“Here’s the proof of who is guilty.” With a dramatic gesture, Harlow pointed to the revolver that he had dropped upon the floor. “That gun belongs to Okum. I seized it when he entered the room to cover Satruff with it. Here” — taking advantage of Cardona’s momentary lack of attention, Harlow slipped his hand in his coat pocket — “is my own revolver. I never had it in my hand to-night.”
JOE CARDONA stared. Harlow had passed a perfect opportunity. Instead of whipping out his gun and starting to shoot, he was holding the revolver by the barrel, tendering the loaded weapon so that Cardona could take it. Mechanically, the detective received the snub-nosed gun.
“There is my proof of good faith,” declared Harlow. “I rest my case with you. The real culprit stands there, by the open vault. Look at him, Cardona. Look at Okum. He alone can tell you the game that he played. It reached its finish to-night. I was to be the innocent victim — I and my brother Merle.”
Joe Cardona saw that Bartlett Okum was trembling. The old secretary’s face was pale. Through the detective’s brain whirred statements that Commissioner Weston had made; statements that fitted in exactly with what Harlow had just said. Okum, like Harlow, could have been the traitor.
Cardona looked to Folsom Satruff. The millionaire’s forehead was furrowed with deep thought. Cardona saw Satruff’s eyes travel from Harlow to Okum. They rested firmly upon the secretary. Cardona left the question to Satruff’s judgment.
“What do you think, Mr. Satruff?” inquired the detective. “Do you think this may be true” — Cardona paused as he saw a doubtful expression appear upon the philanthropist’s face — “or do you think it is another of Harlow’s stalls?”
“I think,” declared Satruff, in a cold, firm tone, “that we should let Okum speak for himself. If he has been wrongfully accused, it will simply close the case which Harlow has made against himself. Harlow has shown himself to be a schemer. His own admissions place the entire burden of the guilt upon his own head.”
Satruff paused as he faced Okum. The millionaire was stern. His eyes seemed dominating as they met Okum’s. The old secretary seemed oblivious to all but his employer.
“Okum,” stated Satruff, “have you ever carried a gun on these premises?”
“No, sir,” replied the secretary weakly.
“Then that is not your gun?” quizzed Satruff.
“It is not, sir,” responded Okum in a firmer tone.
“Was Harlow holding that gun,” continued Satruff, “when you came in here? Tell me, Okum, if he was.”
“He was, sir.”
Satruff turned to Cardona. The millionaire’s face wore conviction. Cardona gained the same feeling; so did Harry Vincent.
“This,” announced Satruff in a righteous tone, “stands as proof of Harlow’s scheming guilt. It shows him as a crook who has tried to cloud the reputation of an innocent man. I leave the rest to you, Cardona. If you have further questions to ask Okum, put them forward now.”
“I have none,” stated Cardona. “Come, Harlow. You are under arrest.”
THE physician shrank instinctively toward the outer door of the strong-room. Cardona, pocketing his revolver, yanked out a pair of handcuffs. Satruff, also leaping forward, gripped Harlow’s shoulders while the detective clamped the irons on the doctor’s wrists.
The three were near the end of the room. Harry Vincent was beside the door to the passage. Bartlett Okum was still close to the vault. A sudden, gasping scream came from the secretary’s lips. Cardona and Satruff turned; like Harry Vincent, they viewed the wild expression of terror that had appeared upon Okum’s cadaverous features.
Not one man held a gun, now that Harlow was handcuffed. Thus, as all turned toward the passage door — the direction in which Okum’s eyes were staring — they felt a sickening feeling of helplessness when they viewed the being who stood there. Even Harry Vincent could not repress a shudder.
Just within the door stood a spectral shape in black. The Shadow, his sable-hued cloak spread from his shoulders, seemed like a creature from another world. The broad brim of the black hat obscured the features of the unknown phantom. Gloved hands held two mammoth automatics, at sight of which, the watchers instinctively cowered.
Most terrible of all, however, were the eyes of The Shadow. Blazing, scintillating orbs, they fastened themselves upon Bartlett Okum’s pallid face with a power that made the old secretary quiver.
Then came the sound of a whispered laugh, a frightful tone of mockery that shuddered to a weird crescendo, only to die with throbbing, ghoulish echoes as the aftermath.
The Shadow, supreme, had arrived to take the part of Doctor Wesley Harlow. He, the master invisible, was to resume the quiz of Bartlett Okum.
CHAPTER XXII. THE HIDDEN FRIEND
“SPEAK.”
The eerie hiss of The Shadow’s sinister word seemed to pervade the entire strong-room. Bartlett Okum, he to whom the utterance was addressed, quaked in new fright. His lips moved; but his words were inarticulate.
“Speak the truth.” The Shadow’s tone was firm. “Speak — or learn the power of The Shadow!”
Okum hesitated. His head shook. He managed to wrest his gaze from The Shadow’s eyes. He stared across the room toward Folsom Satruff, as though appealing to his master for aid. He saw the gray-haired millionaire staring spellbound at The Shadow. The sound of a rippling, sinister taunt brought Okum’s eyes back to those of his inquisitor.
“I— I am — afraid!” gasped Okum. “Afraid—”
“Have no fear,” came The Shadow’s sardonic tones. “Your innocence will be established if you speak.”
Okum gulped, and nodded. He seemed to find more than menace in The Shadow’s tone. He wanted the assurance of The Shadow’s gaze to stand this ordeal that was thrust upon him.
“I’ll talk!” he blurted. “I’ll — I’ll tell all I have done! I— I was ready to kill Pug Hoffler, when he began to give the game away. I did — I did kill Rabbit Gorton — because he said that he had been double-crossed.
“I— I made a mistake when Pug came here. I thought he was one of the regular ones who came. That raid was not intended. The second one was. I was— was supposed to act the way I did. I knew that Rabbit was coming here.
“He wasn’t the only one. Tex Lowner came here, too. They both used to come and I would let them in. They brought many things — money — wealth — to go into the vault. I— I — it was my job to list all the money that Mr. Satruff gave away, I— I didn’t know for a long time that — that much more was coming from the crooks.”
“I was a dupe.” Okum’s voice was plaintive. “I had to believe that all was right. Mr. Satruff told me it was — and I tried to believe him. That’s why I wanted to help out when Pug threatened — when Rabbit threatened. I— I really believed in Mr. Satruff — until to-night.”
Okum began to waver. The throb of a whispered touch of mirth came from The Shadow. Okum nodded, and resumed.
“He — Mr. Satruff — he told me to be in the library.” Okum was gasping the words. “He — he gave me the gun and told me to come slowly through the door — after he and Doctor Harlow were here. He told me to let the doctor grab the gun — that he — that Mr. Satruff, would protect me. That’s why I — why I did it. I had to answer the questions that Mr. Satruff put to me. When everything happened the way it did, I really knew that all was wrong. But I couldn’t talk. I was afraid something would be blamed on me, too.”