Выбрать главу

You forgot to put back the pass-key, didn't you? Left it in your coat upstairs. And you topped it by mentioning the place behind the bookcase. That drove it through Tyrune's thick skull -"

"Silence him, Cardona!" snapped Chanbury. "I have the gems. I have admitted the possession of them.

That proves -"

"That you murdered Jim Tyrune!" cackled Henshew, in insane enjoyment. "He was honest. He was through with you. He was going to call Cardona when he got home. That's what he was starting to do at the telephone."

Henshew settled back into his chair maddened by his own choking laughter. Above the crook's high-pitched chuckles came a more ominous mockery: the mirth of The Shadow.

Chanbury's fists were on the desk, his arms straining to support his body. He steadied; his knee raised slightly to nudge the buzzer below the desk top. Only The Shadow saw the motion. Rallied, Chanbury coughed his denial.

"You found Shark's mask," he voiced to Cardona. "That was proof against the killer -"

"A funny thing, that mask" inserted Cardona grimly. "Come to think of it, it was the first one Shark ever dumped. You know, Chanbury, they sell lots of bandannas, in every five and ten. It's easy to cut slits in them too. Any one could do it."

It was Joe's turn to talk and he was doing it. He stopped only to learn if Chanbury had something to say.

Defensively, Chanbury demanded:

"Why should I turn criminal? Look at this mansion - my art treasures -"

Chanbury stopped; he had seen The Shadow turn away. The Shadow was noting portraits on the wall.

As his eyes fixed upon one, The Shadow spoke:

"Faces from the past. I remember this one. Its owner thought the portrait was genuine; it was later declared a clever fraud. Perhaps he bought the original, but received the imitation -"

"Like my father did!" exclaimed Eleanor. "His paintings were proven false! He couldn't believe it. That is why he committed suicide."

"As Tyrune did!"

WITH those words, The Shadow's eyes met Eleanor's. His gaze called for action that The Shadow had told her would be needed. His back toward Chanbury, The Shadow was playing his master stroke. He was giving Chanbury an opening to betray himself without further proof.

Chanbury took it. Springing back from the desk, he yanked a gun from his pocket and aimed straight for The Shadow. The cloaked form faded; but its shift was unnecessary. Eleanor had acted at The Shadow's signal. She had the automatic from her pocket; she pressed the trigger before Chanbury could fire.

The crook staggered, a bullet in his elbow. Cardona and the detectives were surging for him. Their revolvers withered him as he tried to prop his right hand with his left. The grizzled crook rolled forward on the desk; toppled sideways and fell to the floor.

There was a clatter in the hall. Chanbury had counted on his servants; they were here, but too late to rescue him, thanks to the crippling shot that Eleanor had supplied. Crooks to the core, the armed invaders were willing to riddle Cardona's squad; but their chance never came.

Blackness blocked the door in front of them. Big automatics sprawled the foremost of the band. Others flung their guns aside; they cowered, arms raised in surrender. The Shadow's laugh echoed along the gallery. The lips of stolen portraits seemed to quiver in reply.

The mocking tone faded. Into the room came Chanbury's followers, herded by The Shadow. Detectives clapped handcuffs on them. Cardona drew Henshew from his chair. The prisoners began their slow march outward. Cardona ushered Eleanor from the room of death.

The girl gave one glance as she left. Faces from the past reflected her gaze: those wall portraits, to which Eleanor had become accustomed. But there were other faces here tonight, as stilled as painted ones.

They stared from the floor. Shark Meglo's, the face of a murderer; beyond that, the face of Michael Chanbury. Frozen in death, Chanbury's visage had lost its mask of pretense. Its hardened lines showed the murderous character of the man.

Madden Henshew, clever man of crime, had been trapped through the genius of a crook greater than himself.

The Shadow had allowed that outcome, that he might bring a similar disaster upon Henshew's crooked trapper, Michael Chanbury.

No longer did The Shadow linger in the mansion. His triumph finished, he had departed, while the law was rounding up the last prisoners that he had given them. Only Cardona was with Eleanor when she walked through the long gallery toward the marble stairs.

Yet a presence still lingered - one that had dominated from the start. Every move by men of crime had been under The Shadow's surveillance until the conquest of evil stood complete. Only The Shadow could have produced such absolute victory.

The lines of portraits seemed to smile from the walls of the long gallery, as if they knew that they alone had witnessed the departure of The Shadow.

THE END