Rundon headed where The Shadow expected-to his cabin. Reaching it, he grabbed for his rifle and a batch of cartridges, finding them in the darkness. Then a circle of flashlights burned upon him. Startled, Rundon almost dropped the rifle.
All about him were the fruits of former robberies: bonds, paintings, statuettes, jewels, and stocks. The men with the lights were deputies. The Shadow had sent a boatload of them earlier, with instructions to dig beneath the cabin and bring up whatever they found. They had assembled all of Rundon's spoils.
Outside, the stopping chugs of a speedboat told that The Shadow had arrived. Flailing wildly with the rifle, Rundon broke from the circle of deputies. Somehow managing to escape their prompt gunfire, he took to the back woods.
He was loading the rifle as he went, for occasionally he snapped shots back at them. But they kept up the pursuit, close enough to keep constantly on his trail.
The trail led to the Pioneer Mine. Rundon bobbed from sight. When the deputies caught up, the sheriff was there to flag them down. He had joined Harry and The Shadow; the trio had come here by water.
The Shadow was leading the way down into the mine.
A light was glimmering in the deepest pit. There, Rundon was using his rifle to pry up the sunken stone that the sheriff and his men had once ignored. Rundon had ruined the rifle barrel in his frantic efforts.
"His route to the cave," whispered The Shadow, to the sheriff. "He must have kept that large stone loose, except when he was on the other side; then, he could let it settle."
The sheriff understood. The stone could be easily hoisted by pressure from below. But Rundon had not come out that way the last time he had used his secret passage. In fact, it was unlikely that the passage would be any good to him on this occasion.
Actually aiding the dying hand of Rufus, that time beneath the rock, Rundon had blasted most of the passage, to cover the secret route by which he had managed to remain a prisoner and still be at large.
Even the crooks had been fooled by that deception.
Rufus had really thought that the chain he grabbed would blast the whole cavernous depths, for Rundon's messages to his tools had claimed that such would happen. At present Rundon, like Rufus, was banking on a hopeless thing.
At least it so seemed, until Rundon, by a Herculean effort, got the stone loose. He rolled it aside and squirmed down into the cavity. They heard him clattering below. Then, his head and shoulders appeared, with the light.
The sweep of his flashlight showed his other hand. It contained a bomb-shaped object. He'd been seeking it, instead of an outlet. Remembering what Rufus had tried to do, Rundon was banking upon taking The Shadow and others with him to a deep and permanent grave. But he hadn't expected The Shadow quite so soon.
RUNDON'S light outlined the black-cloaked figure before the crook had lifted the roundish object in his other hand. Frantically, Rundon tried to make his throw; but the roar of a gun stopped him. He seemed to stiffen in his pit.
With the recoil, The Shadow whirled; he hurled Harry and the sheriff back along the passage. A howl sounded, as Rundon's wounded form went straight down, the light and the bomb going with it. After moments of interminable suspense, scurrying men heard the bomb's great blast.
The Shadow's gunshot had echoed loud. This report actually drove air ahead of it. The ground was quivering; masses of ore were collapsing; walls of the old shaft were dancing, as The Shadow rushed his companions between them.
Having confined the blast to the lower pit, The Shadow had gained moments that proved vital. Ahead of the deafening, increasing roar, he and the men with him dived out to the ground before the underground avalanche could overtake them.
The explosion had found one victim only, the man responsible for it. Niles Rundon, leader and only survivor of a criminal band, had finished his career, by blowing himself to atoms and burying his scattered remains beneath tons of shattered rock.
From the outer darkness came a quivering laugh, that seemed to pick up the reverberations of the blast and add a touch of triumph to their fading echoes. Those who heard it recognized the laugh of The Shadow.
Later, the wind quieted, the surface of Lake Calada lay motionless. Waters of crime had stilled; but their blackness showed the reflection to two twinkling lights, red and green, that seemed to scoot through vast depths.
The lights themselves were high above; they came from the night plane bound for Los Angeles. Among the passengers were two who glanced back, as the plane banked, for their last look at Lake Calada.
Lamont Cranston and his friend Harry Vincent had finished their play with Henry Denwood. They could count their work complete.
Black though the waters lay, they harbored crime no longer. Evil had gone from Lake Calada, banished by The Shadow!
THE END.