Okum began to sag. Trembling, he sank to his knees upon the floor. His story was told. The strain had been too much. Gasping, the old secretary clutched his head between his hands. The Shadow’s laugh rippled eerily through the room.
THE sound caught all attention. The looming automatics were aimed toward the end of the strong-room, by the outer door where Doctor Harlow stood handcuffed between Joe Cardona and Folsom Satruff.
The physician was like a man in a trance, dumfounded by the amazing turn that had taken place. Joe Cardona was as stolid as a statue; amazement was frozen upon the detective’s features.
Only Folsom Satruff, despite his trembling, showed challenge. The gray-haired philanthropist had undergone a change. His visage showed no more of its benignity. It had become the face of a fiend.
“Folsom Satruff!” The Shadow’s words were gibing. “You called yourself Dorand. You played the part of a philanthropist to conceal your evil ways. A crook by nature, you used the aid of crooks. They brought you wealth — at intervals — until your toll was mounting into millions.
“You became Dorand, that you might have an alibi. With Tobias McEwen, an honest man, to vouch for you; with Bartlett Okum under your control, you had crime to the perfect scale. All that you needed was a helpless man upon whom you could shoulder crime should the occasion require it.
“You held Doctor Wesley Harlow. Held him through your knowledge that his brother was a reformed crook. You did not need him until Pug Hoffler made his unexpected raid. Then, when the police had entered indirectly into your affairs, you saw that it would be best to draw all attention from your own activities.”
A pause. Then came The Shadow’s laugh. It was directed this time toward Joe Cardona. The detective wondered at the strange note of mirth.
“Rabbit Gorton. Tex Lowner.” The Shadow sneered the names. “Enemies? Never! They were pals — comrades in a common service; the tools of Folsom Satruff, the man who called himself Dorand.
“Tex was the one who threatened Harlow. Tex played a clever game. Pug Hoffler was the only man who knew that Tex and Rabbit worked together. Pug learned about Dorand, for he had come here with Rabbit and with Tex. He made a raid for his own gain.
“Luck was with Folsom Satruff. Doctor Harlow slew Pug Hoffler, for the reasons that he stated. He feared the man was going to talk about him; he also feared that Pug would try to injure Satruff, whom Harlow believed to be a man of honor.
“That was the beginning. Satruff saw an opportunity to create a scandalous sensation that would drown the announcement that he was Dorand — one that would make his millions seem honestly gained. He arranged the raid by Rabbit Gorton; through Tex Lowner he brought Wesley Harlow here to be a scapegoat once again.
“To-night, he arranged the finale — the proof that Harlow was a tipster, working with the underworld. Satruff used Okum as a tool. His evil work would have gained him success, but for my presence here.”
ANOTHER pause; then, in scathing tones, The Shadow broke forth with his final denunciation of Folsom Satruff. The statements came as uncanny ones as the fiend listened.
“I, The Shadow, knew your game,” announced the whispered voice. “You were ready to slay Pug Hoffler. You were prepared to kill Rabbit Gorton, when the emergency arrived and he cried out that he had been double-crossed.
“You let others do your evil work; but your intent was visible. You wanted another man here, apparently as a protection; really to aid your alibi. You were subtle when you put thoughts into the mind of Commissioner Weston. You gave your cooperation to Detective Cardona, but in a way that would prove of assistance to your plans.
“You forestalled Harlow in his attempts to ask for money until Tex Lowner, through your evil order, had given Harlow his final opportunity. Then the stage was set for the culmination of your vile schemes.
“With an innocent man denounced as a criminal; with yourself heralded as Dorand, the great philanthropist, you saw a future of wealth and affluence — an opportunity to spend your evil gains.
“That opened vault — its interior — will prove your crime. Therein lie the spoils of many raids conducted by your henchmen. Missing millions are ready to be restored to those who rightfully own them!”
The Shadow’s statement was followed by a laugh of triumph. Chilling to Joe Cardona and Wesley Harlow, it had an opposite effect upon Folsom Satruff. The gray-haired villain, crouching with clenched fists, saw a relaxation of The Shadow’s gloved hands. The automatics seemed to droop.
With a fiendish cry, Folsom Satruff sprang behind Cardona and Harlow. His hand made a quick grab at the switch upon the wall. As Cardona dragged Harlow toward a corner, the door sprang open; Folsom Satruff’s scream for aid was a shrill shriek that could be heard to any who might be stationed outside.
Upon that shriek came the whispered tones of The Shadow’s laugh. It was a presaging burst of mirth, that sneering note of mockery. The Shadow had allowed Folsom Satruff his opportunity.
Once before, the villain had brought mobsmen here, only to be repulsed by The Shadow’s might. Again, he was bringing futile hordes from gangland.
Where Rabbit Gorton had failed with a picked crew, Tex Lowner was to make the attempts with a larger, stronger mob. Tex, like Rabbit, was destined to meet The Shadow’s wrath!
CHAPTER XXIII. THE FINAL STROKE
THE SHADOW’S automatics rose. They were not directed toward Folsom Satruff. The master criminal had leaped to the corner opposite the door, with Joe Cardona after him. The Shadow’s huge weapons were trained upon the door itself.
The action was well timed. The door, partly opened by Satruff, shot inward as shoulders struck it. Tex Lowner, backed by a dozen mobsmen, burst into the strong-room.
Satruff’s act had been a call for aid. Yet no shots had been fired; there was nothing to indicate that all had gone against the villain’s plans. Tex Lowner, however, was a fighter who always came prepared. As he sprang into the room, he held a big revolver in readiness for whomever might await it.
Tex spied The Shadow on the instant. An automatic was the challenge to the gang leader’s revolver. The sight of the dread form in black stopped Tex short. Then, with a fierce oath, the husky mob leader pressed finger to the trigger of his polished, glistening gun.
He did not see that a black-gloved finger was already in motion. A terrific report barked from the muzzle of The Shadow’s .45 while Tex’s finger was trembling. The gang leader crumpled in his tracks.
The mobsters, just behind, came tripping over their leader’s toppled form. The head pair raised their revolvers. The Shadow’s automatics boomed. One man sprawled. The other, crouching suddenly, loosed a wild shot in his eagerness to beat The Shadow’s aim.
It was the bark of the second automatic that settled that score. Then, with sudden fury, both weapons launched a deadly fire that came with the rattle of an artillery onslaught. The Shadow, sweeping forward, hurled destruction into the ranks of the invading mobsters.
It was the perfect ambush, for its openness served The Shadow’s purpose. Clustered gangsters, those behind thrusting those before, were trapped as they snarled and fired hopeless shots. The only bullets that left revolvers were those delivered by falling hands of men who felt The Shadow’s metal before they fired.
Gangsters in back broke away as the sprawling forms of those ahead revealed The Shadow plucking fresh automatics from beneath his cloak. Hurtling figures scattered across Folsom Satruff’s moon-bathed lawn as the remnants of Tex Lowner’s vanquished mob sought to evade the fire of the superfighter.