“He did it when we were going up to the art gallery,” exclaimed Clyde. “The first time we went up. Roger stopped to light a cigarette near that door. And I think that he signaled later, from the window of the living room.”
“Hothan bolted the door after coming in,” added Royce. “Then he went to the gallery, unbolted the connecting door to the north wing, went through and let in the mob-leader and the crew.”
“Hothan made a lucky find in the art gallery,” stated Wingate. “He must have recognized that the Moorish picture was a skull, when he came back from the north wing. We surprised him when we arrived; and then” — the lawyer’s tone sobered — “then I killed him.”
“YOU killed him?” snorted Cardona. “Where do you get that? I’ve been looking at the body, along with the local doctor. Say — you only nicked him with that .32 of yours. But you gave Roger Parchell a chance to get rid of the guy. He finished him with the .38. He didn’t want to give Hothan a chance to squawk.”
“About the fight that followed,” began Wingate. “It was very strange. We were rescued by a strange unknown fighter—”
“Let’s forget those complications,” interrupted Cardona. “Whoever helped you was in the right. Whoever dropped Roger Parchell picked off a murderer. I’ve got labels for all the mugs who were shot in that gallery. Just let it pass. You fellows were fighting to resist criminal invaders. This house belongs to Selwood Royce; he gave guns to you, Wingate, and to you, Burke. The three of you are square with the law.”
Clyde Burke smiled. He knew that Joe Cardona had figured out The Shadow’s part. Wisely, the detective was covering the fact that The Shadow had been present.
Joe knew that The Shadow preferred to remain in the dark. Time and again, the cloaked fighter had aided Cardona in struggles against crime. The ace was returning the favor.
“Roger Parchell knew that fifty thousand dollars was all that he was to get,” summed up Cardona. “He wanted to grab a million — and he played a foxy game to get it. But he shot his bolt. He got what he deserved.”
Others nodded. Then Selwood Royce smiled.
“It was a terrific battle.” he decided. “Too bad, in a way, that Lamont Cranston wasn’t here to aid us. I understand he’s a big-game hunter. He would have proven a valuable ally.”
“I’m glad Cranston isn’t here,” remarked Wingate, dryly. “There are no scarabs in with the treasure. If Hildrew Parchell had any scarabs, he must have disposed of them. Cranston would have been disappointed.”
“That’s true. By the way, Wingate, you were somewhat mistrustful of Cranston, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I was suspicious of him when he first came to see me. I had him watched after he left the apartment. But I decided later that he must have once met Hildrew Parchell.”
WHILE these men were speaking of Lamont Cranston, their own names were, curiously, under consideration somewhere else. A light was gleaming in The Shadow’s sanctum. The cloaked fighter had returned to Manhattan.
The Shadow had come in with Cliff and Hawkeye. He had ordered those workers to Long Island, to wait near Royce’s mansion. But the storm had drowned the sound of the house-muffled battle. The few remaining gorillas of Flick’s crew had escaped The Shadow’s agents in the rainy darkness.
A huge book lay beneath the bluish light. Upon a blank page, The Shadow was making entries in a careful handwriting that stood out as clear as print. Names were being recorded; with them, comments.
The Shadow was reviewing his deductions — how he had narrowed down the list of those concerned with Hildrew Parchell, until only one remained. He had eliminated Tristram from the outset. The servant, had he had any part in plotting, would not have extinguished the fire in the bedroom as promptly as he had.
Doctor Raymond Deseurre
The Shadow wrote the physician’s name. Beneath it, he added the conclusive comment: Deseurre could have eliminated Hildrew Parchell without Hothan’s aid. He could have learned more than the secretary, had he wished. The use of Hothan cleared Deseurre from blame; but not from danger.
The comment showed why The Shadow had requested Rupert Sayre to watch Raymond Deseurre. The Shadow wanted to make sure that Deseurre was clear from menace. Sayre’s observations, though broken, were sufficient to show that Deseurre was not in trouble.
Weldon Wingate
The Shadow inscribed the lawyer’s name and studied it for a moment. Then, he inscribed:
Wingate would not have allowed Hothan to use his name at Morth’s.
That would have been risky and unnecessary. Wingate, moreover, had all the information that Hothan possessed. Personal visits, on his part, to Tobold and Morth, as well as Selwood Royce, would have been his step. Wingate did not seek the treasure.
The third name The Shadow inscribed was:
Selwood Royce
The Shadow’s comment was as follows:
Royce was clear after the Morth raid. The treasure could only have been in his mansion. If Royce had known of the wealth and had wanted it, he could previously have appropriated it. Particularly, since his contact with Hildrew Parchell was so slight that he could only have known of the wealth by finding it in his own home.
Thatcher Royce was Hildrew Parchell’s friend; not Selwood Royce.
Nothing would have been entrusted to Selwood. He could have removed the treasure and disclaimed all knowledge of it. Murder would have been error on his part. Contact with any one — particularly Hothan — a still greater mistake.
The Shadow came to his final summary. He wrote the name of the real villain — the only man who could logically have been the crook behind the chain of crime.
Roger Parchell
The name showed grimly from the page. The Shadow’s hand inscribed this statement:
Roger Parchell and his uncle were apart. Correspondence showed an estrangement between them — a fact which Roger was clever enough to admit. Roger had good reason to believe that he might gain no inheritance from his uncle.
Hildrew Parchell’s will showed that the old man suspected trouble from his nephew. The fifty thousand dollars was a sop, to satisfy Roger. The listing of the entire estate in specific tabulation was done to prevent Roger from claiming anything else.
To learn of his own status, Roger would have needed the aid of Hothan, who had access to Hildrew Parchell’s files. To continue his own part as a legitimate heir, he needed some one to visit Tobold and Morth. Hothan, already his tool, was the natural choice.
Roger Parchell’s was plainly the hidden hand. He knew that hidden wealth could not be his, even in part. For Hildrew Parchell would have mentioned such a fact — guardedly, at least — in his will. That would have been a necessary precaution in the nephew’s favor. The absence of such a statement told much to Roger Parchell.
INK was drying. A whispered laugh came from The Shadow’s hidden lips. All that Joe Cardona had figured out tonight had been previously uncovered by The Shadow. From the moment that The Shadow had seen the presence of a master band, he had begun a process of elimination.
Of all who had appeared in connection with Hildrew Parchell, only Roger Parchell could have played the part of controlling crook. The Shadow had worked out that discovery after the murder of Channing Tobold had told him that some one other than Homer Hothan and mobsters were in the game.
Flick Sherrad had been needed to direct mob onslaughts. Some one higher up had done the work. Yet The Shadow had not rejected another possibility; namely, that some unknown crime master had been the backer of this evil.