“You — you’ll pay for this, Fenwick!” he exclaimed. “You — you can’t get away with it! I should never have let you in and I’ll — I’ll see that you—”
The evil smile was playing over the face of Fenwick. The bold robber stared coldly at the young jeweler. Then, in a slow, cold tone, he spoke the words that added to Cotter’s bewilderment.
“You are the one who will pay for this, Cotter,” came the evil voice. “You opened the safe. Sargon will believe that you took the diamonds.”
“I’ll tell the truth!” protested Cotter. “I’ll name you, Horace Fenwick. You’ll pay—”
“Fenwick will not pay,” was the leering reply.
A sudden enlightenment dawned upon Maurice Cotter. This man before him — this daring robber who looked like Horace Fenwick — was not Fenwick at all! There was a slight difference in the tone that Cotter would not have noticed, but for the words that had been said.
CHARLES KISTELLE continued to smile. He had played the role of Horace Fenwick in order to get in here and obtain the diamonds. It would be easy to wound Maurice Cotter and make a quick getaway, leaving the junior jeweler to tell a hopeless story.
But there was a reason why Kistelle planned this crime differently than the ones he had performed before. He had decided that with Maurice Cotter, the truth would be the most efficient method. For Fenwick, in his conference with Kistelle, had mentioned a most vital fact.
“I am not Horace Fenwick,” declared Kistelle, boldly. “Horace Fenwick is at present with Raymond Dagwood and James Sargon. Therefore, when you tell the world that Horace Fenwick came here, you will make a hopeless accusation. Dagwood — most important man in this town; and Sargon — your own employer, will testify against you.
“Before you came here, Cotter, you lived in Chicago. There, several years ago, you had plenty of trouble with the police—”
“I did nothing wrong,” objected Cotter. “I was arrested — yes — because of thefts in the store where I worked; but I was let free—”
“And discharged from your position,” added Kistelle with a leer. “You came here and managed to get another start. You worked in with Sargon. He never looked up your past. But” — Kistelle’s smile twisted — “Fenwick did!”
Whitening, Cotter realized the game now. He had talked occasionally with Horace Fenwick, who had been a friendly customer at the jewelry shop. He had given Fenwick threads to the past. Fenwick had followed them and had prepared this game!
Cotter knew that the situation was hopeless. The man before him was Fenwick’s double. Who would believe that there was such a man in Sharport. Cotter groaned; and Kistelle smiled.
“The blame will be on you, Cotter,” declared Kistelle, in a tone of finality. “Tell your story. It will not hold. The past will be learned. You will go to prison, unless” — the speaker paused — “you get away from here before the theft is discovered.”
Cotter saw the answer. He had but one chance; that was to flee from Sharport. If he chose to remain, he would be as certainly condemned as if he had fled. He realized that he could not shatter Horace Fenwick’s alibi. He could only say that a man who looked like Fenwick had duped him. Who would believe such a ridiculous story?
“That is your one chance,” declared Kistelle, calmly. “Will you take it, or must—”
“I’ll take it!” gasped Cotter.
Kistelle laughed. The holdup was easy, now. He reached forth to gather the boxes that contained the diamonds. He would make a getaway, leaving Cotter to shift for himself. If Cotter should flee, as Kistelle believed he would, he would be blamed; if he stayed, Fenwick could use the perfect alibi.
With eyes still steady upon Cotter, Kistelle noted a sudden shift in the direction of the young man’s gaze. Cotter was staring in new bewilderment toward the door that led to the office.
Instinctively, Kistelle turned to look. To his amazement he saw Horace Fenwick standing just within the door!
WHAT was Fenwick doing here? Kistelle’s evil smile faded. The master crook was as bewildered as Maurice Cotter. Kistelle had been playing upon the effectiveness of a perfect alibi. For an instant he thought that Fenwick must have gone mad to come here.
Then came the answer to the mystery — an answer that caused Kistelle to tremble in unrestrained fear.
A low, sinister laugh rippled through the room. From the obscurity just beyond Fenwick appeared the outline of a weird, black-garbed form. Two automatics showed in black-gloved hands. One was trained on Fenwick; the other covered Kistelle.
That laugh brooked no resistance. The revolver dropped from Kistelle’s trembling fingers. Tonight’s game was ended by the master trapper. It was The Shadow who stood before Charles Kistelle!
The tall form moved to the center of the room. Three men stood agape. The bewilderment of Maurice Cotter was equal to that of the two men who had sought to ruin him by their alibi plot. The automatics moved and in answer to their silent order, both Kistelle and Fenwick backed away to a corner, with arms upraised.
The Shadow’s eyes shone upon Maurice Cotter. A whispered voice came from hidden lips.
“Go into the office, Cotter,” was The Shadow’s order, “and call Dagwood’s home. Say that you have trapped two crooks. Then call the police.”
Cotter obeyed like a man in a dream. He walked into the office and phoned Dagwood’s home. He heard himself asking for James Sargon; heard himself telling the jeweler that he had trapped two crooks. Then mechanically, Cotter hung up the receiver. He lifted the receiver again and called the local police.
The Shadow’s voice brought Cotter from his daze. In obedience to a new command, he came into the strong room. The spectral tones of The Shadow were telling him what he should do. Cotter picked up Kistelle’s gun and used it to cover the cowering rogues.
The Shadow’s automatics dropped from view. The man in black moved silently toward the doorway. His sharp eyes showed him that Cotter, awakened to new determination, held full control of the two men of evil — those two who peered with solemn, terrified faces — both replicas of the hideous idol Colpoc.
“Upon the desk” — The Shadow’s voice whispered weirdly in Cotter’s listening ear — “is the information that will convict these men. Give it to the police — for there are others like these.” Cotter nodded. His mind was clouded with fantasy. He could only keep his eyes glued upon the two faces before him; those faces that were so grotesquely identical.
The Shadow stepped into the office. He placed a sheet of paper upon the desk. It was a closely typewritten report that named the others of this evil crew and exposed their crimes in terse words. At the bosom of the statement, The Shadow inscribed the name of Edward Montague — the last of the six, whom Kistelle had mentioned earlier this night.
THE SHADOW paused; then swept suddenly to the door of the strong room. He saw Kistelle and Fenwick slowly shifting forward as though to leap upon Cotter. The Shadow laughed and with his mockery, he brought his automatics into view. The rogues cowered back against the wall of the room.
The gibing tones of The Shadow’s laugh reechoed through the close-walled room. That laugh sounded as a knell of doom. Its recurrent mirth reverberated in taunting cries that might have been uttered by the walls themselves.
With this triumphant taunt, The Shadow made an end to any thought of struggle against his might.
The sound of a siren came faintly to the room. The police were nearly here. The Shadow’s form faded away into the adjoining room. Moving beyond, he passed into the darkened store.
Men were at the side door. They found it open — for so The Shadow had left it when he had picked the lock to bring in Fenwick.