"Now the consequences are yours!"
Chadwick made no reply. His face was pale and drawn. He stared as though in a trance.
He made no effort to move, and his presence continued to annoy Delmuth.
"You want that paper, eh?" quizzed Delmuth. "I'll let you have it!" HE strode to a table and opened the drawer. He brought out a metal box, which he unlocked. From it, Delmuth produced a folded sheet of paper. He opened the paper, glanced at it, and approached Chadwick.
Delmuth held out the paper, and Chadwick seized it eagerly. His eyes gleamed as he recognized the document he wanted.
"You're giving it to me!" he exclaimed.
"No!" retorted Delmuth.
With an angry motion, the advertising man snatched the paper from Chadwick's grasp.
Delmuth stepped back and his leered maliciously.
"I'm not giving it to you," he said. "I'm showing it to you — that's all! Showing it to you, so you'll remember it!
"Now go! Stay away from here. You're yellow, and you know it!" Denby Chadwick quailed at the denunciation. He drew back when Delmuth threatened, and his form turned toward the door. Delmuth stood, sneering.
"Get along!" he ordered. "Move fast!"
He approached Chadwick, who was halting in his departure. Delmuth's pose was threatening. He felt that Chadwick feared him, and his contempt was great. He reached out his right hand to thrust the young man through the door.
With wild, excited eyes, Denby Chadwick wheeled. His hand had been resting on the edge of his pocket. Now it came into view, carrying an automatic.
Sidney Delmuth saw the gun. Like a flash, he leaped forward, gripping Chadwick's arm.
The men grappled; then came a muffled report.
Sidney Delmuth fell away. He half staggered, half slumped; then sprawled upon the floor.
Denby Chadwick had pressed the muzzle of his gun against the villain's body. A single bullet had done the work. Sidney Delmuth was dead.
Denby Chadwick stood motionless as a statue. The smoking automatic was hanging from his hand. Then the killer's self-control returned. He crept forward and knelt beside the body of Delmuth. He plucked the sheet of paper from the dead hand. He tore it into bits.
Holding the pieces, he went to the window and slowly raised the sash.
With a wild fling, Chadwick tossed the fragments to the wind. Turning, Chadwick lay the automatic upon the floor beside Delmuth's body. He studied the scene uncertainly, wondering how he could cover up this trail. Chadwick's lips were twitching nervously. He looked about the room hurriedly. In an instant, he stood petrified.
A tall, black figure had appeared from nowhere. Like a monster of the night, it had come into this room of death.
A choking gasp came from Chadwick as he saw the sinister form — a man clad in black cloak and hat, whose face was invisible.
"You — you" — Chadwick was stammering — "who are you?"
"I am The Shadow," came the whispered reply.
The sound of that eerie voice brought tremors to Denby Chadwick. He stared at the man in black; then looked toward the body on the floor.
"I–I - it was self-defense," he said. "I didn't want to kill him — "
"You will never be accused of this crime," declared The Shadow. "You may remain assured of that." The sinister tone of the words brought new fear to Chadwick. He looked at the figure before him. He saw the glare of The Shadow's eyes, beneath the brim of that turned-down hat. "You — you" — he stammered — "you will not tell — "
"You slew a murderer," declared The Shadow. "This was no evil deed. But you have killed before, Denby Chadwick.
"Once — not long ago — you entered a house and murdered a defenseless old man. Your old uncle — "
"It cannot be proved!" screamed Chadwick. "You cannot prove it! I had an alibi! I was not accused!
Only Delmuth knew. Only Delmuth — and he" — Chadwick paused to survey his handiwork — "he is dead!"
"You are wrong," said The Shadow, in a sinister whisper. "I have learned your crime!"
"What if you have?" challenged Chadwick suddenly. "What if I did kill the old man? He was a beast even if he was my uncle. I owed him money and he hounded me.
"I met Delmuth. He wanted me to get those certificates that Mayo was after. He told me how to get them. So I did.
"He was the only one that knew — Delmuth. He had my confession. But it's gone, now.
Gone — in a thousand pieces — "
"Your confession is not needed," declared The Shadow. "What use is a confession, when one has proof?
You are depending on your alibi. One word would shatter it.
"You think that you have destroyed the paper that told your guilt. There are thousands of papers that declare it. Here is one!"
The black-gloved hand reached forward and held a sheet of paper before Chadwick's eyes. It was simply a copy of the time-table that showed the schedule of the train which Denby Chadwick had taken on the night of his uncle's death.
"There is the proof," declared The Shadow. "Your story was accepted because no one thought to question it. You were seen leaving on the local train — you were seen arriving. It seemed impossible that you could have killed your uncle.
"But this table tells its story. Thirty-five minutes after your train left Philadelphia, it arrived at the station near your uncle's house. There you left it — a little over a mile from Chester.
You went to your uncle's home and killed him.
"It was the work of ten minutes. You hurried on to Chester — five minutes more — in time to catch the express that stopped there. The express reached the town of Newark three minutes before the local. You left the express and boarded the local again, as it was leaving the station."
Denby Chadwick stood aghast. The Shadow's words were true. There, in his hand, was the evidence. The timetable showed the local and the express, scheduled side by side.
"A perfect alibi!" declared The Shadow. "But not one of your testifiers stated that he had seen you while the train was between Essington and Newark.
"You were at work then. At five thirty, you took the local. At six five, you left it at Essington. At six thirty-five, you boarded the express at Chester. You walked a little more than a mile in twenty-five minutes, and committed murder on the way!
"At seven three, the express reached Newark. You took the local again at seven six. That was when you went to the smoker and joined the men there. You were with them when the train reached Havre de Grace at seven forty-five.
"This sheet of paper ends your alibi. You are a murderer — even though it was Delmuth who urged you to the crime. You will pay the penalty for that murder, Denby Chadwick.
"Tonight, a marked copy of this time-table goes in the mail to the authorities. It was I who sent you the telegram, bringing you here tonight, that you might learn that your crime was known!" Frenzied, Chadwick started to reach for his gun. The sight of an automatic in a black-gloved hand withheld him. He stood, trembling, while The Shadow swept across the room and stood before the door.
"You have committed murder," came the accusing voice. "Your crime is known. The penalty for such a crime is death!"
The man in black was gone, vanished in an instant. The Shadow had other work to do tonight. Denby Chadwick stood beside the body of Sidney Delmuth. The Shadow's last words echoed in his ears.
"The penalty for such a crime is death."
Slowly, mechanically, the young man stooped and picked up his gun. He stood like a man in a trance. His next action was deliberate. He pointed the gun toward himself, and stared into the muzzle. A second shot sounded in Delmuth's apartment. Denby Chadwick lay on the floor, beside the body of the man he had killed.