“Let us forget the past,” suggested Adams. “We are close to the goal for which we have waited twenty-odd years. There is sufficient wealth for all of us. I am willing to make this agreement: assuming that I am responsible for what has occurred — in any way whatever — I will assure both of you that nothing further will occur in the way of death. Are each of you willing to assert the same?”
“I am,” affirmed Risbey. “I’m not responsible; but if I were, I’d call it quits.”
“If I have been a murderer,” said Selwick, with a short laugh, “I’ll lay off from now on.”
THE three studied one another. A feeling of mutual mistrust prevailed. Hurley Adams shook his head wearily. He gave the impression that he had expected great results from this conference, but was now disappointed.
“I’ll put a new slant on it,” suggested Selwick. “If one of us three is the killer, it’s a sure bet he isn’t going to say so. But it’s also sure that if he’s wise, he’ll quit right now.
“As long as there are three of us, no one can be sure who the slayer is — because there’s two to pick from. But if the murderer kills one of us — then there’ll be only two. The innocent man will know the other is guilty.”
A relieved expression came over Ernest Risbey’s face. The darkish manufacturer was impressed by Selwick’s statement. He bore the look of a man who has been freed from an impending threat.
“Good logic,” said Hurley Adams quietly. “It had not occurred to me in just that way. I am glad you spoke, Selwick. You have given good reason why we three should be in accord. Remember — when only two remain, the innocent man will be on guard. We are in agreement now.”
“Then,” said Risbey, “we shall meet again—”
“When the cornerstone has been opened. Its contents will be made public, including the historical sketch.
That is a customary procedure. Forget the past. Remember: the spoils are safe with three of us. With two, there is danger. With only one — well, that may be impossible. The man who killed did wrong. But there is no use for regret.”
The conference was ended. Hurley Adams had won his point, with Julius Selwick’s aid. The three men arose and left the room one by one.
Into the gloom came The Shadow. Standing like a specter from the afterworld, he laughed in a tone that was weird and low. Soft taunts of chilling mockery came from the walls of the gloomy room.
In the lobby below, three men were going their separate ways. Two of them, however, displayed discretion, if only as a gesture. Julius Selwick, the first to leave, was met by a detective from headquarters as he neared the door.
Hurley Adams was not lacking in a bodyguard. His man, Unger, joined him as he walked across the lobby. Ernest Risbey, alone, had taken no precaution; nevertheless, he, too, was provided for, though without his knowledge.
A young man followed as Risbey went from the hotel. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, had been detailed to watch him tonight. The Shadow had foreseen that the other two would be wise enough to have their own men. He had intrusted the safety of the third to Harry Vincent.
CHAPTER XIII. HIDDEN FINGERS
HARRY VINCENT’S instructions were plain. He was to follow Ernest Risbey and discover where the man went. It was probable, Harry knew, that Risbey would go to his home. Once he had seen the man reach that spot, Harry was to keep watch and, if he suspected any danger, make a call at the house.
With his mythical occupation of a construction representative, Harry had an ideal method of approach.
The retired manufacturer was interested in building enterprises. As a logical caller, Harry could telephone word to The Shadow from Risbey’s home. A mere call to the hotel to inquire if any one was in his room would be the signal. The Shadow — in Harry’s room — would answer and receive the information.
All this had been arranged in instructions which Harry had received during the day. Nevertheless, Harry did not know entirely what was afoot.
There was a reason why he had been placed on this duty tonight. Hitherto, murders had occurred at intervals. One was unlikely on this evening. Hence, The Shadow, with other plans on hand, had intrusted the guarding of Ernest Risbey to Harry Vincent.
Ernest Risbey had left the hotel lobby immediately upon arriving there. He walked across the street to a drug store and ordered a soft drink. Harry kept within watchful range.
After several minutes, Risbey came out; he returned as an afterthought and purchased some cigars. Fully ten minutes had passed since his exit from the hotel.
Risbey stood beside the lighted curb, engaged in continued thought. He began to glance nervously about him; then, tugging at his mustache, the man walked along the street until he reached an expensive sedan that was in a row of parked cars.
This was Harry’s cue. The Shadow’s agent hurried to his own car, which was across the street, and seated himself at the wheel. The street was broad and afforded sufficient opportunity to turn. Gazing through the rear window, Harry waited to see the direction in which Ernest Risbey intended to go.
The manufacturer was in no great hurry. After entering the front seat of his sedan, he sat idly at the wheel, thinking over the conference that had taken place in the hotel. At last, Risbey fumbled in his pocket, produced a key, and turned on the ignition switch. He also lighted the dashboard. Then, with one hand upon the wheel, Risbey prepared to turn on the lights prior to starting the car.
Had he glanced into the mirror before him, the manufacturer would have seen a ghastly sight. Rising from the rear portion of the car, looming now directly behind his shoulder, was a fiendish face that wore a look of hideous glee. Beside the face was an extended hand which held a needle-pointed object of metal.
Face and hand were coming slowly forward; then the fingers of the hand were most conspicuous.
Fiendish fingers that had taken lives; they were about to demand another victim!
The tip of the needle was scarcely an inch from Risbey’s unprotected neck when the manufacturer, by some chance, happened to see the mirror. In the reflected surface he saw the claws that held the hypodermic.
Fingers of death!
HORRIFIED, Risbey knew their mission. A gasp of recognition came as he saw the blurred face that showed in the gloom. Then, before the manufacturer could act to save himself, the hypodermic needle jabbed into his neck. Thrusting it with devilish venom, the fingers tightened as they did their evil work.
Ernest Risbey slumped behind the wheel. The fingers still remained; then slowly drew the needle point away.
Risbey’s lips were moving, but no utterance came from his throat. A blotch upon his neck narrowed to an ugly pin mark.
Face and fingers were withdrawing. The door on the curb side opened and closed. The murderer was gone.
Alone, in the soft light from the dashboard, Ernest Risbey lay dead.
Another of the conspirators had met his end! Within a half hour after Hurley Adams had delivered his ultimatum, and Julius Selwick had responded with a logical plea for no more deaths, Ernest Risbey had been slain.
When news of this foul deed would be learned, Adams or Selwick — whichever one was innocent — would suspect the other of the chain of crimes, and would be on guard!
No one had seen this murder in the dark. No one had even suspected it; but across the street, one man was wondering why Ernest Risbey had not decided to drive his car away.
Harry Vincent, watching, let minutes slip by as he waited for Risbey’s move.
Did the man suspect that he would be followed? What was he doing so long in the car?
As time went tensely by, Harry feared that Risbey might have dodged out of the automobile unseen. Such would have been an easy matter, for the side toward the curb was invisible from Harry’s coupe.