Hubert Banks had drawn himself to his full height. Now he relaxed and leaned against the doorway, mumbling vague epithets. Even his befuddled mind grasped the seriousness of the action which he had taken.
The monotonous words that had persuaded him over the telephone were clouded in his memory. He realized that he had killed a man; that this greatest fit of fury had caused him to commit a murder.
The men in the hallway were stupefied. They formed a silent, immobile group, each one shuddering in horror at the deed which they had witnessed.
Hubert Banks stared toward them with unseeing eyes. He became conscious of the picture which he held in his hand. His gaze softened and he laughed gently, as his demented mind brought back old recollections.
His eyes turned. He saw the revolver that he held. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the muzzle of the gun to his temple.
The watchers stood, fear-stricken. A man came rushing up the stairs. He burst through the group. It was Clifford Gage. He called to Banks in warning; but the millionaire did not heed the cry.
Before his friend could reach his side, Hubert Banks again pressed the finger of his revolver. The report sounded. The millionaire collapsed upon the body of Jennings, just as Gage made a futile effort to pluck the revolver from him.
The three men who had witnessed the tragedy stood still in silent horror. It was Clifford Gage who leaned over the bodies and learned that both men were dead.
Upon the floor, close by the body of Howard Jennings, lay a small object. It was an oval disk, the token of The Black Master. It had fallen from the dead man's pocket.
Gage picked it up, unnoticed. He stood up and faced the silent three. They saw his firm lips murmur the words, "Too late." Then, with bowed head, he walked by them and descended the stairs.
His sudden arrival and departure restored their self-control. Headed by Chalmers, the chauffeur, they moved forward to examine the bodies of the dead men.
Clifford Gage stood in the hall below. He was like a statue, lost in perplexity. Once again, he had witnessed the power of The Black Master; that strange, unknown monster, whose unseen hand dealt sudden, violent death and did not spare those who performed his bidding.
Mechanically, Gage reached to the table beside the door and lifted a large hat and a long flowing cloak that he had cast there when he had burst into the house at the sound of the first shots.
Slowly, methodically, he donned the cloak and wrapped its collar about his face. He placed the hat upon his head. Its wide, turned-down brim totally obscured his features. Then his manner changed.
In one brief instant, the identity of Clifford Gage had been absorbed by the unknown character of The Shadow. The door opened silently and closed again. The man in the cloak was gone — gone into the stormy night!
CHAPTER XVII. DOCTOR ZERNDORFF IS AMAZED
A SMILE of satisfaction spread over the features of Doctor Heinrich Zerndorff as he read the evening newspaper. Clad in his dressing gown and reclining in his easy-chair, the great criminologist was enjoying the greatest triumph of his long career in behalf of justice.
The news that brought him such pleasure was the conviction of the five men implicated in the great New York explosions. The police had enmeshed these men in a web of evidence that was indisputable. All had been found guilty of murder, and had been sentenced to the electric chair.
Never had the wheels of justice moved so rapidly. The date of the executions had been set.
There had been little difficulty in convicting the three who had placed the bombs. The evidence was too strong against them. Witnesses, at first uncertain, had eventually given sworn testimony that was damning.
The men themselves had admitted their crimes, although they claimed that they had placed the bombs at the order of a superior who had not told them the work that they were doing. They disclaimed all knowledge of what the packages had contained. Such protests had made no effect upon the juries.
With Sforza and Pecherkin, the case had been different. They were radicals who had made threats against the government. They had known, and had dealt with, the three who planted the bombs.
But they disclaimed all connection with the tragedies, and their names were not mentioned directly by any of the three who were convicted for the placing of the bombs.
The fact was established, however, that both Sforza and Pecherkin had been seen in the vicinity of the house on the East Side where the three bomb-planters had gone for their instructions.
It was proven that Sforza and Pecherkin had known Vervick, the man who had made the bombs, although that finding was based chiefly upon their acquaintanceship when all had lived in Europe.
Sforza and Pecherkin were unfortunate enough to possess bad records. Popular antagonism had added to their plight. The absence of bomb killings since their imprisonment was unspoken testimony against them.
There had been a campaign of protest in their favor. An organization had been formed to appeal their case. Much had been written in their behalf but all pleas had failed. Their case was now beyond appeal.
The telephone rang while Doctor Zerndorff was still reading the final details of the convictions. Detective Joe Cardona was on the wire. The sound of his voice delighted Zerndorff.
"It is great work for you, yes!" he exclaimed. "Great work, Herr Detective! The evidence was good enough, yes! Ah, yes, I am pleased! The ways of these American laws are too difficult, yes! Those men were bad! I have known it all the time!
"These people who have had the doubt do not understand. They have never lived in Russia, nor in Italy. They have not seen, as I have seen. Ah, thank you, Herr Detective! It is to you the credit goes, yes, not to me! No. Gute nacht."
Doctor Zerndorff hung up the telephone and returned to his newspaper. His eye fell upon a paragraph on the front page. His forehead wrinkled. He recalled the name mentioned there.
The paragraph dealt with the affairs of the Banks estate. It referred to the millionaire who had murdered his valet and committed suicide, three weeks ago.
He remembered that Clifford Gage had spoken of a plot against Hubert Banks. He recollected the name of The Black Master. Clifford Gage had never returned. Had he met an unknown fate at the hand of some powerful foe?
"Perhaps," murmured Doctor Zerndorff thoughtfully, "we have not caught within the net all that we should have caught, yes? Some people have found fault, because they say Sforza and Pecherkin are fish that do not belong.
"Ah, those men should be within the net, yes. I have known them in the past. But I fear just this, that when the net was made, it should have done all its work, yes. One more could perhaps have been taken with it!"
He shook his head and laid the paper on the floor beside him. He closed his eyes and drowsed for a moment. Suddenly he became wide awake. He sat up straight and blinked. A man had entered the room and was sitting in a chair beside him.
It was Clifford Gage.
"How have you come in here?" Zerndorff demanded. Then his manner softened. "Ah, yes. Otto is not here. You have rung the doorbell, yes? I have not answered. I have been asleep!"
"The door was unlocked," said Gage quietly.
"I shall remember that," replied Doctor Zerndorff. "I shall tell Otto, yes. That should not be, when he is away!"
"It was important that I should see you," added Gage.
"You have seen the newspaper, yes?" inquired Zerndorff.
"I have," answered Gage.
"What do you think of it?"
"I believe that two innocent men have been sentenced to the electric chair."