Where was Hawthorne? He had disappeared.
As Benson stood, bewildered, a figure arose from behind a chair. The man bore the features of Paul Hawthorne; but he acted with a precision that Hawthorne had never shown.
Long arms shot forward and caught Jeremiah Benson by the throat. With a twist, the clutching hands hurled the old man to the floor. Benson's gun fell from his helpless fingers. The scoundrel lay stunned. From the lips of Paul Hawthorne came a low, mocking laugh. It was the laugh of The Shadow. He was the man whom the killers had sought to capture.
The Shadow, master of disguise, had played the part of Paul Hawthorne. Waiting the closing of the trap, he had trapped the trappers!
With a contemptuous look at the form of Jeremiah Benson, The Shadow strode from the cottage. He returned, garbed in cloak and hat that he had brought from Hawthorne's car. Jeremiah Benson, unarmed and bewildered, was sitting up when he saw the strange figure enter. There was a low, whispered command.
With hands raised; with the muzzle of an automatic pressing between his shoulders, Jeremiah Benson was forced out into the night.
Several minutes later, a car arrived in front of the cottage. Hawthorne clambered from it and uttered an exclamation of surprise when he recognized his own automobile parked in front.
"Here's my car!" he cried. "I wonder how it got here? Who could have taken it from the station?" He rushed into the cottage, followed by the man who had come with him. At the entrance, Hawthorne stopped. His voice became a stammer. His face blanched as he saw the bodies of Harmon and Shamlin lying on the floor.
Who were these men? Why had they come here? How had they been killed?
Noting the open window, Hawthorne managed to get that far. Peering out, he saw another body on the ground. It was the dead form of Grady. The Shadow's perfect shot had reached the killer's heart!
Hawthorne could not understand. There had been slaughter here, in his home, and three dead men remained. It all seemed unexplainable, yet Hawthorne realized that this spot had not been accidentally chosen for a gun fray.
He knew that he had been picked as a victim for tonight; that the dread he had felt of Mayo had been warranted!
Three murderous men had come to slay him, Hawthorne knew. Somehow, someone had intervened. The would-be killers had paid the price of their misdeeds!
Hawthorne's nerve began to fail. He stumbled from the house. He wanted to be away from this scene of carnage. Whatever had happened here was a total mystery.
Only two men could have told the story; but Hawthorne did not know of their existence.
Plodding along the road to Sherwood Mayo's lodge, Jeremiah Benson was still obeying the orders of his captor. The fiendish old man was cursing beneath his breath. For his ears were ringing with the sound of a soft, taunting laugh.
The laugh of The Shadow!
Chapter XXII — The Last Flight
The clock on Sherwood Mayo's mantel was nearing two o'clock. It brought no comfort to two bound men who rested on the floor. One was Jeremiah Benson. The other was Louie, the Filipino. The Shadow had surprised Mayo's servant. He had clicked handcuffs on the wrists of both his captives. Standing above the prisoners, The Shadow was a tall figure of black. Jeremiah Benson, staring upward, could barely detect the gleam of two burning eyes beneath the masking hat. A laugh came from the hidden lips.
"Your crimes are at an end!" came a sinister, jibing voice. "You have lived too long, Jeremiah Benson. You are waiting now — waiting the arrival of the only man to whose instructions you have ever submitted. Sherwood Mayo will be here soon!"
"I don't know Mayo," snarled Benson.
The Shadow ignored the protest.
"I divined your game long ago," said The Shadow. "I have heard of your past doings, Benson. You were a man who specialized in blackmail and in murder — you and your evil henchman, Grady. Blackmail was preferable. Murder was useful — when necessary.
"You finally encountered one man who thwarted your schemes — Sherwood Mayo. But he offered you a greater field.
"Backed by his millions, you were to embark upon a greater career. But first, Mayo had work for you to do. His hands were not clean. There were persons who knew too much about him.
"One was Herbert Brockley. He eluded you. So his murder was arranged in France, through hired assassins. But Brockley, fearing his end, gave important papers to a man named Wallace Powell.
"Those papers were dangerous for Mayo. Powell knew Sidney Delmuth — a newcomer in the blackmail ring — an agent whom Mayo himself had provided. Through Delmuth, a meeting was arranged between you and Powell.
"Ten thousand dollars for his information. But Powell never received his money. He knew too much. Grady killed him.
"By mistake, Grady murdered an innocent victim. There was another man, who escaped your weakened bridge. You left him in a burning house. He was rescued. That is news to you!
"Grant Chadwick knew facts concerning Mayo. He also possessed interests which Mayo coveted. Grant Chadwick's death was cleverly contrived by Delmuth. The old man's nephew was the killer. Like Delmuth, Denby Chadwick has paid the penalty.
"One more remained. Paul Hawthorne. He knew less than the others regarding Mayo's ways. But he knew too much. So a killing was arranged here tonight.
"The cleverest part of all the scheming was the arrangement between Mayo and Delmuth.
I discovered that one night when Delmuth went to Mayo's home. He took an envelope with him.
"After leaving Mayo's home, he removed a paper from the envelope and destroyed it.
There was just one inference; Delmuth took a message to Mayo and brought away another; Mayo removed the first and put the second in its place. I saw through that scheme."
Benson was still glaring, but the amazed look in the old man's eyes showed that The Shadow's statements were correct.
"Delmuth and Mayo!" said The Shadow. "Pretended enemies! Actually, the brains of a blackmail ring, beginning operations on a tremendous scale. Eliminating those who might interfere.
"You, Benson" — the voice was ironical — "were but a tool in their hands. A tool, for them; just as Grady was a tool for you."
Half rising, Jeremiah Benson spat curses at the man in black. The Shadow laughed. The clock on the mantel chimed twice.
Turning, The Shadow strode toward the door. Benson wondered at the action. The Shadow had performed it before. Returning, The Shadow spoke final words.
"Mayo will be here tonight," he said. "He, too, is playing some clever game. But he will come. Let him come."
An automobile was driving up to the door of the lodge. The Shadow went to the hall and was obscured in the darkness.
A man was approaching. The door opened. Harry Vincent stopped short as he heard a low, weird whisper.
To Harry, it was a voice that he had heard before. It was a voice that he obeyed — the voice of The Shadow.
Harry listened while he heard instructions. Then he walked inside, alone. He saw no one as he passed through the hall, but as he entered the living room, he heard a sound from outside.
Someone was driving away in the car.
The Shadow had gone. His agent was in charge, awaiting the arrival of Sherwood Mayo.
Harry had met with temporary disaster that night. The wrecking of the car had delayed him, but he had managed to obtain another automobile. He had arrived late — but in time to be of service to The Shadow. Harry could not understand The Shadow's presence here, for he knew that The Shadow had been in New York that evening. He did not know of the flying field near Brookdale, where an automobile had been waiting. The Shadow had come by air.
Sherwood Mayo had managed to mislead The Shadow by flying to Virginia. But Mayo could not know that The Shadow was here at Greenhurst. Soon — if The Shadow divined correctly — Mayo would return, to find a trap.