“I regret,” declared Delhugh, turning toward Cardona, “that I did not inform the law earlier regarding these matters. You see, I had nothing but Benzig’s suspicions to go on until tonight, when I obtained actual documents as evidence against Zurk. Then I decided to act promptly.”
“This is a lie!” cried Steve, coming suddenly to his feet. “I never wrote a line to Beak since I came out of stir. I wasn’t in Dokeby’s safe—”
“Move over here,” broke in Cardona, moving his gun. “Line up with the other crooks. And no more talk!”
Reluctantly, Steve backed along beside Beak and the mobsman. Beak growled in Steve’s ear.
“Goofy was to have burned that letter,” informed the mobleader. “That’s what Goofy said he did; but he was croaking.”
Steve stared blankly at Beak. A sudden look of puzzlement showed on the mobleader’s ugly face.
“Some one phone headquarters,” Cardona was saying. Then, to Delhugh: “You’ve given us the goods on Zurk. There is enough evidence here to convict him. Along with Latzo.”
“Too bad,” declared Delhugh, with a sad shake of his head. “You see, when I obtained this evidence—”
His voice broke. Delhugh saw heads turning. Papers in hand, he wheeled about, toward the doorway from the hall. As Delhugh swung, a burst of shivering mirth swept through the room. Delhugh quailed at the mocking tones.
Framed in the doorway, ready with steadied automatics, stood the enemy whom Delhugh believed dead.
Again, the arch-crook faced his formidable antagonist; but this time the Nemesis of crime was garbed in his guise of black.
Papers crinkled between Delhugh’s trembling hands as the false philanthropist stared at the tall, weird form of The Shadow.
CHAPTER XXV. THE SHADOW REVEALS
“EVIDENCE!”
The Shadow’s tone was sibilant in its mockery. The black-cloaked visitant had picked up Delhugh’s final word. Sinister in his contempt, The Shadow’s blazing eyes were upon the papers that Delhugh held.
“False evidence against an innocent man,” proclaimed The Shadow. “Papers brought back to their author. Testimony that proves Steve Zurk’s innocence— not his guilt.”
Joe Cardona had not made a move since The Shadow’s entrance. The ace was standing with his revolver covering Steve, Beak and the mobster. Jack Targon, also armed, was rooted, his own gun pointing nowhere. He had swung; then stopped at sight of The Shadow’s weapons.
“Contact between Zurk and Latzo,” sneered The Shadow. “You needed it, Delhugh, that Beak might serve you in crime. So letters came to Latzo. You are holding one of them.”
A pause. The Shadow’s eyes were toward Steve Zurk. The ex-convict spoke boldly for himself.
“I did not write that letter,” asserted Steve. “If Delhugh sent it, he fixed it up himself. Say” — Steve paused, his eyes on Targon — “did you forge that letter, Jack? That was a specialty of yours, wasn’t it? Working for Delhugh — I get it — with him having samples of my bum scrawl—”
Jack Targon was rigid. He made a slight move with his gun hand; then stopped as he saw The Shadow’s eyes upon him. Delhugh was chewing his lips. The Shadow had seen through the game. But it was Steve who continued talking.
“And Delhugh planting letters,” declared Steve. “There in his study, where I could have found them and got wise to Luftus and Dokeby. Say, Benzig” — he swung toward the secretary — “were you in on this racket, too?”
“No, no,” protested the bespectacled secretary. Honest Benzig was aghast. “I was duped! By Mr. Delhugh! I see now that he must have opened my portfolio and disturbed letters so that I would suspect you.”
“Lies,” snarled Delhugh, defiantly. “These finger prints are Zurk’s — on this legal form from Dokeby’s safe—”
“Prove that it came from Dokeby’s safe,” ordered The Shadow in a sneering tone.
Delhugh stood bewildered. He had only The Shadow’s own testimony to back his statement. Now The Shadow was challenging him to offer proof.
“State that it came from Dokeby’s,” hissed The Shadow, “because you had it placed there. By Targon. When he entered Dokeby’s office early Thursday evening. After he had received the paper from you. Before he came back to your home with the swag.”
Delhugh’s face was livid. Jack Targon’s teeth were clenched. Beak Latzo, still covered by Cardona’s gun, was glowering. Oddly, Benzig was the person who suddenly spoke.
“Targon did come twice that night,” recalled the secretary, anxious to clear himself of suspicion. “The first time Mr. Delhugh gave him a note. The second time, Targon brought a package and left it downstairs. He—”
Benzig broke off as he caught a glare from Delhugh.
“A paper with finger prints,” sneered The Shadow. “But with no thumb prints on the other side—”
“I’VE got it!” exclaimed Steve, turning to Cardona. “Delhugh gave me a stack of letters. Told me to read the top one.” He turned to Daykin. “A letter from you, sir, on top of a stack. That legal form must have been on the bottom. To get my finger prints, so it could be planted in Dokeby’s safe.
“And this job was to follow quick. Beak here grabbing the swag with me in the house. Jack coming in to snag him. They bluffed Beak and they framed me. Get that, Beak?” He swung to the mobleader. “They bluffed you.”
“Yeah?” growled Beak. “Well, I’m all for ‘em. There was dough in it. And I’d have worked for ‘em anyway — and helped ‘em to frame you. Going straight, all right, that’s what you were. I’d have queered a yellow game like that myself.”
Beak’s ugly challenge was the final evidence of Steve Zurk’s innocence. Crooks were at bay, their cause demolished. Perry Delhugh as the master criminal; Jack Targon, a corrupted tool who had double-crossed a pal; Beak Latzo, nothing but a crook — these formed a dejected trio.
For The Shadow held them at his mercy, and Joe Cardona, seeing truth, was ready to click the handcuffs on the cornered band. The detective motioned to Steve to relieve Jack Targon of the gun that the forger was holding. Steve stepped forward; then suddenly stopped.
French windows were swinging inward. Beyond them came the flash of revolvers; then upon the sill appeared Lucky Ortz, springing forward with a leveled gun. The gang lieutenant was aiming for The Shadow, while henchmen were following to cover others.
THE SHADOW wheeled as Lucky fired. With his swing, the cloaked warrior did a fading trick to the right. Had The Shadow possessed his normal quickness, he would have eluded Lucky’s aim.
But The Shadow, wearied by his ordeal of this night, was lacking in the speed of his quick move. His cloaked form spun as it dropped. The red lining of the cloak swept wide as The Shadow sprawled upon the floor.
Lucky’s shot had clipped The Shadow’s left shoulder. Firing again, the lieutenant leaped forward, hoping to score another hit against his crippled foe. His second shot, hasty, sizzled wide. His third never came.
Flat from the floor, The Shadow loosed an answer. An automatic, swinging up in the gloved right fist, spoke forth with deadly aim.
Winged as he leaped, Lucky took a bound in the air. Then he flattened face foremost on the floor, writhing in death agony.
Even as Lucky fired his first shot, guns barked from the lawn outside of Daykin’s home. The crash of the French windows had been seen by The Shadow’s agents, stationed near the house. Cliff, Harry and Hawkeye had not spotted the stealthy arrival of Lucky’s new mob until the leader had broken through the doors.
Gunmen, outlined against the light of the living room, were perfect targets for a rapid fire. Forgetting the prey in the living room, gorillas dived back to the porch. They fired wildly as they scattered under the withering fire of The Shadow’s three reserves.