“Easy, Cady,” said Marquette.
The two men were walking across the lobby. A third individual was watching them. He had arisen from a chair near the spot where Marquette had been seated. It was Silk Elverton. The smart crook was close enough to hear Marquette mention Cady’s name.
“I’ve found—” Cady was beginning to tell Marquette the result of his investigation.
With a swift stride, Silk Elverton blocked the path of the two men. The crook’s hand was coming from his pocket. Cady, his own hand ready, sensed the menace. Leaping backward, the detective drew his gun. At the same instant, Silk’s stub-nosed revolver flashed from his pocket.
It was a simultaneous draw; and Silk Elverton won, thanks to his squatty gun. He pressed the trigger, while Cady’s finger was wavering.
With the same skill that he had evidenced in shooting Duffy Bagland in New York, Silk downed the detective with a single shot.
Sprawling on the floor, Cady gamely tried to cry out what he knew. He had a message for Vic Marquette. He must deliver it. His dying words came in gasps that Marquette did not hear. With a savage cry, the secret-service operative rushed in a leap upon Silk Elverton.
Marquette was gripping the crook’s wrist. Silk swung his hand free, and landed his revolver barrel against the side of Marquette’s head. The operative slumped. Silk wrested free and brandished his revolver.
The clerk had ducked behind the desk. Scattered guests were behind chairs. The way was free for the daring crook to make a perfect get-away.
But Silk was in no hurry. Calmly, he leveled his revolver at Vic Marquette, who was rising groggily from the floor. Staring eyes of witnesses were upon Silk Elverton. Cowering men knew that they were to see a second murder, more cold-blooded than the first that had taken place before their eyes.
Not one person looked toward the rear of the lobby. No one saw what was happening there.
The door to the rear entrance had opened. A strange, avenging figure garbed in black stood shrouded in gloom. The blazing eyes of The Shadow were squarely upon Silk Elverton. The menacing muzzle of an automatic swung into action.
As Silk Elverton, with gloating lips and murderous hand, was on the point of ending Vic Marquette’s life, The Shadow’s automatic blazed forth its staying message. A tongue of flame shot from the big-muzzled gun. A timely bullet shattered Silk Elverton’s wrist.
The crook staggered sidewise as the revolver clattered from his useless fingers. His left hand seize his wounded wrist. Murder — escape — both were forgotten by Silk in the frenzy of that moment. Wild oaths escaped the crook’s lips.
The rear door had closed; the muzzle of The Shadow’s gun still showed at the crack of the door, and the peering eyes of the hidden avenger followed Silk Elverton’s actions.
Men were rising from their spots of safety, emboldened by this sudden turn of events. Vic Marquette was getting to his feet.
Madly, Silk Elverton staggered toward the revolving door. He was destined never to reach that spot. The Shadow was in readiness to prevent his escape, but other hands intervened to stay the grim avenger’s bullet.
Three men precipitated themselves upon Silk Elverton. The crook went down under the attack. Vic Marquette was joining the crowd. The murderer had no chance to escape.
Donald Cady’s body lay silent on the floor. The detective was dead. The Shadow had saved him once tonight; the second stroke of Kendall’s forces had succeeded in sending the sleuth to his doom.
A solemn laugh sounded beyond the barrier whence The Shadow was departing.
The black-garbed master regretted the death of Donald Cady. The sleuth was a victim of his own stupidity. His visit to Foulkrod Kendall had been an admissible mistake; his folly of crying out to Vic Marquette in the lobby had been inexcusable. That mistake — not The Shadow’s late arrival — was the real cause of Donald Cady’s death.
In order to save Cady from Tim Mecke, The Shadow had been forced to leave before Silk Elverton had called Foulkrod Kendall. Circumstances had worked to aid the plotters in the slaying of Detective Cady, but The Shadow had prevented the villains from reaping the fruits of success.
Silk Elverton, connecting link in the present regime of crime, was a prisoner, to be delivered into the hands of the law. A dozen men had seen him commit open murder in the lobby of the New Avalon Hotel.
Vic Marquette had not learned of Donald Cady’s discovery at the silverware plant, but The Shadow knew the truth. The power of the master fighter had triumphed, even though the hosts of crime had eliminated one man from the forces who sided with justice.
Through it all, the presence of The Shadow had remained hidden. Men of crime were halted; the secrets which Foulkrod Kendall held had been discovered.
The Shadow knew all!
CHAPTER XVII
THE PENALTY OF CRIME
TIME had passed in the city of New Avalon. A strange lull had followed the exciting episodes in which The Shadow had played the chief role. Foulkrod Kendall, seated in his living room, was anxiously studying an evening newspaper. Clayton Landow and Doctor Conrad Guyon were also present.
“Well,” remarked Clayton Landow, “that crook Elverton will get his tomorrow midnight. He deserves the chair if any one ever did.”
Foulkrod Kendall shifted uneasily.
“A strange case,” observed Doctor Guyon eying young Landow seriously. “The man will not talk. I have questioned him during my trips to the State prison.”
“Imagine his nerve,” said Landow, “Coming here and posing as an Englishman — a silverware representative. They found out he was a fake when they began to investigate. That secret-service operative — Marquette — started plenty rolling, didn’t he?”
“Elverton’s case puzzles me,” declared Kendall. “The man doesn’t look like a crook. He didn’t act like one.”
“He’s crooked just the same,” returned Landow. “He was the fellow who tried to hold up our armored car that night. It’s too bad they didn’t land his confederates.”
“Elverton has confessed nothing,” said Kendall thoughtfully. “That is one puzzling feature.”
“He didn’t have to confess,” said Landow. “They got him for murder — right in the hotel lobby. The whole thing is obvious. Elverton was down there to waylay the armored wagon. Cady had been in to see you that evening — he got mixed in the brawl. After Elverton crippled the truck, he was afraid to go through with it. He went after Cady instead.”
Foulkrod Kendall nodded as though in agreement. Inwardly, the millionaire was perplexed. He could not understand the presence of that second car — nor the firing of the shot that had crippled Silk Elverton.
“He must have had at least one pal,” went on Landow. “The fellow with him was sore because he went after Cady instead of getting the armored car. So his pal shot him from the back of the hotel lobby.”
“That is logical,” interposed Doctor Guyon quietly. “Nevertheless, I cannot understand why Elverton refuses to talk. If his confederate double-crossed him, why doesn’t Elverton name the man?”
“You can’t figure out crooks,” asserted Landow. “Cady said enough to Marquette to let him know that there had been a mix-up on the road. Say — it’s funny that Cady stopped up here.”
“Not at all,” said Kendall quickly. “Cady kept an eye on the settlement. He merely stopped in here to mention that he was on the job. That wasn’t the first night that he had called.”
The doorbell rang. A servant came in to announce that Tim Mecke was calling. Kendall fidgeted. He covered up his action and ordered the servant to bring the man in.
CLAYTON LANDOW waved a greeting when Mecke entered. Tim had covered himself with glory on the night when Elverton had murdered Cady. The camouflaged gangster had become a hero at the plant and around the theaters.