REALIZATION crept upon Herbert Zull. He knew that he was at the mercy of this amazing man — The Shadow. He felt that The Shadow was merciless.
“When Crowell reaches Mitchell’s,” declared The Shadow, “he will find a scrap of paper that was overlooked. It was written by Zachary Mitchell, just before he died.
“It bears three words above his weakened signature. Those words are: ‘Maddox shot me.’
“He will also find the hallman staring at a picture of Bob Maddox. I left it there tonight. The hallman identified Bob Galvin’s picture — uncertainly — when you showed it to him. He will know, now, that he is wrong!”
Consternation was overcoming Zull. He knew that his crooked work would be exposed. Not only this last exploit in Mallory’s service, but those that had gone before.
He wondered how much The Shadow knew. He was soon to be enlightened. The man in black seemed to read his thoughts.
From beneath the black cloak came a package of papers, held in a black-gloved hand.
“Hiram Mallory had these when he died,” whispered The Shadow. “They once belonged to Theodore Galvin. They contain many references to you.”
A groan came from Zull. Bob Galvin half awoke at the sound, and stared in bewilderment at the sight of his oppressor cowering before The Shadow.
But the effort was too great a strain on Bob’s tired physique. He slumped back in his chair.
“Write,” ordered The Shadow, pointing to the table. Following his command, Herbert Zull prepared a statement referring to certain crimes in which he had participated.
He also added that the dead members of his gang would be found in the secret room above the office in the Royal Building. He signed his name when he had finished.
The telephone rang. Inspired by the presence of The Shadow’s automatic, Zull answered it. Crowell was on the wire. Zull responded, following The Shadow’s instruction.
“A guy named Maddox, eh?” he said. “Yeah — I’ve suspected him of being crooked… All right, Crowell, get hold of Devlin… Tell him to come down here right away… Fix it to release Galvin… I’m going out… See what I can get on this case.”
“Call Devlin yourself,” ordered The Shadow, when Zull had hung up the receiver.
Zull obeyed. He located Devlin and told the man to report.
Here, Zull resorted to trickery. Devlin replied that he would arrive in fifteen minutes. Zull pretended to hear him say half an hour.
The ruse failed. As soon as the telephone was laid aside, The Shadow thrust the muzzle of his automatic against the detective’s ribs.
“I have been watching you a long while, Zull,” he said, in his low, sinister voice. “I knew you were engaged in crime; but you concealed your motives artfully.
“Tonight you may do penance. Your career on the force is ended. Its smirches are not known.
“We shall let it stand — and so reflect no discredit upon the force. More than that, we shall add to your ill-gotten prestige. I have need of you tonight.
“Come. Learn how The Shadow deals in justice!”
A few moments afterward, Acting Inspector Zull was walking down the deserted corridor accompanied by a man in black, the muzzle of an automatic reminding Zull that he was virtually a prisoner.
When Detective Devlin arrived at headquarters, he found Bob Galvin sound asleep in his chair, unguarded.
CHAPTER XXIII
A MAN sat in the luxurious lounge car of the Canadian Limited. He was alone; all of the other passengers had retired.
The man’s face bore signs of mingled worry and elation. He was restless, but he managed to feign an appearance of calm.
Bob Maddox was fleeing northward with his ill-gotten wealth. He had left the Royal Building without interference.
He had been tempted to go back for the other bags, after he had descended in the elevator. For there were no signs that any one in the building had heard the shots.
But in the street, he had hurried on to escape the attention of a group that had surrounded a spot on the sidewalk. The crowd had evidently gathered about The Shadow’s body.
Bob had decided then that to return would be disastrous, especially as some of his pals might still be alive. He feared their wrath, and reminded himself that Garry Elvers remained as a witness to his perfidy.
He had chosen this train because it was the first that would take him from the country. In Canada, he would have a breathing spell.
Maddox doubted that he would be followed; nevertheless, he wanted to place himself safely beyond the immediate reach of either his confederates or the law.
Each succeeding hour had given him new confidence. The fleeing man knew that he had chosen the obvious direction for flight. That did not worry him. After all, he might have gone West, or taken a steamship for a foreign port.
To-morrow, he would be safe, and worth a quarter of a million dollars — with no one to dispute his possession.
He hoped that his pals had lost their lives in their attack on The Shadow. For with The Shadow gone, there remained only Garry Elvers — a mere bodyguard of a slain gang leader.
Maddox arose restlessly and went into the next car. He opened the door of the drawing-room and entered. There, he inspected his bags which he had placed in the upper berth. They were heavy, for they contained the greater portion of the swag.
The man laughed moodily. Greedy to the core, he still thought of those thousands that remained back in Theodore Galvin’s cache. Then another thought struck him. Suppose one — or two — of his pals were still alive? After all, their share would satisfy them sufficiently to keep them off his trail.
The thought eased his disappointment at having left part of the booty.
Maddox began to feel tired. He had smoked innumerable cigarettes in the lounge car, between his many journeys to the drawing-room to see that the cash was safe.
He was glad that he had taken the drawing-room. Here, he could be undisturbed, behind a locked door. His restlessness was leaving him; his fatigue was increasing. He kicked off his shoes and removed his coat and vest. He laid down in the berth.
Then a thought disturbed him. The customs officials!
Well, that could be managed, he decided. The train would still be in the United States when he awoke. He could leave it, buy a car and cross the border.
Canadian customs officers were not so strict as those of the United States. He could stow the money safely out of sight in an automobile. It would never do to have the customs officers see it.
Between the motion of the train and this new worry, the fleeing man found slumber difficult. When Maddox finally dropped off to sleep, he passed into a state of deep oblivion. His hand lay flat upon the automatic at his side.
The train sped northward, and the man slept on.
THE LIMITED was speeding rapidly across an open stretch of country. It seemed like a flashing sweep of light amidst a pitch-black waste.
But a new sound mingled with the roaring of the train to disturb the sleeping countryside. Overhead, a plane was purring, rapidly passing the Limited with swift, birdlike flight.
The plane soon outstripped the train, making the locomotive slow in comparison.
Twenty miles farther on, the engineer of the Limited applied the brakes in response to a signal which he saw. The train came to a slow stop. The door of a vestibule was opened; the platform was raised and the conductor descended the steps.
Out of the darkness came two men, muffled in heavy overcoats. One stood close beside the other, as though his hand was pressed against his companion’s body.
The man with both hands free drew back his coat and showed a badge.
“Acting Inspector Zull,” he said. “New York City detective headquarters.”
The conductor nodded. He had expected this. Orders had been awaiting him at the last city.
“All right,” he said, gruffly. “Work it quick, if you can. I’ll show you where he is — in a drawing-room. I think he’s the man you want.”
He led the way softly between rows of curtained berths. They stopped at the door of the drawing-room in which Bob Maddox slept. The conductor softly inserted a key and turned it. He stepped back.
Zull entered, followed by the other man, a tall individual whose face was wrapped within a muffler.
The door closed behind the two men, the second shutting it with his left hand, while his right still pressed against the back of the inspector.
Zull turned on a flashlight. It revealed Bob Maddox, sound asleep.
Calmly, the second man passed an automatic to Zull. He spoke in a low whisper as he did so.
“It is loaded,” were his words. “But remember; I have mine.”
Zull was amazed at the calmness of this warning. He had traveled, bound, in the back of a closed plane, which The Shadow had piloted. Now he was released; added to that, he had been supplied with a loaded gun!
But he knew The Shadow too well by this time. A single false move would spell his doom!
Keeping the automatic in view, pointed toward Maddox, Zull nudged the sleeping man. Maddox opened his eyes.
The light of the drawing-room clicked. The Shadow, standing by the door, had turned it on. Zull’s flashlight went out.
He, alone, was visible to Bob Maddox. The Shadow was out of view, a muffled figure backed against the door.
“Come on, Maddox!” growled Zull. “We want you!”
Maddox recognized Acting Inspector Zull. He grinned at the inspector, even though his face was worried.
“Say!” he exclaimed. “What’s the idea? You were paid to fix everything. You hung it on to young Galvin—”
“You’ve double-crossed the Chief,” replied Zull. “That’s why I’ve come to get you!”