"I think I know where he is," said Deacon quietly.
"You do?" exclaimed Judge eagerly.
"Yes," replied Deacon. "I had a hunch. You remember that the girl — Delmar's daughter — gave an interview in which she mentioned The Shadow?"
"Yes."
"I remembered that. It made me figure that if he was working with any one here in town, it would be Martha Delmar. So I drove past there today. I looked where I didn't look last night — at the sidewalks."
"You saw—"
"A splotch of blood on the sidewalk, by the corner. Like a man had stopped there, leaning against the telegraph pole. That settled it in my mind. The Shadow is at Delmar's!"
"If you could have planned some way to get him—"
"It would have been useless, Judge. Whatever he might tell, he has told already. Tonight is the time to get in there. But you can't do it — and I can't do it!"
"You're right, Deacon. It is a ticklish situation. If The Shadow is there, we'll have to get him and the girl, too. We can't kill The Shadow and leave the girl—"
He paused, puzzled. Deacon could offer no suggestion. It was Bronlon who furnished the inspiration.
"I've got it!" he exclaimed. bringing his huge fist down on the table beside him. "I've got it! Vigilantes!" Judge looked at Bronlon questioningly.
"You know this region, Judge," said the millionaire. "They've done some mob lynchings in the past. Now look at the situation. Popular indignation is all against Hubert Salisbury. There's been rumors that people have planned to storm the jail and lynch him for killing Wellington. That talk died away.
"But everyone is angry at the Delmar girl, because she's stood by Salisbury. There's been talk about running her out of town. Now suppose it was known that she is shielding a man there in the house. What's the answer? Who could he be?"
"Some accomplice of Salisbury's," declared Judge. "That's what the town would think."
"Right!" exclaimed Bronlon. "If the tip got out, it wouldn't take much to start a surging mob down there especially on a Sunday night. They'd get the man; they'd carry away the girl. Maybe they would kill her, too."
"You've got it, Bronlon," said Judge. "But we can't run the risk. A mob is too uncertain — too unruly. It might ruin us."
"Not the mob I'm planning," leered Bronlon.
Understanding dawned upon the faces of Judge and Deacon. They listened with changing expressions while Bronlon unfolded his scheme.
"My man Critz," he said. "You know him — the one in charge of bringing the bonus and the pay roll. He has thirty under him, Judge, but we don't want that many. Six will be enough. Critz has his own pets, men who will do anything I tell them.
"I'll start them down tonight. Masked vigilantes. Drop in on Delmar's place, and get that fellow. Drag him out front, and shoot him. Carry away the girl. The town will go mad. All for the unknown vigilantes—"
"You've struck it right!" declared Judge approvingly. "No one will ever know. Handle it carefully, Bronlon."
The millionaire arose and lumbered heavily from the room. He came back with a grin on his face.
"I called Critz on the telephone," he said. "Told him to get up here right away — and to say nothing about it. He'll be here in ten minutes.
"You listen in the other room. Wait and hear me handle this. I'll tell Critz to get his men and tell them that this job is his own idea. He can say that the men downtown have been talking about it — that the Middletown people are yellow, and don't have the nerve.
"It will never get back to me, Judge. I won't know a thing about it, even if Critz's name is mentioned. I'm telling Critz that at the start. He will understand. But he'll have a nice sum waiting for him if he puts this over."
"Exactly," smiled Judge.
Deacon's morose face gleamed.
Bronlon's two companions arose and went into a side room where they could listen without being seen. Jake Critz, Bronlon's chief man at arms, would be here within ten minutes.
The time passed quickly. Judge and Deacon heard the conversation between Bronlon and his henchmen. Critz was a tough-faced fellow who bore the scars of battles with strikers in the hectic days of the past. He listened to his employer's instructions and growled his willing assent.
Then he was gone, off to form the squad of pretended vigilantes. Silently, Judge and Deacon shook hands with Bronlon.
"We'll start over to the storage room soon," suggested the millionaire. "We can do our work here, while Critz is doing his at Delmar's."
The three shrewd men were jubilant.
They had called The Shadow's turn. He had managed to escape before, but this time, he would have no chance. Seven hardened ruffians were on their way to attack a wounded man and a helpless girl. The man would be slain; the girl abducted.
This time it meant death to The Shadow!
Chapter XXIII — The Vigilante Squad
Martha Delmar was looking for an umbrella in the closet under the front stairway. It had begun to rain outside, and she was about to leave the house for a drug store, a few blocks away.
The girl found the umbrella, and with it, she uncovered two other objects. One was a crumpled garment; the other was a slouch hat. Martha lifted the cloth, and it spread out. She was holding a black cloak, with crimson lining.
Carefully, the girl folded the garment and placed it and the hat in the corner where she had discovered them. She realized that The Shadow, when he had come here the night before, had first dropped his hat and cloak before revealing himself in the guise of Henry Arnaud.
The girl's hand touched something on the floor where the cloak had lain. It proved to be a gun. She left the weapon untouched.
In the hallway, Martha paused. She heard a sound from above. Looking up, she saw Henry Arnaud, fully clad, standing at the top of the stairway. His tall form was erect; but his right hand rested heavily upon the banister.
His face was pale and drawn; but his eyes reflected a vivid sparkle. The girl looked toward his left arm. It rested loosely at his side, and from the fingers Martha caught the glow of the fire opal — a vivid spark that simulated the flashing eyes.
"You must go back!" exclaimed Martha, in a worried voice. "You are not well! You must rest—"
Henry Arnaud smiled as he slowly descended the steps, holding firmly to the rail.
"Have you forgotten the answer to my telegram?" he inquired quietly. "It is nine o'clock, now." The girl remembered. A wire had come from New York, that morning. It had stated that the bonds were being shipped; that they would be delivered at nine o'clock.
It had carried two code letters — M and V — evidently referring to the securities that had been ordered. Henry Arnaud had reached the bottom of the steps.
"We are facing danger," he said. "The danger is grave; it may strike soon. I am now able to face it, but I must move alone. So I have provided for your protection. You are going away, to safety, until the menace is ended."
Martha made no reply. She did not understand.
"By airplane from New York," murmured Henry Arnaud, half aloud. "Then by automobile. Here by nine o'clock. It is nine, now."
Arnaud stopped. He was staring at the door. Martha saw the steely glint in his eyes — the sparkle that she had seen in the eyes of The Shadow. She stared in the direction of his gaze — toward the front door. The door had opened, and three masked men were advancing. They were uncouth, roughly dressed fellows. Each carried a gleaming revolver, and their weapons were covering Henry Arnaud and Martha Delmar.
The girl gasped. She knew the stories of past activities in Middletown. These men were vigilantes, organized to deal mob violence. Somehow, they had learned that Henry Arnaud was in this house. They had identified him with the cause of Hubert Salisbury, whom all Middletown now cursed. Bravely, the girl placed herself in front of Henry Arnaud. This man was wounded. He was a guest in her home. Defiantly, she faced the invaders.