CHAPTER XIX
THE SIGNAL OF DEATH
FOR a short interval, The Black Falcon remained gloating in the doorway. Then, assured that the men before him could offer no resistance, he entered the room with quick, short steps.
Keeping his revolver in constant readiness, the masked abductor reached a point at the end of the desk. His back was toward the side door that formed the second exit from Weston’s office.
His new vantage point enabled The Black Falcon to keep watch on both Weston and Cardona; at the same time it brought him facing the window and cleared the doorway through which he had entered. That entrance was at The Black Falcon’s right.
With twisting lips, The Black Falcon spoke. His tone was a snarl, yet it contained no disguising effort. Weston and Cardona blinked as they caught the familiar voice. Both had heard it before; the fact that they had been waiting for Rowland Ransdale told them the truth that The Black Falcon disdained to cover.
“Ransdale!” gasped Weston.
“Yes, Ransdale,” snarled the masked man. “Fools! You have been seeking the wrong man. Velvet Laffrey is dead. I killed him. I have been The Black Falcon, the criminal that you sought.”
Weston could volunteer no reply. The statement was too bewildering for the commissioner.
“Velvet Laffrey was my dupe,” laughed The Black Falcon. “He was to take the blame for the crimes I planned. He was to be far away, and with that thought he kindly provided me with finger-print impressions.
“I killed Velvet Laffrey so he would make no further trouble. I planted a torn paper with his finger prints at Apprison’s. I changed the doorknob in the room from which I abducted Carthers. The single feather that I left on Lamont Cranston’s desk was attached to a sheet of paper that bore very faint impressions of Velvet Laffrey’s finger prints.”
With his left hand, The Black Falcon pointed to the letter which lay on Commissioner Weston’s desk.
“That message,” he stated, “came from me. It bears no identifying marks. This one, however, does. I brought it with me, in hope that I could substitute it.”
Reaching in his pocket as he spoke, The Black Falcon brought out the second letter. He dropped it on the desk and pocketed the first one. Commissioner Weston, staring, could see the blur of finger prints on the edge of the white sheet, below the feathered signature.
“I promised a startling crime,” announced The Back Falcon. “You shall have it. I intend to kidnap a man of wealth. I also promised that New York would have a new police commissioner after tonight’s episode. That promise, too, will be kept.
“Tonight, Commissioner Weston, your term of service ends. I shall make the appointment of a new commissioner a matter of necessity. You are the man of wealth whom I intend to take to join my colony of captives at my isolated house deep in the forest!”
POLICE COMMISSIONER WESTON gasped. Joe Cardona was grim. It was evident that The Black Falcon meant to go through with his threat.
“I travel swiftly,” announced the masked criminal, with his ugly snarl. “My measures are effective; and I strike where least expected. Yet had either of you been anything but dullards, you might have sensed the meaning of my message.
“Less than two hours have elapsed since I left my stronghold. It required more than half an hour to reach the spot where my airplane was in readiness. The Black Falcon has wings — as you surmised. One hour of flight brought me to Long Island. Less than half an hour by car; and I am here.
“My trusted servant waits me. He and I will conduct you, commissioner, to the plane. You remember my valet, Hazzlett? He is my chief aid. It was wonderful how he and I slaughtered off Terry Rukes and his gang of mobsters. It was easy, for I, The Black Falcon, summoned them into the trap which I, Rowland Ransdale, had prepared for them.”
THE BLACK FALCON paused as though the reminiscence pleased him. Weston and Cardona were silent as they heard the villain’s explanation of the affray at the Garman Apartments.
“I came here,” resumed The Black Falcon, with a scoffing chuckle, “because I knew that the police commissioner would never dream that any one would attack him in his own abode. I entered as Rowland Ransdale. Your men outside, commissioner, had no suspicion of who I am.
“Do not, however, cherish the thought that I came alone. Others have entered through the side way. They followed when they heard a signal, given by my henchman Hazzlett, who is waiting. Men of crime, they are pleased by the thought of aiding The Black Falcon in his abduction of the police commissioner.”
The eyes that looked through the black mask were evil. Weston and Cardona realized the insidious character of this supercriminal who dealt in murder as well as kidnapping. Both knew that The Black Falcon would readily shoot them dead; that he was sparing Weston’s life only because the police commissioner would be a valuable prisoner.
“I announced myself to your servant,” chuckled The Black Falcon. “When he returned to the anteroom, I was masked. The door was open to the corridor. Mobsmen had come at my soft whistle. They overpowered your man; they did not kill him. He will be a victim later on. He is lying, helpless, in a corner of your living room.
“My new minions think, like you, that I am Velvet Laffrey. So will all others, after your abduction, commissioner. The final evidence is that letter” — The Black Falcon was pointing to the sheet that he had laid on the desk — “with another faint touch of Laffrey’s fingers. Your servant must die; and so” — The Black Falcon was staring hard at Joe Cardona — “must this other man who knows my true identity.”
Joe Cardona did not quail. Yet he saw the merciless glint in The Black Falcon’s eye. The fiend’s purpose was apparent. Cardona and Kempton were to be found dead in the wake of The Black Falcon’s deed of abduction.
“It is more than you deserve,” said The Black Falcon to Cardona. “In life, you have been a bungler. In death, you will be a hero. That letter with Velvet Laffrey’s imprints will be discovered in your dead clutch. It will appear that you fought to restrain The Black Falcon.”
A pause; then The Black Falcon’s voice became an impatient growl.
“This is enough!” declared the supercrook. “Come, Weston. You are going with me. Hesitation will not avail you. My henchmen will rush in from the corridor when they hear my signal. That signal, tonight, will be a single shot. It will be a shot that delivers death!”
With his pronouncement. The Black Falcon aimed his gun at Joe Cardona. Commissioner Weston sat aghast. The fiend’s finger rested on the trigger; his lips formed his vicious snarl.
Then came sudden rigidity.
THE BLACK FALCON did not budge a muscle as his eyes, staring beyond Joe Cardona, affixed themselves upon the doorway at the right.
Standing there was a figure clad in black. Blazing eyes peered from beneath the brim of a broad slouch hat. An automatic projected from a fist that seemed part of an inky-hued cloak.
Like a grim avenger from nowhere, this master of darkness had arrived to stay The Black Falcon’s cruel attempt to murder Joe Cardona. There was no mistaking the identity of the unexpected visitant.
The Black Falcon’s lips were fuming. His eyes were blinking behind the mask. The supercrook was staring at the weird avenger whom he had thought was in his power.
Rowland Ransdale, The Black Falcon, was facing the burning gaze of The Shadow! The death signal — the shot that the fiend was about to fire — remained withheld as The Black Falcon shrank from The Shadow’s glare!
CHAPTER XX
THE FALCON’S FLIGHT
CONSTERNATION was evident in Rowland Ransdale’s face. The visage of the millionaire mine owner was apparent now, in contrast to the scowl of The Black Falcon. Bewilderment had seized the supercrook.