The end was here. Silk knew that his pals had failed him. He said nothing. Deep silence pervaded the death room as the contacts were completed. Warden Barringer glanced at his watch and gave a signal.
Silk Elverton’s form quivered as it received the death current. Observers were too tense to even gasp. They saw the distorted countenance of the man in the electric chair. The dimming lights within the room made the scene a fearful one.
Upstairs, Tim Mecke gave a groan as the lights in the anteroom began to flicker. The gangster knew the meaning of the dull illumination. Current, taken from the dynamos, was serving another purpose than that of illumination. Silk Elverton was paying the penalty for crime.
Some one had played the double cross. It could have been Foulkrod Kendall; it could have been the governor. Whoever it was, the man would pay. Tim Mecke would see to that. He could still threaten Kendall; if the millionaire could prove that he had not perpetrated the hoax, Tim would square this affair with Hiram Landow himself!
IN the death room below, calm men were studying Silk Elverton’s twisted body. Doctor Conrad Guyon spoke the final words. He pronounced the murderer dead. The body was to be removed for the autopsy required by State law. White-faced reporters began to file from the room.
Tim Mecke heard the solemn throng as the men passed the door of the anteroom. He listened to awed voices, then heard the harsher statements of more hardened witnesses. The story was going to the newspapers for early edition publication.
Warden Barringer walked by, talking to men who were with him. He went into the inner office, without even noticing Tim Mecke’s presence in the outside room.
The telephone beside Tim began to ring. Mechanically, the gangster picked it up. He heard the voice of Foulkrod Kendall, excitedly inquiring the reason for Tim’s call.
“You’re too late,” said Tim, in a dull tone. “That pardon you gave me was a phony.”
Tim heard a startled exclamation across the line.
“You say the governor signed it?” quizzed Tim, in a low voice. “Well, he fooled you, then. You’d better get back to New Avalon tonight. I’ll be waiting to see you. I’m ready to blow the works if I think you played us dirt.”
A wild inquiry came to Tim’s ears.
“Yes,” growled the gangster, “Silk Elverton took the hot seat. He’s dead. I’m going to get some one for it. That’s all.”
The gangster hung up the receiver. He strode from the room and went outside. The drizzle had increased to a rain. Tim did not notice it. He was feverish with repressed rage. Silk Elverton was dead!
Vengeance rankled Tim Mecke’s brain. He would know the reason for this hoax that had cost the life of his pal. Foulkrod Kendall — Hiram Landow — one, perhaps both, would pay! Tim would get the man who had let Silk Elverton ride to doom.
Not for an instant did Tim Mecke suspect the presence of a hidden hand behind Silk Elverton’s visit to the death room. He had not been present to see Governor Landow sign Silk’s pardon. Had he been there at that time, his present anger would have been amazement.
Little did Tim realize that he had actually brought a signed pardon to Warden Willis Barringer; that the signature of Governor Hiram Landow had actually existed up until the moment when the warden had viewed the document!
Every effort had been made to stay the wheels of justice. A hidden power had intervened to render the deserved execution possible. The might of The Shadow had sent Silk Elverton to the death room, over the will of the State’s chief executive!
CHAPTER XX
AFTER DEATH
“CHARLTON will be here shortly,” said Doctor Conrad Guyon. “Then we shall be ready to proceed with the autopsy.”
Warden Willis Barringer nodded. He and the physician were standing in a gloomy, stone-walled room. Before them, stretched upon a low table, was the inert form of Silk Elverton.
“Do you intend to do any of the dissection yourself?” questioned the warden. “Or will you leave it to Doctor Charlton?”
“I shall begin,” declared Guyon. “After that, Charlton may continue while I supervise. Of course, we have Harper here to help us” — the physician indicated a solemn-faced attendant who stood by the door — “so everything will be simplified.”
“Nevertheless,” remarked Barringer, “you are putting yourself out, Doctor Guyon. The autopsy could easily have been postponed until the morning. We could have kept the body at the penitentiary.”
“It is better this way,” asserted Guyon. “Here, in my own dissecting room, I take little account of time. Indeed, I prefer to work at night. It is wise, also, to perform an autopsy of this sort as soon after the execution as is possible.”
As the warden stood silent, Guyon extended his hand to bid the official good night. Harper, the taciturn attendant, began to busy himself in preparation for the autopsy. Barringer turned and walked to the door, with Guyon beside him.
As soon as the warden was gone, Guyon returned and indicated the door. He issued quick commands to his assistant.
“Be sure that the outer door is bolted,” ordered Guyon. “Then get Doctor Charlton on the telephone. Tell him it will not be necessary for him to come until I call him; that I am temporarily engaged, and that I intend to delay the autopsy for a short while.”
While Harper was obeying these instructions, Doctor Guyon began a preliminary study of the body. The physician’s usual languor had entirely disappeared. He was eager and alert tonight.
PLACING his hands upon Silk Elverton’s chest, Guyon began a slow pressure.
When Harper reappeared, the physician was still at work. He ordered the attendant to wheel up a small machine that stood in the corner. Harper complied; Guyon attached an apparatus that covered Elverton’s face. This machine, as Guyon started it with a slow whir, seemed to be having the effect of a pulmotor.
Harper was now standing by. Doctor Guyon made repeated motions which the man seemed to understand. He brought different instruments to the physician. Guyon received a stethoscope which he attached to his ears; he then applied the instrument to the body that lay in front of him.
Long minutes went by. Guyon’s face was apprehensive. He ordered Harper to remove the pulmotor device from Elverton’s face. Still listening intently through the stethoscope, the physician beckoned to the attendant.
“There is a chance, Harper,” he said, as he removed the stethoscope from his head. “A long one — but the possibilities are here. Results will occur rapidly if they occur at all. Bring me the epinephrin.”
Harper appeared with a small box. Guyon took out a hypodermic syringe, he tore aside the clothing that partially covered Elverton’s chest, and placed the point of the needle against the flesh.
There was a tenseness in the physician’s manner. Harper, the silent man beside Guyon, knew the reason. The physician was about to perform the most difficult of all injections; one which could fail if he made the slightest slip. Guyon was sending the point of the needle directly to Elverton’s heart!
Slowly, with calculated precision, Guyon made the injection. He withdrew the needle. He studied the inert form. He nodded to Harper. The test had been made; its success was in the balance.
The stethoscope again. While Guyon used it, Harper appeared with a vial containing a bluish liquid. The physician drew up a quantity of the substance with a dropper. He let three globs of the potent liquid fall within Elverton’s mouth, Harper holding the jaws apart while the operation was performed.
“Another injection may be necessary later on,” observed Guyon, standing with the stethoscope in his hands. “If we succeed, and I believe we shall, there will be a remarkable recovery. I pronounced this man dead, Harper, in time to eliminate another application of the current.”