Carpenter’s wife, seated in another chair, watched her husband with tear-filled eyes. To her, this man’s arrest had meant the end of the world. It had been a blow that had left her stunned. Bravely, she had received him with no mention of what had occurred. Still, the future loomed as black as a bottomless pit.
Carpenter knew his wife’s thoughts, and he had nothing to say. He felt a misery that he had never before known. The stain upon his own career seemed nothing compared to the distress and misfortune that he knew these innocent ones must face.
There was a knock at the door. Carpenter started suddenly and glanced toward the door. His wife looked at him and nodded listlessly. She answered the door and admitted a well-dressed, hard-faced man who looked across the hallway and caught Carpenter’s glance.
THE blackmailer arose and stepped into the hall. He spoke to his wife in a low, hushed tone.
“Madge,” he said, “I–I must talk to this visitor — alone. You — you understand?”
The woman nodded and turned to walk slowly upstairs. Carpenter turned questioningly toward the visitor.
“What is it, Hooks?” he asked quietly. “Going to get me off?”
Hooks Borglund motioned the blackmail king into the other room.
“Listen, Carpenter,” he stated, “you’ve got to take the rap. We can’t get you out of it.”
“But Wheels said—”
Borglund interrupted Carpenter’s vain protest. “We’re all in a jam,” he said. “Shifter has scrammed. Big Tom’s playing goody-goody. I’m laying low. Wheels is out of it. You get me, don’t you? We’ve been cleaned — and the only way out is to stage a comeback. Wheels can pull it, right here — if he has the chance. I’d take the rap, if they had me. Stick with us!”
Carpenter was contemplative. At last he faced Hooks Borglund with a determined look.
“Listen, Hooks,” he said, in a firm voice. “You saw my wife — just now.”
Hooks nodded.
Herbert Carpenter looked away toward the open window. His eyes roved along the floor, and he saw a long shadow that seemed to be a projection of the outer darkness. It stretched inward, an inky, accusing blotch of black. Carpenter blinked; then, realizing that Hooks Borglund was watching him, he faced the other man.
“A wife and two kids,” he said. “They’re my family — all I’ve got now. I’ll take the rap” — his face became determined — “take it for you fellows — but it’s up to you—”
“I get you,” nodded Hooks reassuringly. “Sure — we’ll look out for the wife and the kids. They can stay right here. All the bills paid. All the money they need. Wheels will come through. I’ll kitty in; so will Big Tom and Shifter. Count on us, old guy! You’re one of us—”
“I’m through, Hooks. This finishes me. But I shot square — and it’s up to you to do the same.”
“We’re with you, old man.”
Hooks Borglund extended his hand, and Carpenter grasped it limply. A sigh of relief came from the blackmailer.
“We’re not through,” assured Hooks. “We’re just ready to start, when the trouble blows over. Take the rap, and leave the rest to us. We’ve got dough.”
“Thanks, Hooks.”
Borglund arose and watched Carpenter closely. He saw clearly that his mission here had been accomplished; that it would do no good to remain longer. Turning, he went from the house.
The projecting shadow disappeared from the room where Herbert Carpenter sat with bowed head. It flitted into the darkness, and reappeared again, a gliding shape that took up the sinuous, furtive trail of Hooks Borglund.
That trail led to Big Tom’s. The wrecked gambling den was the one spot in Seaview City where the police had no interest now. The Club Catalina was still doing business.
Hooks Borglund entered and went up the stairs. The trailing shape disappeared. In the security of the gambling room, Hooks encountered Big Tom Bagshawe, seated alone. The two men talked for a few minutes. Then Shifter Reeves appeared from below. One by one, the trio entered the office.
Three men had come in. Four were present. The growl of Wheels Bryant sounded in the darkened room.
“Well, Hooks?”
‘Lined him up,” said Borglund. “He’ll take the rap.”
“Good.”
“Wants us to look out for the wife and kids—”
Low responses interrupted. They came from different members of the group, each interposing his own opinion.
“Softhearted, eh?”
“Yeah — we’ll do that—”
“He bungled. Let him think he’s still in the money—”
Half an hour later, Hooks Borglund left the Club Catalina. Shifter Reeves followed five minutes later. Some time afterward, Big Tom Bagshawe made his departure.
It was then that the waiting form of blackness reappeared. It glided through the dark and became a tall, sinister figure clad in black.
Tonight, Police Chief Yates believed that Seaview City had been cleared of crime. While he still entertained that thought, the crime kings — one member short — had met in evil conclave.
There had been five. Now there were four. Three kings, with an ace in the hole. One king was missing. Herbert Carpenter had learned the price of crime; he was to learn the bitterness of treachery.
The Shadow had divined that fact tonight.
CHAPTER XII
CONVICT 9648
TEN years in the State penitentiary. One month past — one hundred and nineteen yet to come!
This was the thought that confronted Herbert Carpenter, once gentleman of leisure — and blackmail — now Convict 9648.
Justice had worked swiftly in the case of Herbert Carpenter. He had taken the rap, with a plea of guilty. He had gone to prison penniless. When he had joined Wheels Bryant’s crime group, he had needed funds. All of his profits had gone to the big shot since that time.
Herbert Carpenter had much to think about now. Certain suicides at the Hotel Pavilion — they had been of his making. Men whom he had despoiled of funds had taken their lives in desperation.
Gloomily, Carpenter, within his cell, pictured Seaview City. He could hear the surf roaring on the beach; he caught the din of the Club Catalina; the click of the ball on the roulette wheel.
Then his mind turned to his wife and children. At least they were secure. They could not be happy — particularly Madge, who knew the truth, even if the youngsters did not — but at least they were not in want.
Parole — time off for good behavior — these were the only rays of hope that gleamed for Herbert Carpenter. Both of these possibilities belonged to the distant future. There would be many long months of stern routine before such could come to pass.
The State prison, a modernized institution, lacked much of the grim misery that characterized the penitentiaries of an earlier era. The warden understood the psychology of the men under his charge. At his order, Herbert Carpenter had been placed at an occupation which was by no means unbearable. Each day he marched, with other convicts, to a prison workshop, where steady labor relieved the tedium of this new existence.
But to Carpenter, the sight of the high gray walls was a constant reminder of his helplessness, he had been used to freedom and luxury. This servitude was difficult to bear. Where prisoners of less intelligence thought little of their lot, this former master of crime was impressed by the grip of confinement.
His wife had not visited him since he had been committed to the penitentiary. That was Carpenter’s wish. The letters which he received were sufficient to maintain his peace of mind. He did not want Madge to see him here.
THE prison sentence had been a terrific blow. Seated in his cell, confused by hectic thoughts. Carpenter recalled the scene of the courtroom.
Justice had moved swiftly in Seaview City. Carpenter, after realizing that blackmail would be the only charge against him, had hoped for a light sentence. Ten years had stunned him.