.
Thunderous roars reechoed through the room while revolvers barked a wild, hopeless response. Thugs went crumpling before The Shadow’s centered fusillade. Answering gats sent bullets winging wide of the dread avenger.
Two mobsmen bore the brunt. Their blocking bodies were riddled as the others dropped away. A third man, firing viciously, sprawled as a slug reached his heart.
The last two mobsters, end men of the wedge, dived frantically away. One was wounded; the other unscathed. But both wanted freedom from that irresistible bombardment. As the two ruffians fled, The Shadow whirled and sprang back through the shattered windows.
The five men whom The Shadow had delivered stared bewildered by the fray. Then the prosecutor brought them to life as he swung about and followed the path that The Shadow had taken. The others came in back of him. They reached the porch. Off below the house, the moonlight showed the escaping mobsters, running for the cover of a stone wall.
An automatic spoke from the lawn. One mobster sprawled. A second shot must have clipped the wall that the other gorilla was hurdling, for the man dropped out of sight like a hunted rabbit. Then came the roar of a motor. A touring car shot away as the elusive gangster reappeared to board it.
The Shadow’s guns were stabbing their staccato flashes through the night. The long range; intervening trees — these sufficed to save the mobsters in the car and the gorilla who had joined them.
The five men on the porch turned as one, to pick out the phantom shape in black. They could find The Shadow by the flashes of his guns.
An eerie, outlandish laugh. The Shadow whirled and swept across the lawn. They watched his shape pass from the sphere of moonlight, into a cluster of trees beyond a wall. The Shadow was lost from view; but the prosecutor was pointing in the direction that the weird avenger had taken.
Off beyond, dull lights appeared from lower windows of a moonlight-bathed mansion. Straight across an intervening hollow, in almost the exact direction that The Shadow had taken, stood the home of Milton Claverly.
“Come!” cried Jornal. “To Claverly’s! It is almost midnight! Hurry — never mind a car—”
WITH one accord, the five dropped from the side of the porch. All were husky — even Abner Zangwald, despite his seniority in years. Panting, they dashed in the direction of Claverly’s. As they ran, they could see the bell-tower, black against the sky.
Then, as they clambered up a slope, they lost sight of the tower. The house was their goal, a hundred yards away. They neared it, in a cluster.
The prosecutor, first to reach the door, turned the knob and found the barrier unlocked. He waited for the others. They came up, puffing, ready to follow Jornal in the house. Then, in a trice, they stopped. They stood staring on the threshold, frozen to the spot.
Midnight had sounded during their mad dash. Chimes from a steeple had ceased their strokes. Now, through the silence of the moonlight air came a token of doom. Clanging from beyond the hill came the dull toll of the tower bells.