Graham went back into the house. He sat at a desk and began to write with pen and ink. After several attempts at careful wording, which involved the destruction of unfinished effort, Graham completed his task.
AN hour had passed. There was a ring at the door. Graham went to answer it. He found Carma waiting there. The young man stared coldly, then invited the woman to enter.
Once again, Graham’s eyes did not notice the space beyond the porch. Someone was there — but even had Graham stared coldly, he could not have detected the phantom figure which lingered. That weird shape was almost part of the night itself!
Graham conducted Carma into the living room. They were out of sight of the front door, hence neither saw that barrier open softly. No eyes observed the tall being clad in black that moved with spectral tread as it came to the door of the room itself.
The Shadow had arrived in Southwark. Lost in the gloom of Graham Wellerton’s dimly lighted hallway, this master who battled crime was a silent observer of the interview which was now to take place!
“Well, big boy,” began Carma, “here I am. What have you got to say?”
“Regarding the money that you want?”
“You guessed it.”
“I have made my decision,” declared Graham. “I intend to give you all my money.”
“What!” exclaimed Carma. “The whole amount?”
“Exactly,” returned Graham, “but not at present. That is the only qualification.”
“So that’s it, eh?” jeered Carma. “Trying to stall me?”
“Not at all,” said Graham. “Here is the paper which I have prepared. It is my will.”
“Your will?”
“Yes. A bequeathment — to you — of all the money which I may have when I die.”
“Where do you get that stuff!” sneered Carma. “When you die! How does that help me?”
“I gained the money through my uncle’s death,” declared Graham. “You, in turn, will gain it through mine. My uncle accumulated his wealth through evil practices. He left it to me because he felt that I would use it to further crime.
“Instead, I have been using the cash for good. In respect of my uncle’s feelings — no matter how unfair they may have been — I shall cease my philanthropies. I intend to live upon the interest, keeping the principal.
“Should I survive you, I shall be free to use the money as I wish. Should you survive me, the entire capital will be yours. That is a fair arrangement — a sporting chance for both of us.”
“Yeah?” questioned Carma, in a malicious tone. “Well, it doesn’t suit me, big boy. How do you like that? Come across on a fifty-fifty basis, or I squeal.”
“Good,” decided Graham. “If you do that, I shall destroy this will and leave all my money to charity.”
“You will go to prison.”
“For twenty years at the most. Perhaps less. I have already arranged to make restitution of funds that I have stolen. I do not relish a term in the penitentiary, but when I am free, I shall still have the bulk of my uncle’s millions.
“Then, if you survive me, you will gain nothing. Even your claim for a widow’s share will be nullified — in all probability. You have your choice — all when I die or nothing.”
“And how does that help me now?”
“I must mention that, Carma. So long as you live, I shall provide you with a comfortable income, provided that you remain away from Southwark and keep silent. If you fail in either of these terms, I shall cut off the money that I am giving you; and I shall be willing to take the consequences.”
“You think I won’t squeal?” scoffed Carma.
“I think you will,” rejoined Graham calmly. “Nevertheless, I am willing to face the music.”
“All right, big boy,” threatened Carma. “Get ready for a lot of trouble.”
“Better think it over, Carma,” suggested Graham. “I shall have this will witnessed tonight. I am calling my lawyer, Harwin Dowser, to tell him that I have prepared the document. On Monday, I shall deliver it to him, unless I should happen to see him before then.
“Dowser does not know that I am married. When he learns that fact, he will not be surprised to learn that I have left my estate to my wife. This will does not incriminate me in any way. So there is your opportunity, Carma. Wait — in hopes of gaining all, and live while you wait; or squeal and get nothing.”
“I’ll think it over,” snarled Carma, rising. “You’ll hear from me soon enough. Go ahead — get the will witnessed. I’m in no hurry, now that I’ve had your answer.”
THE woman arose. She walked to the door. Graham did not accompany her. Carma went directly past the spot where The Shadow was standing. She did not see the tall being in black, nor did Graham.
Still in the living room, Graham heard the door slam. He did not hear it reopen softly as The Shadow, too, departed.
Graham went to the telephone to call some friends in Southwark. His purpose was to arrange an appointment for the witnessing of the will. Graham was resigned to whatever might occur. He would wait here until he heard from Carma.
Meanwhile, Carma was going back to the Southwark House. Arrived at the hotel, the woman entered a phone booth in the drug store which adjoined it. As she telephoned, Carma did not notice the tall, silently moving individual who took the next booth. She did not realize that every word she said could be heard.
One call completed, Carma hung up the receiver and waited a few minutes. Then she stepped from the booth and consulted the telephone directory. Eyes were watching as Carma found the name she wanted — that of Ralph Delkin. The number was Southwark 68.
Returning to the booth, Carma called six eight. A sneering curl showed on the woman’s ruddy lips as a voice answered at the other end. In smooth, easy tones, Carma began to speak. As she talked, The Shadow listened!
Carma, tonight, had received her answer. She knew that Graham Wellerton would persist in his intention. Now, Carma was plotting to turn the answer into a fortune greater than the one she had demanded!
CHAPTER XXI
THE PLOT BREAKS
GRAHAM WELLERTON spent a quiet Sunday in his home. The cloudy day seemed to hold the gloom of an approaching storm. Southwark was a dreary town on such a day as this. Graham saw no reason to venture forth.
Evening came. Graham, seated in his living room, heard a ring at the door. He decided that Carma must be here. He went to the door and opened it. He was surprised to find Sheriff Ellis Taussig.
“Hello, sheriff,” greeted Graham. “What’s up?”
“Nothing special,” responded Taussig. “I just came in from Dowser’s. He thought maybe you would ride out and see him.”
“Why didn’t he phone me?” asked Graham.
“The line’s out of order,” returned Taussig. “Dowser may be going out of town early tomorrow. He wants to see you, because he says you have some paper to give him.”
“I have,” said Graham. “But I am also expecting a visitor.”
“Leave a note on the door,” suggested Taussig. “We can get back here in a little while. An hour, say.”
His keenness aroused, Graham suspected some special purpose in the sheriff’s visit. Taussig was tactful. Graham half believed that if he refused to accompany the man, trouble might result. If anything had started, it would be best to learn about it now. Graham penned a brief note and stuck it to the door. He pocketed his witnessed will and went out to the sheriff’s car.
Taussig said but little during the ride to Dowser’s. They swung in through a gate, up a long lane among thick trees and stopped at the lawyer’s home. The sheriff kept very close to his companion as the pair entered the house.