“DEATH,” remarked Weston Levis sarcastically, “is not a very great annoyance. Particularly when one dies honorably. Such death will be yours. Hadley and I intend to shoot you at the spots where you now are.
“We shall remove the spoils — Hadley and I. The wealth will go to the cellar of this old house, where Hadley has already brought the money which was my share of Birch Bizzup’s loot. While you have lived here, Wendell, half a million has lain beneath your feet — in a small locked room to which I hold the key.
“It was best to have my own wealth here, where it could not be discovered. Birch Bizzup’s share will be added to it. Then, while your dead bodies still lie warm, I shall call the sheriff. He will arrive to learn only of this bloody fray.
“A raid by desperate outlaws — a battle in which they died. You, Wendell — you, Vincent — will be dead heroes. Victims who fell while protecting a helpless old man.”
A pause; then Harvey Wendell uttered a hoarse articulation, a futile challenge which merely brought a mean laugh from Weston Levis.
“You can’t get away with this,” asserted Wendell. “Your crimes will find you out—”
“My crimes?” Levis was ironic. “No one will suspect me of any crime. My standing is too high. All questions will be answered, Wendell. Your status as a State investigator will serve to my advantage.
“I shall explain how you were here, spying upon Zach Telvin, the escaped convict, who had chosen the island as a hide-out, along with other rogues. You, in turn, were spied upon. The crooks came here to get you.
“I shall attribute the victory to Hadley — tell how he entered the battle and slew the crooks after they had murdered you and Vincent. I, a helpless eyewitness, cowering at the end of the room, expecting to die also.”
Wendell had no answer. Harry Vincent knew that the investigator was at a loss. Weston Levis chuckled in a merciless tone. His mirth was the death sentence.
“We are ready, Hadley” said the old man quietly. “We shall make this finish a dramatic one. I am covering these men” — Levis was holding his revolver steadily — “and you can play your part with relish. Come in from the door; blaze away, and do your work.
“Do not fear failure. I am as sure a hand as you. These men are at my mercy also. They will find that the only mercy which I allow is that of quick and certain death.”
HARRY VINCENT, staring from the corner of his eye, saw a malicious grin appear upon Hadley’s face.
To give realistic touch to the approaching tragedy, the overseer turned and stepped beyond the door.
Weston Levis, his eyes beady and cunning, held Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell helpless.
“All tight, Hadley,” ordered the old man.
Foreboding gripped Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell. They were staring at Weston Levis. They met the glint of the old fiend’s eyes. They could hear a growl from Hadley beyond the door of the room. They saw Weston Levis turn to glance at the overseer.
Then came a startling change. The leer upon the face of Weston Levis turned to a soured expression. The glaring eyes blinked as they stared toward the door.
Harry Vincent, turning his gaze in the same direction, saw the cause — something which Harvey Wendell, from his angle of vision, could not observe.
The growl from Hadley — a heavy tread at the doorway — both had been deceptive. Some one had stepped through the opening, but the arrival was not the overseer.
Weston Levis, his eyes mad with fury, was staring squarely at a tall form clad in black — a sinister being whose burning eyes outshone the maddened light of Weston Levis’ gaze. Those eyes were the only features that were discernible. From between the upturned collar of a black cloak and the down-turned brim of a slouch hat, they peered like orbs of retribution!
Weston Levis, superfiend, was face to face with The Shadow. In place of Hadley, the phantom had returned. The invisible master of the night had come to meet the scheming crook.
Weston Levis had revealed his part in crime. Now, The Shadow had retaliated. He had revealed himself as a champion of justice!
The eyes of The Shadow shone like living coals!
CHAPTER XXIII. WEALTH RESTORED
FOR a long, lingering instant, the strange tableau remained unchanged. Weston Levis was staring at The Shadow. Harvey Wendell was gazing toward Weston Levis. Harry Vincent could see both Levis and The Shadow.
Then came the climax. With a venomous snarl, Levis whipped his revolver toward the phantom shape at the door. The old man’s action was performed with amazing rapidity. Levis pressed his finger to the trigger.
A terrific report sounded from the doorway. The tongued flame of an automatic burst forth. The Shadow, his gun projecting from a hand that was close to his black cloaked form, had acted with his unfailing precision.
Weston Levis staggered. His gun hand faltered. The Shadow’s bullet had clipped the old man’s arm.
There was method in The Shadow’s aim. At the very instant when he fired, the black-garbed avenger had seen Harvey Wendell spring into action.
Desperately, the investigator had made a mad break for life. As Levis staggered back, Wendell was upon him, drawing his revolver. Wendell heard the roaring shot; amid the cannon-like report he sought to seize the fiend before him.
Madly, Levis tried to stop this new antagonist. He showed grim nerve as he wrested free and managed to raise his wounded arm. His aim was faltering; had it been true, it would have availed him nothing. For Harry Vincent, still watching the figure of The Shadow, saw that the avenger was ready to deliver another bullet.
Then Harry leaped into action, coming to his senses. He drew out his own gun as he sprang. It was a gesture on Harry’s part; one that was unneeded, but which served as a role in the drama which The Shadow had created.
Covered by The Shadow’s automatic, with Harry Vincent coming from the other side, Weston Levis was in a hopeless case. But with his evil frenzy, he was making a last vain effort to combat the man whom he had tricked — Harvey Wendell.
The investigator, forgetting Harry, and unaware of The Shadow’s presence, was the one who acted.
Seeing Weston Levis swinging a revolver in his direction, the investigator fired from three feet away.
Levis wavered. His fiendish expression faded upon his face. His lips twitched. He collapsed upon the floor. His revolver, no longer held by fingers which had worked with sheer determination, clattered upon the floor.
Harvey Wendell stopped short as he saw the fiend fall. Realizing that he had delivered the fatal shot, the investigator stooped above the quivering body, forgetful of all else. He saw Weston Levis gasp, then caught the glassy stare in the old man’s eyes.
Weston Levis lay still. He had proven his own statement: that death was no more than a quick, short episode, when properly administered.
HARRY VINCENT was looking across the room. Beyond the body of Weston Levis, past Harvey Wendell’s stooping shoulders, Harry could see The Shadow. He caught the motion of the automatic, as it was replaced beneath the folds of the black cloak. He saw the beckoning motion of The Shadow’s hand.
Then, with a quick swing, The Shadow turned. The cloak swished; Harry saw a flash of its crimson lining.
Like a specter of darkness, The Shadow disappeared into the blackness beyond the door. Harry followed toward the door.
“Levis is dead!” Harvey Wendell looked up as he pronounced the words. The investigator was astonished to see that Harry Vincent was no longer beside him.