CHAPTER XXIII
THE PAY OFF
THE rule of crime was ended. The crime kings were through!
All had ended in a burst of flame; an amazing finish, yet one which was outshone by the incredible climax which The Shadow had provided in his own departure.
From the battered speedboat, the police had reclaimed the wealth which Wheels Bryant had sought to gain from the wreckage of the schemes which The Shadow had frustrated.
The double career of Wheels Bryant was tremendous news. How this fiend of crime had perpetrated his evil designs under the guise of Rufus Cruikshank, as mayor of the city, was now common talk.
With Police Chief George Yates at the head of law and order, Seaview City was safe from crime, now that its false, betraying mayor had met the fate that was his due.
The three members of the Public Safety Committee who had been under suspicion were now vindicated. They had been lax in their desire for strictness of the law; yet not one of them was a man of crime.
Bewildering events had marked the passing of the crime kings. But in cold consideration of the facts, all became plain. The Shadow, long in advance, had given his warning. It had not been heeded — due to the subtle influence of Rufus Cruikshank.
The Shadow — active in Seaview City — was the one who had unraveled the dual identity of that fiend of evil — Wheels Bryant. Now that the vital fact was known, the rest of the story came from the lips of Herbert Carpenter — the man who had obeyed The Shadow’s bidding.
The evidence that Carpenter provided gave all that was needed. His confession of membership in the league of evil was not used against him; for upon his shoulders rested no responsibility for crimes other than his own — the blackmail which he had committed.
Before he went back to the penitentiary to become Convict 9648 again, Herbert Carpenter gave Police Chief Yates the last of the money that was in his possession — the larger part of the thousand dollars that he had kept from The Shadow’s funds.
This cash, unclaimed by The Shadow, was to go to Carpenter’s family. Chief Yates promised to handle that matter. He also assured Carpenter that he, himself, would see that the family did not suffer during the ten years or more that Carpenter — returned — would have to serve.
The promise pleased Herbert Carpenter. He had faith in Chief Yates. But he did not need that promise. He had greater faith in The Shadow. Somehow, he knew that The Shadow would not see the innocent suffer for the guilty.
BACK in prison, Herbert Carpenter went about his tasks in true penitence. He realized fully the penalty of crime. He had been a crook. He had sided with crooks. The part that he had played in ending the work of crooks had been trifling, indeed, compared with the mighty performance of The Shadow, or even with that of the police.
Yet in that brief respite, Herbert had learned to hate crime. Not only that, he felt a meek willingness to bear the burden of those years ahead. Freedom would be his, some day; then he would begin again, secure in the knowledge that he could live by right, instead of wrong.
A week went by — a month. Still, the memory of those stirring events remained with Herbert Carpenter. The pay off had been made. Death to the double-crossers whose evil minds were steeped in crime — imprisonment to him who deserved it.
Then, on a clear autumn day, when all the world was gay outside of prison walls, Herbert Carpenter was summoned to the warden’s office. Despite his drab gray garb, he stood with raised head and clear eye as he faced the warden.
The warden was a middle-aged man, hard-faced and stern — one who seldom changed expression. He reached forward with his left hand and gave Herbert Carpenter a paper to read.
Complete amazement dominated Convict 9648 as he perused the words before him. Mechanically, he thrust forward his right hand and received the warden’s clasp of friendship.
A pardon!
The paper was signed by the governor. To Herbert Carpenter it meant freedom. He was to have liberty in return for the part he had played in the ending of the crime kings.
The governor’s signature. There it was, in black and white. But what was that, stretching across the paper, indelibly impressed upon the sheet?
Herbert Carpenter stared — unbelieving; then he realized that his eyes had not deceived him.
Upon the paper was the perfect outline of a grayish shadow — a mark that could not change. The governor had signed this pardon; but the act had been the making of another.
Herbert Carpenter understood. This was his payoff. It was the reward for honest service, with no return requested.
This paper was a pardon from The Shadow!