The Shadow had brought a stub-nosed .32 in place of his huge .45s. He had left the heavy artillery to Diamond Bert. Before the supercrook could fire his big .45, he had received the full quota of The Shadow’s weapon.
Girdled with bullets, Diamond Bert collapsed. His smoke wagon thumped the floor. Murderous to the last, treacherously trying to spring a double-cross, the killer had received no mercy from The Shadow.
One life or the other. The Shadow had won. A solemn laugh came from his immobile lips as this mighty fighter viewed the dead form of Diamond Bert Farwell. Then, pocketing his emptied automatic, The Shadow turned. Quietly, in the manner of Lamont Cranston, he strolled from the suite and closed the door behind him.
DOWN in the lobby, Commissioner Wainwright Barth was looking about for Lamont Cranston. His friend had disappeared. Suddenly the commissioner spied him. As he spoke to Cranston, Joe Cardona entered.
“The diamonds are on the armored truck,” announced Joe. “Ready to pull out—”
Joe turned as a man hastened up. It was the house dick, Lennis. The man buzzed excited words in Joe Cardona’s ear. The acting inspector whirled to Commissioner Barth.
“Shooting up on the twelfth floor!” he exclaimed. “People trying to locate it! They think it may be from Ranaud’s suite. The door’s locked — he doesn’t answer—”
Barth was heading for an elevator. Cardona followed with Lennis. Lamont Cranston strolled in just before the door closed. The car shot upward. On the twelfth, the arrivals found a group of frightened servants outside of Ranaud’s door.
Lennis produced a pass key. He opened the door. Cardona bounded through the living room, gun in hand. He stopped when he reached the passage and waved the others back.
“It’s Ranaud!” he exclaimed. “Drilled clean! Diamond Bert must have got him — for revenge—”
Cardona turned toward the door at the end of the passage. Grimly, he sprang forward and thrust the barrier open. He found a second bedroom. Shades were lowered; a figure was huddled on the bed.
“Got you, Diamond Bert!” cried Joe, clicking on the light, “One move and I’ll—”
He stopped short. The figure was not that of Diamond Bert Farwell. It was Gautier Ranaud, bound and gagged. Amazed, Joe wrenched the bonds from the Frenchman. He helped Ranaud to his feet.
“Two of you!” Cardona exclaimed. “Say—”
“Ah, m’sieu,” gasped Ranaud, dopily. “The other — he have take my place. Las’ night, m’sieu. He have come in to mock me, this very day. Ou est le prefect — the commissioner—”
“Out here,” replied Cardona, grimly. He dragged Ranaud along. “Look at this commissioner!”
Barth had reached the front bedroom. He was looking at the body on the floor when Cardona arrived.
The commissioner gaped when he saw the second Ranaud. Releasing the Frenchman, Cardona stooped and seized the black beard that covered the dead face on the floor. He yanked away the disguise.
“Diamond Bert,” asserted Joe. “I don’t know who got him. But whoever did — well, it was a good job.”
On a hunch, Joe swung to the suitcase. He scattered shirts aside. He grabbed out a bag — the one with the diamonds — and passed it to Barth. Then he found a large box, buried deep. Jewels glittered as Cardona cracked it open.
“All the swag!” exclaimed Cardona. “The stuff he got at Tatson’s and Lewkesbury’s! He foxed us, commissioner, sending out that dummy box to the armored truck!”
Barth was nodding. He had opened the little bag and was shaking out the uncut diamonds. Gautier Ranaud, recovered from his grogginess, was reaching for the stones, counting them. The Frenchman was excitedly gasping in his native tongue, declaring that every stone had been recovered.
Joe Cardona tossed a bundle of shirts back in the suitcase. He stared. Upon the white surface came a splotch of blackness, the outline of a weird silhouette. A hawk-faced profile; one that brought sudden understanding to Cardona’s brain.
The profile glided away. It was gone. Yet Cardona stood staring. When he looked up, he saw Barth and Ranaud still busy with the diamonds. A third person had joined them: Lamont Cranston.
Joe Cardona never connected the quiet-faced millionaire with the profile that had faded. For Joe’s stare had become distant. The star detective had found the answer to the deserved death of Diamond Bert.
Joe realized, who, alone, could have trapped the supercrook. He knew whose hand had waged the strenuous battle that had finally brought triumph to the cause of justice. Voiceless, Joe Cardona’s lips phrased a silent name:
“The Shadow!”