Weston Levis, in suggesting that the funds be listed, had struck a chord of agreement. The thought of the recovered wealth was strong enough to take all minds away from those bodies on the floor.
Yet Harry Vincent, as he called off the numbers of bank notes, still remained perturbed. So far as Levis and Wendell were concerned, there was no reason why Harry should not be nervous. They did not know Harry’s true calling — that as an agent of The Shadow, he had encountered situations like this before.
Harvey Wendell had curbed his nervousness. The investigator had seen men die before.
Most surprising of all, however, was the calmness which had possessed Weston Levis. The old man, recovered from the fright that he had shown, was sitting as stolid as a statue. He seemed absorbed in watching the wealth that passed before his eyes as Harry Vincent dropped the bundles of bank notes back into the boxes.
It was the old man’s calmness that finally lulled Harry into a complete indifference regarding his surroundings. Now that the excitement was over, Harry, too, gained the fascination of counting off the vast supply of wealth. His tone became methodical. He turned to gold certificates and handled them rapidly. Liberty bonds and other securities; stacks of gold; all followed in turn. When the work was completed, Harry sat upon one filled box and Wendell rested on the other.
The investigator was calmly adding figures. Harry watched him, completely forgetful, of Weston Levis.
It was then that the old man uttered the first sound that he had made since the work had commenced.
Harry heard Levis chuckle, and smiled as he caught the satisfaction in the tone. The chuckle was repeated — then again — and again.
Harvey Wendell looked up from his figures and stared toward the old man’s chair. Harry Vincent followed suit. Both men stared in astonishment at what they saw.
Weston Levis was no longer seated in his chair. The old man was standing, a revolver in his hand, facing the two who sat before him.
The threatening muzzle of the gun — the wicked gleam in the old man’s eyes — both were a menace more terrible than the entry of the crooks. From the kindly face of an elderly gentleman, Levis’ visage had changed to the countenance of a fiend.
Horror, more than fear, gripped Harvey Wendell and Harry Vincent. Both were armed with loaded guns, but freed from any dread of a new attack, the State investigator and The Shadow’s agent had now pocketed their weapons.
The expression that Weston Levis wore was one that brooked no opposition. For an instant, Harry Vincent thought that the old man had gone mad. Then, the crafty glint of Levis’ eyes was more apparent.
Thin lips moved, and an evil voice spoke forth ironic words that could have come only by a man in full possession of a sound brain.
“You have done well,” sneered Weston Levis. “You have regained the stolen wealth. You have brought it here to me. The time has come for our accounting!”
CHAPTER XXII. THE REVELATION
WESTON LEVIS paused after uttering his first derisive statement. The old man was holding his revolver in a steady hand. His eyes were watching for any movement on the part of the two whom he covered.
Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell were both aware that a single motion would mean instant death.
Levis seemed to read their thoughts.
“Death,” remarked the old man, “is not a bitter thought. View those corpses upon the floor. They were living only a short while ago. They are silent now — as you, soon will be.
“You are wondering if I have gone mad. Quiet your minds on that point. I am sane — and wise. You are sane — and foolish. You, Wendell, are the greater fool. Vincent’s folly is excusable. He has not known me a long time.”
The old man paused to emit one of his derisive chuckles. He spoke again, eyeing both of the helpless men before him, but concentrating his remarks upon Harvey Wendell.
“You, Wendell,” remarked Levis, “considered Birch Bizzup to be a superior type of bank robber. You considered him to be a craftsman. You were wrong. He was nothing but an ordinary crook — backed by brains. My brains!
“I arranged Bizzup’s forays; advised him where to strike. I was a man who served on many boards, but whose holdings were comparatively small. I designed the raids, and Bizzup did the work. This wealth which you have just been tabulating is Bizzup’s share of the spoils. I received my percentage from every raid.”
Glittering eyes and leering lips — these were the features which predominated the old man’s face. Weston Levis was revealing his part in crime. Harry Vincent, tense and worried, realized that he and Harvey Wendell were trapped by an arch plotter.
The Shadow was gone — that Harry knew from his observations by the window. Weston Levis had been more cunning than he knew. He had not only deceived the men who had found the buried money; to all appearances he had tricked The Shadow also!
“I knew that Bizzup was burying his wealth,” gloated Levis. “It was his share of the swag — he was welcome to it. Bizzup was getting dangerous, however. I gave him more difficult assignments. At last, when he was wanted dead or alive, he was taken — dead.
“The spoils that he had gained? You traced them, Wendell. When you told me of the island, I planned to aid you in your search. You followed my advice. No one but Hadley and myself knew what you were after here. You kept your quest to yourself.”
AT that juncture there was a motion at the door. Hadley, leering as he swaggered into the room, stepped within range of vision, his hand upon his gun.
“You were doomed from the time you came here, Wendell,” pronounced old Levis. “Doomed if ever you found that buried wealth. Hadley and I were watching you. We let you search while we waited. We were wise.
“Three crooks arrived. A complication? Not for us. You were watching the crooks; you were reporting all that you learned to me. With Hadley in readiness, I was waiting for the turn of events I needed. It came, tonight.
“With Vincent, a chance entrant into the situation, you found Bizzup’s store of wealth. You brought it here. When I ordered Wendell to get the sheriff, you were going to stow the money out of sight.
“You and Vincent were going to the island with the posse. Hadley, you thought, was to remain here. Not at all. He would have traveled with you, to shoot you in the backs when you reached the island. Those mysterious shots would have been sufficient cause for a posse to annihilate the three crooks.” Levis laughed. With Hadley standing, gun in hand, the old man could relax his vigilance. He indicated the three dead crooks.
“Those men came here,” declared Levis. “They turned the tables; but I turned them back. Hadley had them covered. I gave him the signal, and he understood.
“He shot one down; but he lingered on the other two, long enough to let them fire. By all rights, you two” — Levis was scowling at Wendell and Harry — “should have died. I expected better marksmanship from those two crooks.”
Harry Vincent understood it all. He knew now why Hadley had faltered in his fire. The overseer had deliberately given the crooks an opportunity to kill the helpless men whom they were covering.
It was not faulty aim, however, that had saved Harvey Wendell and Harry Vincent. The intervention of The Shadow had been the cause.
The Shadow!
Dully, Harry realized that the confidence which Harvey Wendell had shown in Weston Levis was sufficient reason for the black-clad phantom to believe that the old man favored the cause of justice.
Somewhere in the night, Harry had heard the faint taunt of The Shadow’s laugh — the sardonic tone which invariably signified the departure of the master warrior. Justice — to all appearances — had prevailed.
With justice triumphant, there was no further need for The Shadow’s mighty presence. But justice had been balked. Victory was fading. Death was looming before Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell, the two who had fought in the cause of right.