“Nice old fellow — that man Twambley.”
“Yes — a smile for everybody.”
“Worth a lot of money—”
“Carries plenty with him. Look! He’s tipping the boy five dollars!”
Herbert Carpenter was thoughtful. What soft pickings that man would be!
The escaped convict grated his teeth. Crime again! His mind reverted constantly to it.
There was a reason. It was his one alternative. If he had money, he could be secure enough to fight those double-crossers!
THROUGH the chaos of thoughts, Carpenter realized his mission. He fingered the card that was in his pocket. He had the entree to Big Tom’s. He must go there tonight — go to demand a show-down.
Rising, he walked inconspicuously through the lobby, and waited at the row of elevators. A car arrived and discharged its passengers. Carpenter entered. The operator was waiting for another passenger, looking along the lobby. A few moments later, Phineas Twambley hobbled into the car.
Up went the elevator. It stopped at the ninth floor. Carpenter had given that number. He started to walk forth, but stopped as he saw the old man move forward. Carpenter gave Twambley the right of way.
Along the hall they went, Carpenter strolling in the wake of the benign old man. Phineas Twambley unlocked the door of 928 and entered a darkened room.
Carpenter watched him. He saw the old man turn on the light. He realized that Twambley was alone!
Carpenter’s room was 930, adjoining 928. He entered and went to a desk in the corner. There, from the back of the drawer, Carpenter produced a stub-nosed revolver and made sure that it was loaded. He looked from the window — toward the board walk, with its gleaming lights — to the Club Catalina, beyond.
He was ready now to meet Big Tom Bagshawe!
But as he turned toward the door, Herbert Carpenter hesitated. Acting upon a sudden thought, he extinguished the light and stood in darkness. He reflected upon his present situation.
He was an escaped convict, going to meet a man who had doubled-crossed him. Danger lay ahead.
What if he should fail? Suppose Big Tom might manage to stall? What then?
Alone, a fugitive from justice, with funds virtually exhausted, what could he do? Nothing. Crime, the alternative? He did not want it, yet why should he avoid it?
Prison yawned if he should be recognized. Why not take another chance — an easier way? Gain funds by bloodless crime; be able to provide his family with the money that was needed; then attack his four enemies from ambush!
ACTING upon impulse, Herbert Carpenter stole from the room, across the hall. His hand touched the knob of the door that led to 928.
Had that door been locked, Carpenter might have desisted from his newly formed plan. But the door was not locked. It moved at Carpenter’s touch.
Opening the door a few inches, the ex-convict saw that he was located near an alcove in the corner of the room. Only a small portion of 928 was in view. A light gleamed upon a writing desk opposite.
Evidently Phineas Twambley was resting. This would be easy. Surprise the old man alone. Make him hand over whatever money he had. Flee from Seaview City.
Drawing his revolver, Carpenter advanced. He reached the corner of the alcove. In the gloomy light beyond he saw the foot of a large bed. He peered everywhere, and saw no sign of old Twambley.
His surmise must have been correct. The old man was on that bed, hidden from view by the high footboard.
Carpenter crept on. He reached the foot of the bed, by the nearer side. He stared. There was no one on the bed. Phineas Twambley was missing.
While Carpenter paused, he heard a strange sound. It was a low, whispered laugh, a shuddering, creepy laugh that seemed to fill the entire room with a ghastly echo. Wheeling, in bewilderment, Herbert Carpenter faced the outer door. There, he saw the person who had laughed.
A tall form clad in black was standing by the door. Garbed in flowing cloak and slouch hat, a weird personage was watching Carpenter with eyes that gleamed amid the gloom. A gasp of recognition came from Carpenter’s parched lips.
He had seen that apparition before — back on that terrible night when he had gone to blackmail Morton! Well did Herbert Carpenter, crook de luxe, know the identity of that terrible figure.
The Shadow!
The gleaming eyes were focused upon the man who had come to rob. Below those eyes was the muzzle of an automatic. Trapped, unable to escape, Herbert Carpenter dropped the revolver which he held. His hands rose weakly above his head.
He had come here to hold an old man helpless. Instead, he, Herbert Carpenter, was at bay.
He was in the hands of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XIV
THE SHADOW’S VERDICT
WILD, vague thoughts were sweeping through Herbert Carpenter’s brain as he faced The Shadow. This unknown enemy had risen like an accusing specter. Bold though he was, Carpenter felt a terror greater than any he had ever known before.
That night, when he had been caught in blackmail; that day, when he had escaped from the penitentiary — both were forgotten events when compared to the sickening moments which Carpenter now experienced.
He had often heard of The Shadow. The name of that terrible being was dreaded by every crook. Carpenter knew well that men who faced The Shadow had rarely lived to tell of their sensations.
All the knowledge of his guilt came back to Carpenter at this moment. Caught in the act of attempted crime, he could expect no mercy. He was trapped — more effectively than Morton had once trapped him.
Dimly, it dawned upon Carpenter that Phineas Twambley, the pretended old man, was none other than The Shadow in disguise.
The being in black was approaching, step by step. Slowly, Carpenter began to slink away. Trembling, he slumped into a chair beside the desk in the corner. The reflected light showed his ashen face, and wild, staring eyes.
Now, The Shadow stood before him. There was nothing human in that monstrous form. A tall, avenging figure of doom, The Shadow seemed to mock his quailing prisoner.
A voice spoke — a low, piercing whisper. It came from lips that were masked by the upturned collar of the black-hued cloak. Those lips spelling words of doom.
“Herbert Carpenter” — the captured man quivered as he heard his name — “you have returned to crime. To the crime that I thwarted; to the crime which you may follow no longer.
“Police are searching for you. They will find you, as they found you before — in this hotel — helpless — an easy victim for the law. The prison that you left, now awaits you.”
“No — no — ” the blackmailer gasped the words. “I can’t go back. I–I—”
His voice broke as he sank upon the desk at his side. His head buried in his arms, Herbert Carpenter sobbed convulsively. All the remorse and anguish that he had previously experienced now surged through his frame.
With an effort, the captured man raised his head; but his eyes stared toward the floor. He could not face those terrible, gleaming eyes. Yet his quivering lips were unable to withhold the words that he must say.
“I–I BELONG in prison,” he admitted. “It was not for myself that I escaped. I–I had to get away! I–I was double-crossed. My wife — my children — they are in want. They depend upon me!”
“So you returned to crime!”
Carpenter quailed as he heard The Shadow’s whispered interruption. He nodded his bowed head slowly.
“I was through with crime,” declared Carpenter, in a quivering voice. “Through with it. Through” — his words rose to a firmer tone — “through — through forever! I was a crook — working with other crooks. They promised to stick by me if I took the rap. They were to protect my family. They double-crossed me!”