"I - I killed Tolwig," gasped Dalavan. "But it - it was in self-defense. It was Lovett who - who started it -"
Dalavan paused, incoherent. He could see no mercy in the gleam of The Shadow's eyes. However, as he stared helplessly, Dalavan saw something that The Shadow did not observe. The door from the hall was opening; its click had been drowned out by Dalavan's words.
With momentary rally, Dalavan steadied, hoping to hold The Shadow's attention. There was a further motion at the door; Dalavan saw Golga, crouching forward. The servant had a long-bladed knife. A few seconds more and Golga could spring upon The Shadow.
In those seconds, however, Dalavan overplayed. His lips compressed beneath his mustache. His eyes showed shrewdness. The Shadow saw that they were looking beyond.
The Shadow jabbed his .45 warningly toward Dalavan. As the crook quailed instinctively, The Shadow spun about. Instantly, he whirled toward the door.
Golga was already springing inward. The big menial's blade flashed from his driving hand. Despite Dalavan's unconscious betrayal, Golga, through quick action had gained the edge on The Shadow. An instant's pause for perfect aim might have been fatal to the black-cloaked warrior.
The Shadow fired at the hand that held the knife. Hard upon the automatic's spurt came a cry from Golga as the bullet clipped the servant's wrist. The down-coming hand seemed to jolt as its fingers opened. The long knife skimmed past The Shadow's shoulder, and clattered against the wall beside Dalavan.
The timely shot would have eliminated an ordinary foeman. But Golga was a vicious, deadly fighter. The man scarcely halted in his lunge. Shooting his free left hand forward, he hurled himself upon The Shadow and drove the avenger back against the wall.
Flaying arms gripped The Shadow in a furious grapple. Twisting, the cloaked fighter tried to wrestle free. He partially succeeded, then drove his left fist squarely to Golga's chin. The servant lost his hold. Clearing him, The Shadow swung toward Dalavan.
The cowered crook had become a fiend. During the momentary struggle, Dalavan had yanked a revolver from his pocket. Wielding the stub-nosed .32, he was leaping forward to clip The Shadow at close range. That advance was to prove his undoing.
DALAVAN had the bead on The Shadow. His aim would have served at a dozen feet as well as five. But Dalavan, in his maddened effort, had chosen the closer range. He was still surging forward as he pressed the trigger of his gun.
The Shadow's left arm was swinging as his right hand aimed. His gloved fist struck Dalavan's wrist just as the fellow fired.
The crook's hand jolted up; the bullet whistled through the brim of The Shadow's slouch hat. Dalavan, bringing his arm down in cudgel-like fashion, sought to loose a second slug.
The Shadow's automatic roared. Dalavan's surging body bounded in the air. With a frantic cry, the crook came jouncing upon his half-crouched foe. It was a death plunge; for The Shadow's bullet had found the murderer's heart. Yet dying, Dalavan was a man of fury.
The Shadow rolled sidewise beneath the writhing form that hit him. Dalavan's gun went clicking to the floor. The Shadow, twisting, freed himself from the murderer's body. Then, of a sudden, he dived sidewise on the floor.
Golga, seizing his knife with his left hand, had pounced back into the fray. His driving stroke was on its way even as The Shadow made his voluntary sprawl. The blade went wide, plunging on The Shadow. Golga poised for another stroke with the knife. A roar sounded from the floor.
The Shadow had delivered a backhand shot. Golga's body wavered; his left hand wobbled back and forth. Balanced on one knee, Golga stared straight ahead, while a sickly expression dominated his evil face.
The Shadow, rolling clear, watched the strange result. Golga was like a rocking statue. The knife loosed from his shaking hand. It dropped, blade foremost, into the floor. Then the servant's body crumpled. A fierce death gasp came from ugly lips as Golga's arms sprawled outward on the floor.
Lunges - shots - the knife strokes - all had followed with quick succession. In less than two dozen seconds, The Shadow had accounted for this pair of would-be slayers. Already the cloaked victor was at the desk. Unscathed, The Shadow was sweeping tiara, cash and notes into the case that Dalavan had brought.
With a fierce, mirthless laugh, The Shadow sprang to the door of the den and gained the rear hall. Quickly he crossed that space and merged with the front darkness.
A MOMENT later, Dashler's door banged open. The sailor came out into the hall.
"What's up?" was Dashler's growled query. "Did I hear shots?"
A voice answered from the rear hall. Hearing footsteps, Dashler moved in that direction, to encounter Royne. The cadaverous servant reached the door of the study.
"Look!" cried Royne, pointing to the bodies on the floor. Then, seeing that Elger was not in the room: "Stay back. Go and call the others."
As Dashler obeyed, Royne hurried into the bedroom. He saw that this apartment was empty; he knew that Elger must be below. While Royne hesitated, the bookcase swung open. Elger himself appeared.
Royne pointed to the study. Elger quickly closed the bookcase. With the servant, he entered the study to look at the bodies. He picked up Dalavan's gun and held it in readiness as footsteps came from the hall.
Dashler was back. Following him was Professor Marcolm, clad in a dressing gown, his white hair unkempt. The two stopped on the threshold. As Dashler reported to Elger, Marcolm stared with wide eyes at the bodies.
"I knocked at the other doors," stated Dashler. "I told Miss Feldworth to stay where she was. I called to the others to come."
Seth Hadlow appeared as Dashler finished speaking. The sportsman's face was solemn. He eyed the bodies half curiously; then, in mechanical fashion he reached in the pocket of the dressing gown that he was wearing. Methodically, Hadlow produced a cigarette and placed it between his lips. But he did not light it.
"Where is Jalway?" demanded Elger.
"I called him," responded Dashler.
"Go find him," ordered Elger.
The sailor turned. Before he had gone a dozen steps, he encountered Jalway coming from the front hall. The promoter was fully dressed, except for his necktie. He spoke to Dashler as he advanced.
"What's up?" was Jalway's query. "Did you say something about shots?"
DASHLER motioned toward the den. Jalway stopped on the threshold. His eyes opened. The sight of the two dead men seemed to astonish him. His expression carried inquiry.
"What has happened here," declared Elger, solemnly, "is this. I expected a visitor. Mr. George Dalavan, whom you see dead before you. I did not know when Mr. Dalavan would arrive."
"Quite naturally not," interposed Hadlow, "since you had no communication with the mainland."
"Exactly," emphasized Elger. "But it appears that Mr. Dalavan arrived tonight. Golga must have admitted him and sent him into the den. I was asleep in the adjoining bedroom" - he pointed to the door that he had come from - "and my door was closed."
"Did you hear shots, sir?" asked Dashler.
"Yes," replied Elger, "but I had no idea they were so close at hand. I arose; I heard commotion here. I entered to find Royne beside the bodies. Tell me: can anyone supply evidence regarding what occurred?"
Head-shakes were the only answers.
"We must assume then," decided Elger, "that someone came in with Dalavan. He must have sought to kill Dalavan, and Golga intervened. Both are dead. The killer has escaped. Let us examine the front door."