“Guns,” remarked Wilberton, “are noisy and troublesome.”
Crowley was following him to the door and took his place there, still covering the men by the table. “I have a much better way” — Wilberton was affecting pleasantry — “a far better way to dispose of you!”
He drew a cord from behind a picture.
“When this is pulled,” he said, “a gas will enter the room. It will not be unpleasant. You will die easily — with nothing but regrets for your folly.
“When I draw the cord, Crowley will open the door. I shall leave; he will follow. His gun, by the way, will go last. Crowley is an excellent shot.
“Until the door is finally closed, you will not be freed from the menace of his automatic. Once the cord is drawn, I may add, nothing can stop the flow of gas. That has been arranged!”
Wilberton looked at Crowley. The man nodded. Wilberton drew the cord. There was a slight hissing somewhere in the room. It ended immediately. The gas was flowing.
“Open the door, Crowley,” ordered Wilberton.
A CRY came from Crowley as he placed his hand upon the knob. He was staggered by a powerful electric shock. He fell forward, the automatic dropping from his grasp.
Before Wilberton could seize the weapon, The Shadow’s arms were outstretched. Each gloved hand held an automatic.
Crowley had risen to his knees. His hands were above his head. Wilberton’s hands were also raised.
“Come,” said The Shadow to Griscom. The man in black went to the door. His gloved hand turned the knob. This time there was no shock. The door opened.
Howard Griscom stepped through the doorway. The Shadow remained in the room, his automatics covering the occupants. He smiled slightly. Then he, too, stepped swiftly out. The door closed behind him.
In the hallway, he detached a wire from the outside door knob and disconnected the other end from a floor plug. Then The Shadow’s hand darted into his cloak. When it emerged, a pistol shot blazed in the darkness. With one bullet the lock on the door had been jammed.
Even with a key, Wilberton and Crowley would not be able to escape the doom that they deserved.
But with that shot came a surprise attack. A door of a side room opened. The Shadow stood revealed in the light — a tall, black figure.
Four gangsters were there — Wilberton’s trusted bodyguards, murderers all!
It was an instant before they understood the presence of the man in black. These men of Wilberton’s own murder squad were kept by him for emergencies. They had come at the sound of the shot; but they had not known of The Shadow’s presence.
In that one moment of hesitation, The Shadow acted. Crouched against the wall, Howard Griscom stared in amazement. Instead of firing his automatic, The Shadow hurled himself into the midst of the mob!
Then came shots. They were fired by the gangsters; but not a bullet reached its mark.
Hands that held guns were struck upward. A gangster was thrown headlong against the wall. Another staggered from a blow and fell. One man seized The Shadow. Together they rolled upon the floor.
The last gunman was waiting eagerly, to fire the death shot without hitting his companion. But even as his finger pressed the trigger, a shot came from the floor.
The Shadow’s gun had spoken, with its perfect aim! The eager gangster slumped. Griscom saw a black-clad arm rise. The butt of The Shadow’s gun struck the head of the man who was battling with him.
The last of the gangsters lay motionless.
The man in black rose to his feet. He moved swiftly along the hallway, motioning silently to Griscom. They left by a side door.
Outside, a car was awaiting them. As they rolled along the street, policemen shot by on motor cycles. They were rushing to the scene of the firing.
Griscom stared from the window of the car as they passed. What would the police find? Gangsters — crippled or dead — the bodies of two evil men in a gas-filled room!
The car had stopped to let a patrol wagon go by. Griscom watched the police vehicle; then he turned to speak to The Shadow. He received no reply. He turned on the dome light.
He was alone in the back of the limousine! Silently, mysteriously, The Shadow had left the car. The man in black had vanished into the night!
CHAPTER XXII
RACKETS DOOMED
CLIFF MARSLAND was reading the latest copy of the New York Sphere. The newspaper was a week old. Arline Griscom smiled as she saw him devouring the reports.
They were on their honeymoon in France. Howard Griscom had suggested the trip.
Arline told her father the truth about her brother. He had borne it easily, for the ending of his recent worries had made him able to stand a shock from the past.
The strange deaths of Stanley Wilberton and his secretary, Crowley, were being investigated by the New York police. The financier and his man had been connected with racketeering, as revealed by police findings.
It was believed that they had been doomed to die by the gangsters who had later battled in the hallway.
The bodies of Durgan, Shires, and Madge had been found in the uptown house. Another gang killing! A feud that would never be solved!
With the death of Stanley Wilberton, the greatest racket of all had been stopped!
Arline uttered an exclamation of delight as she saw a headline over Cliff’s shoulder. She pointed to it.
The great theatrical merger had been arranged! It had been financed through the efforts of Lamont Cranston. He had not been interviewed. The newspaper stated that he had left New York for a trip abroad.
Cliff smiled. Behind the headlines he could read facts that were not set forth in print.
He knew — even though the Sphere did not — how the rackets had been ended. Yet he did not know all.
One thing Cliff wondered about: Did a mysterious, black-cloaked figure move eerily through the night, half a world away? A figure, which, perhaps, was again taking up the battle against lawlessness?
For only that one man was able to pick up the trail of powerful, sinister forces which might be even then at work, and that man was The Shadow!