Until this moment, The Shadow had not uttered a single word since his arrival at Zeltapec. Listening to the ceremony which had been conducted in his honor, he had distinguished the meaning of certain phrases.
The Shadow’s reference to Aztec information, before embarking on a journey to Zeltapec, was evidence that this mysterious man knew much concerning the language and customs of the ancient peoples who had inhabited Mexico. Now, his words were fitting proof of the fact.
By applying his previously gained knowledge, The Shadow phrased a question that resembled the dialect of the Zeltapec chief. The man understood the words. The messenger from the moon was asking him why the strange, base image rested within this shrine.
Fearfully, the Aztec leader began his explanation. His words were apologetic and The Shadow sensed their theme.
The chief referred to the metal image as Colpoc, a god of evil. With fervent gesticulations, he told the moon messenger that Colpoc had been placed here as a warning.
Backing away from the throne, the chief pointed to the glittering emerald.
“Chicquatil!” he exclaimed.
He made a gesture as if to lift the beautiful gem; then shrank away in horror. A fiendish look came over his face. He pointed to the image of Colpoc while he babbled in his native tongue.
He signaled to one of his companions. The other man went to the idol and picked up a stack of objects that lay beside it.
These, the second chief brought to The Shadow’s throne. Bowing, he began to separate a nested pile of curved, metal sheets. A gleam came to The Shadow’s eyes.
There, laying upon the floor before him, was a row of metal masks, each a replica of the face of Colpoc! One chief lifted a single mask; another shrank away, but his fellows were upon him. Despite his feigned protests, they applied the mask to his face.
They clasped metal bands behind the fellow’s head. With fierce gesticulations, they showed how tightly the crushing mask would fit. Releasing their prisoner, they removed the false front from his face and brought it to The Shadow.
The Shadow received it in his black-gloved hands and inspected it closely. The mask had holes for eyes, nostrils and mouth. Its weight and firm solidity were noticeable.
Here lay an explanation. Applied to a human face and kept there under pressure, this mask would mold the features of the victim into a form that would be its own!
The interior of the mask contained a very peculiar, sticky substance. This, apparently, added to the effectiveness of the mold. Holding the mask upon his lap, The Shadow raised one hand and asked a slow question in the Aztec tongue.
“This you have used?”
The chief whom The Shadow had selected as spokesman bowed and nodded. He began to relate a story, adding expression with motions of his hands, while The Shadow listened. The details of the chief’s account were plain to the silent personage upon the throne.
No one in Zeltapec, so the chief explained, would have dared to enter this temple to touch the chicquatil. But always had there been a fear of strangers.
It was a rule of the tribe that all men should be welcomed here. Centuries ago, the belief had been established that the moon messenger might come in some disguise. Hence visitors — though they seldom appeared within the walled valley — were treated with the utmost respect.
Not many moons ago, so the chief related, strange men had wandered into the valley through a narrow defile in the mountains. The Indians had received them well.
The men had traded with the natives, giving them peculiar objects in return for articles of gold — for that metal was common here among the people of Zeltapec.
These men had brought with them some strange animals — the chief gave a graphic description of a horse — and had loaded them with the gold that they had received. But, somehow, the visitors from the outside world had learned about the hidden shrine wherein rested the emerald called the chicquatil.
They had entered here by stealth. They had been surprised. They had been caught in the act of attempting to purloin the chicquatil. Upon them had been forced the punishment provided.
These men acted like Colpoc, the god of evil. So like Colpoc they must remain. Upon them had been pressed the face of the Aztec image. Then, since punishment had been received, they were allowed to depart from the valley of Zeltapec.
None of the gold that they had received had been taken from them. These Indians would not recall a gift that had once been conferred. They were merely driven forth upon their horses. Wherever they might meet men, all would know that these outcasts had acted like the god of evil.
The simplicity of the Aztecs was apparent. These people of Zeltapec believed that their god of evil, Colpoc, was known everywhere. They did not realize that Colpoc was recognized only within this secluded valley, where a small remnant of an Aztec faction had survived all others of its kind.
Listening, The Shadow had learned the truth about the men of evil. He had received the explanation of how four men could look alike and thus indulge in supercrime. Now, he had a question which was of the utmost importance.
“These men?” The Shadow asked. “How many?”
Solemnly, the chieftain raised the fingers and thumb of his left hand. Then he raised the thumb of the right.
The Shadow’s question was answered. Charles Kistelle and his fellow plotters were six in number!
THE SHADOW placed his hand in front of the Aztec’s face and made a motion of applying a metal mask.
“How many moons?” he demanded.
The chief held up five fingers of his left hand and three on his right. It had required approximately eight months for the six men to complete their ordeal.
The chief was gesticulating; he was explaining the treatment that had been accorded the prisoners. He was showing how they had been fed through the mouth-holes of the masks; he was pointing out the spots where they had been kept, here in the temple, always under guard.
Each night, it developed, they had been forced to stare for two hours at the glittering green gem that they had come to steal.
The other Aztec leaders were joining in with gusto. They were portraying the fear that the prisoners had shown; how the sight of the green jewel had become an abomination to them; how the chicquatil would never again be sought by those men who had been driven from the peaceful valley of Zeltapec.
The Shadow arose from his throne. His eyes sparkled fiercely in the green light. The chieftains cowered. They bowed in humility as they heard the tones of The Shadow’s whispered voice.
This shrine had been defiled. The image of Colpoc did not belong within it. The watchers should never have allowed strange thieves to enter. Raising his hand, The Shadow pointed upward, to show that he intended to return to the sky.
Humbly, the tribal chiefs withdrew. Standing beyond the huge green emerald, one of them pointed to the stone and begged the moon messenger to accept the chicquatil as a gift from the people of Zeltapec. The Shadow raised his hand in refusal.
All the chieftains began to plead. Their words were filled with terror.
For centuries that stone had been kept in this resting place — a tribute to be sent to the moon god by his messenger. Should the leaders fail to have the gift accepted, they would no longer hold the confidence of the people. They would be carried to the top of the towering mountain; then hurled into the depths below.
The Shadow raised his hand; this time his motion indicated acceptance. Moving forward with gliding tread, he raised the emerald from its resting place and held it in his right hand. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the outer door.