“I’ve beaten all of you; and I’ve bluffed The Shadow. Left him at the post. The Shadow — just another bugaboo. Too bad he isn’t here to see this payoff.”
Jurling leaned back against the wardrobe trunk. His hands were ready with their revolvers, each gun set for its job.
Cardona and Verne looked into the barrels; their hopeless eyes stared beyond. As Jurling spoke again, each of his intended victims saw motion past the crook’s shoulder. The door to the bedroom was opening.
“Too bad The Shadow isn’t here,” repeated Jurling. “I could give him some pointers. Two pointers” — he chuckled as he moved his guns — “two pointers, like these. Pointers that he would remember.”
Jurling paused suddenly as he noted a change in expression on the part of Joe Cardona. The detective’s lips, though grim, seemed smiling. Verne’s, too. Their eyes were no longer straight toward Jurling’s guns.
With weapons ready, Jurling made a quick short turn of his head. His own eyes shot toward the door of the inner room. A gasp froze on the crook’s lips. A weird, mocking whisper came throbbing to Jurling’s ears.
Dale Jurling was staring squarely into the looming muzzle of an automatic. The big mouth of the .45 was less than six inches from the bridge of his nose. A black fist held that gun.
And above were eyes that burned like living coals. Eyes that were all that Jurling could see of a hidden face that lay between the upturned collar of a cloak and the protruding brim of a slouch hat.
Dale Jurling, crook extraordinary, had gained an answer to his wish. The Shadow had arrived upon the scene of doom!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SHADOW’S TURN
WHEN Dale Jurling had covered Joe Cardona, the detective had dropped his gun. For Joe had realized that he was faced by a dangerous foe. Now it was Jurling’s turn to face a gun muzzle. The crook was holding two revolvers. Joe expected to see both fall; but they remained in Jurling’s hands.
For the supercrook, faced by The Shadow, had lost all power of action. As he looked into the yawning mouth of The Shadow’s .45, Jurling was unable even to loose his fingers. He held his rods; but they were as useless as toy pistols.
The Shadow’s hand moved forward. The muzzle of the automatic pressed squarely against Jurling’s forehead. The crook gasped and quivered. This time his guns went clattering. He was like a mechanical figure, its hands actuated by pressure upon a hidden spring.
Cardona and Verne made no move. They, too, were rigid. Their rescue seemed unbelievable; The Shadow’s mastery was such that action on their part would have been superfluous. They heard The Shadow laugh.
With whispered mockery, The Shadow withdrew his gun from Jurling’s head. The crook’s forehead retained a round impression from the muzzle of the .45. The red circle remained as an accusing badge — a mark of Cain that branded Jurling a murderer. A sign of doom, imprinted by The Shadow.
The Shadow’s gun hand moved slowly sidewards. Jurling, promoted by the commanding gesture, backed away from the trunk and sidled toward the center of the room. The Shadow, coming forward, reached the strategic spot that Jurling had occupied.
The lighting of the room was entirely that of table lamps and wall brackets. Though the illumination had made faces plain, it did not reveal The Shadow’s countenance. For the position that The Shadow had taken brought him beneath a wall light. His slouch hat blocked the glow and rendered his visage obscure.
The Shadow spoke; his voice gave a whispered order. Joe Cardona pulled the handcuff key from his pocket. As he had previously released Tully Kelk, so did he now unlock Montague Verne. All the while, The Shadow’s gaze was steady upon Dale Jurling, who was near the center of the room.
Seeking to regain his bravado, the crook had made an effort to face his ominous foe. But though his trembling had ceased, Jurling had failed to lose the expression of fear that lay upon his face. Bold while he held the upper hand, the crook lacked courage once that he was trapped.
Jurling had derided The Shadow; in return, he had been treated to a sinister mockery. The tones of The Shadow’s vengeful laugh had not yet faded from the snared crook’s ears. Then The Shadow spoke.
“PARTS have been played,” pronounced The Shadow, “and now those parts are ended. Parts that were intended to deceive — and failed.”
As he spoke, The Shadow stood motionless. His right hand held the automatic; his left was pressed against the front of his enshrouding cloak. Both fists were gloved; his form was a shape of total blackness.
Across the floor stretched a streak of darkness, the shadow of The Shadow. The blot ended in a hawk-like profile that seemed emblazoned upon the floor. Just beyond it was Jurling, as motionless as the being who had balked him.
“Those parts revealed themselves,” resumed The Shadow. “Tully Kelk, despite his actions, was obviously no man of crime. He placed himself under my suspicion. His visit to Treblaw’s home cleared him.
“Kelk bluffed Wickroft. I viewed the two in conference. By sending Wickroft to Tilton’s, Kelk gave another proof of his integrity. If Kelk had wished Wickroft dead, he could have slain him at Treblaw’s.”
The logic of these words was plain. To Joe Cardona, they revealed that The Shadow had entered the strange game soon after crime had begun.
“No man of crime,” resumed The Shadow, “would have trusted Wickroft’s death to chance. Had Kelk been the plotter, he would not have used two methods simultaneously. Wickroft, sounding Tilton in regard to the manuscript; raiders, entering the house to rob and slay; those were cross purposes. They showed Kelk free from guilt.”
The Shadow paused. His gaze was focused accusingly upon Jurling.
“The man of crime, to win, was forced into the light.” The Shadow’s tone was ominous. “Your game, Jurling, evidenced itself as soon as you appeared. The fact that Wickroft was your tool proved that you knew of Treblaw’s dealings.
“You introduced yourself as an English investigator. You spoke of Scotland Yard — but showed no credentials to prove your old connection there. Instead, you produced cards that identified yourself with Burson, Limited. Cards that were easily faked.
“You spoke of letters. Carbon copies only. You dared not show the originals that you had gained by theft. You relied upon the surprising information that you gave to cover your opening ruse. But you overplayed when you insisted upon contacting Signet in the way that you suggested.
“That placed you under my suspicion. It proved that you were attempting a daring scheme. Kelk was bold enough to act almost as a man of crime. You were bold enough to almost cover the fact that you were a man of crime.”
The Shadow paused ominously. He appeared to be listening for some sound outside the room. Hearing none, he added:
“Signet versus a master crook” — The Shadow’s words were hissed — “and circumstances showed that Kelk was Signet; with you the man of crime. Someone else was necessary. The one who held the Cellini manuscript.
“In passing yourself as an investigator from England, you played a possible role. The only part that logically remained. Stanton Treblaw, fearing doom, would have entrusted his manuscript only to a representative of Burson, Limited.
“That fact appearing, this hotel became the spot where such a man would probably be. I learned of Montague Verne. I knew that he must hold the manuscript. I discovered that he intended to pass himself as Signet.
“That placed the climax here. This room became the rendezvous for all participants. Like puppets, they have performed their parts. The show is over.”