“Most mysterious!” While he gloated, Hayd seemed more pleased than ever. “So that was why you disappeared today. I talked with Carl by telephone. He had intended to abduct you last night. He failed. He believed that our enemies had captured you instead.”
A growl from Ring Stortzel.
“So that was why he talked about the girl,” put in the Chicago crook, from his corner. “I thought Randon had gone screwy. I get it now. He was afraid she’d blab on you, Hayd. So he tried to shift it back on Blouchet.”
“Fairly good guesswork, Stortzel,” commended Hayd, “for one of your crude ability. After all, you were smart enough to eliminate Randon, although he was sure that he could finish you. I had my men there to beat off your cover squad. They succeeded in that endeavor. But they brought back word that you had come free, so I decided that you had killed Randon.”
“The mugs in the car?” exclaimed Banjo. “These torpedoes that you’ve got here with the rifles?”
“Enough!” boomed Hayd. “Continue, Fanchon.”
“I RECEIVED the telephone call,” said the girl, “at eight o’clock tonight. I was ordered to call Andrew Blouchet. To tell him to leave his apartment immediately; that his life was in danger. He agreed to meet me within an hour, at Lieutenant Wayson’s office.”
“So it was you who tipped off Blouchet!” blurted Ring, in a harsh tone. “No wonder Randon was buffaloed! I guess you told Blouchet to leave the glim burning, too—”
Hayd snarled a silencing order. Ring subsided, glaring viciously at the big man whose command meant death.
“I told my story to Lieutenant Wayson,” concluded Fanchon. “I followed final orders from the message. Orders that I could not have forgotten. Yet — yet” — the girl faltered — “the plan has failed. I am to blame—”
“No,” broke in Wayson, in defiance of a growl from Hayd. “The fault was mine, Miss Callier. I was to trap Hayd; to bring you in afterward, that he might be confronted with your testimony. If I had acted smart enough, he would have told his men to put up their guns. He would have turned his prisoners over to me. While he was bluffing, I could have swung the game against him—”
“But you tried it too quickly,” broke in Hayd, with a sneer. “For that, you shall die! My order has been given. Death!”
“You promised otherwise,” pleaded Fanchon. “You said that you would spare those who were innocent. You who were the master mind behind all, who, when Ring Stortzel tried to trace the money he had been paying to you, tried to make Andrew Blouchet out as squeezing Ring — by having me hand him the money Ring was tracing!”
“So I did,” roared Hayd. “But I meant those innocent of meddling! Those who had failed to pry into my affairs! My promise applies to none of you. Death is my final verdict! Ready men. When I begin with Wayson, take the rest!”
ALL seemed unreal within that room of doom. The light was focused upon varied faces. Wayson was stolid as he stared toward Hayd’s gun muzzle. So was Harry Vincent, though he could feel the aim of a covering rifle.
Both Andrew Blouchet and Fanchon Callier were ready to face death. The only cowards present were two men who snarled from their corner: Ring Stortzel and Banjo Lobot. Their vicious oaths were but a cover for the fear that had seized them. They would have pleaded; but they knew that whines would be useless.
Hayd’s firing squad was a merciless crew. Four evil men looked pleased at the task before them. They had caught their gloating from the master who had trained them. Slaughter was apparently the best part of their business. Grouped in their doorway, they added to the grim fantasy of the terrible scene.
Strangest of all was a sight which no one saw. This was a moving streak of blackness, coming inward from the opened door to the living room. Like death itself, that weird shade entered. Behind it came the solid mass of a living form. It was The Shadow, visible.
The master of vengeance had been at hand when Wayson and the others had entered. Waiting beyond the space past the grandfather’s clock, The Shadow had let the arrival pass; only to follow closely, just far enough away to remain unseen. Yet for many minutes prior, The Shadow had roamed the ground floor of the mansion.
Ring Stortzel had seen a patch of darkness in the hall. He had felt that eyes were watching him from the door. A living phantom, The Shadow had been everywhere. He had watched everything from the time that Ring had joined Banjo. The time had come for his ominous presence to be felt.
The grandfather’s clock was chiming from the living room, its tone a knell that brought a coarse chuckle from the lips of Lester Hayd. The master crook was ready to frame his final order, when a louder sound stayed his word.
Above the chiming came a laugh. A fierce, challenging peal of mirth that filled the tense room with outlandish quivers.
The laugh of The Shadow. A token of a different doom than that which Hayd was about to utter. A defiant, echo-bringing taunt that rose to a shuddering break.
Upon the instant, all eyes swung to the spot from which the gibe had come.
Framed in the open doorway was The Shadow. His eyes were burning straight toward Hayd. His fists held guns that covered the master hand of evil.
WITH the first taunt, Hayd had swung. His revolver was looming in response. His riflemen had copied his example. Five weapons were coming to bear upon The Shadow. Yet he was concerned with Hayd alone. Apparently, The Shadow would take death from others, if he could win that duel.
Gloved fingers pressed triggers simultaneously with Hayd’s tug. The Shadow’s aim was true; Hayd’s, on the move, was wide. Two automatics roared while a big revolver barked. Hayd staggered, while The Shadow stood his ground.
Then, as gun echoes boomed throughout the room, Hayd’s henchmen found their motionless target.
Savagely, four killers pressed the triggers of their rifles.
Puny clicks were all that came. The Shadow’s laugh rang out anew as he turned to cover startled, bewildered foemen, who still clicked away at empty weapons. Hayd, crumpling, uttered a huge bellow.
To him had come the explanation of The Shadow’s strategy. The master of vengeance had tricked the supercrook with his own game.
Planning all moves, it was Hayd who had told Carl Randon to slip dud bullets into Ring Stortzel’s gun.
Hayd had not learned why Randon had failed to gain a kill. The Shadow had recognized that Hayd was a man who would depend upon guns that had been loaded long before.
Ring Stortzel had nearly spotted The Shadow in the hall. At that time, The Shadow was heading for Hayd’s arsenal. He had probed the lock immediately after Ring’s return to the living room. The Shadow had unloaded every rifle in the place. He had carried away spare ammunition, as well.
Watching after Ring’s entry, The Shadow had seen Hayd in the study. He had divined the moment of the master crook’s signal for aid. The arrival of the riflemen had been immediate. They, like Randon, had taken it for granted that weapons were as they should be.
Empty guns had cowed Ring Stortzel and Banjo. The same weapons had made new arrivals surrender.
Hayd, himself, had introduced the only live gun in the lot. The Shadow had, therefore, taken Hayd as his sole target. He had drawn one shot from Hayd, that the bullet would be wide of other persons. He had caught the would-be killer still on the aim.
INTO the room came wild confusion. Ring Stortzel and Banjo Lobot were springing for their lost revolvers.
There were two men, however, who were ready for them. Lieutenant Wayson and Harry Vincent snapped their own guns from their pockets. While Andrew Blouchet leaped forward and drew Fanchon Callier to cover, Wayson and Harry beat the two crooks to the finish.