Then he could force the message from Randham. Through it, The Shadow could find the lair of Charg. In two swift steps, the work of the fiend would be uncovered. In preparation for this plan, The Shadow stepped slowly toward Randham.
Backing, the servant reached the further wall. There, he faltered. He could go no further. He was on the point of collapse. He was facing the hypnotic glare of The Shadow’s eyes. All that he could see were two burning orbs of light.
The Shadow’s cloak wavered slightly. The motion was caused by a faint, fluttering breeze. Randham, staring into the focused eyes, did not notice it. But The Shadow, alert despite his concentration, caught the ripple of the air. He wheeled, straight toward the door at the rear of the living room.
THE SHADOW had acted just in time. Randham had left the door ajar. A hand had pushed it open.
There, framed in the portal was Quinton; close behind him, two other men: Laffan and Daper.
Charg’s agents had arrived. They had entered to see that all was clear before they brought the box.
Quinton, in the lead, had swung the door. Revolver in hand, Charg’s agent was face to face with The Shadow!
Quinton’s revolver flashed in upward swing. The Shadow’s automatic swept to counteract it. Two shots burst through the room, with the roar of one. A bullet whistled past The Shadow’s form as the black-clad warrior dropped sidewise, toward Randham.
The Shadow’s aim, however, was answered by a choking cry. Quinton slumped in the doorway. In this match of speed and skill, The Shadow had won. His bullet had found its mark in Quinton’s body.
Guns were coming up — weapons in the hands of Laffan and Daper. The Shadow’s unyielding finger was on the trigger of the automatic, about to loose steady shots before these other foemen could fire. Then came a cry; Randham, freed from The Shadow’s gaze, threw himself upon the figure that had swerved toward him.
Randham’s assault was desperate. The Shadow seemed to crumple beneath his leap. The servant’s body fell across the muzzle of The Shadow’s gun; then it was caught in a viselike grip. Twisted like a puppet figure, Randham turned involuntarily toward the door as Laffan and Daper fired.
Swift and sure, The Shadow had transformed Randham’s body into a shield. A wild scream came from the false servant’s lips. Then, from beneath Randham’s armpit, The Shadow’s automatic blazed its sudden answer to the enemy shots.
Fortune gave favor to Laffan and Daper. The slumping of Randham’s body deviated The Shadow’s aim.
Bullets splintered the door frame and ricocheted to the wall of the hallway as Laffan and Daper made a dive for cover.
They had fired quick shots, hoping to stop The Shadow. The answering reports told them that they had failed. Paying no heed to Quinton’s crumpled form, they dashed away in flight.
Up came The Shadow’s tall form. A sweeping arm sent Randham’s bullet-riddled body to the floor. With swift, gliding stride, The Shadow gained the back door of the room. He cleared Quinton’s motionless figure. He hurried in pursuit of Charg’s other agents.
Laffan had slammed the outer door in passing. The Shadow wrenched it open. From beyond a corner of the house, he heard the roar of a departing truck. Charg’s men had gained their machine; they had left the motor running. As The Shadow reached the wall and opened fire, the light truck had reached a curve amid a clump of trees.
A clipping shot found a tree trunk. It was The Shadow’s only chance. The humming motor faded. Laffan and Daper, quick in flight, had made their get-away, carrying the box which they had brought to place for murder.
The Shadow moved back into the house. He reached the living room. One glance told him that both Randham and Quinton were dead. Calls were coming from upstairs; scurrying footsteps told that other servants were rushing down to find the cause of strife. Nothing could be learned from dead men; The Shadow had no reason to meet Whilton’s other servants.
Turning, the black figure took to the corridor. The Shadow passed through the outer door, closing it behind him. Merging with the blackened shelter of the house, he became an invisible form that moved swiftly across the lawn to the front lane.
Lights were glimmering in Herbert Whilton’s. Excited voices were raising an outcry. The dead bodies had been found. The Shadow’s laugh sounded weirdly as it shuddered through the night air.
The Shadow had forestalled crime. He had prevented the planting of a death trap. He had felled one of Charg’s agents; a dupe had fallen in the fray; two more had taken to flight. The Shadow had scored a victory.
To offset this, two men had escaped. They had seen The Shadow. They would bear word to Charg that a new menace had arisen; that the master foe of crime had arrived ahead of murder. Charg would be warned; Charg could act to thwart The Shadow.
Yet, in the final summary, The Shadow had gained through his encounter. He had learned the name of the master whom these minions had served. He had heard of Charg; soon he would find the monster himself!
CHAPTER XVI. THE SHADOW SCHEMES
THREE men were seated in Bryce Towson’s conference room. Herbert Whilton and his friend Lamont Cranston were talking with the consulting engineer. The time was the evening following the affray at Whilton’s home.
“Poor Randham.” Whilton’s crackly voice was sorrowful. “He died fighting enemies who came to kill me. He killed one of them, however.”
“Have the police identified the man?” questioned Towson.
“Not yet,” stated Whilton. “However, one point is most fortunate. Although you and I, Towson — and you, too, Cranston — know that I must certainly have been marked for murder, the police are holding to the theory that robbery was intended.
“They have seen no connection with Fallow and Dyke?” asked Towson.
“None at all,” asserted Whilton, emphatically. “Since there was no strangler involved, they evidently did not suspect a relationship. So the secret of our motor is still to be kept.”
Towson nodded. This point was satisfactory. But the engineer’s face showed worriment. Both Whilton and Cranston noticed it as Towson spoke.
“Unquestionably,” decided the engineer, “your life was at stake, Whilton. That means that you are still in danger.”
“And so are you,” observed Whilton.
“Perhaps,” admitted Towson, “but as yet no thrust has been made against me. My position is better than yours, Whilton. I am in Manhattan; not in a secluded portion of Long Island. I have a compact house, with servants ready. Your most trustworthy man has been killed. Do you have another as dependable as Randham?”
“No,” replied Whilton, in a serious tone. “I have not. I have discussed that fact with Cranston; we dined together before we came here. I must admit that I am apprehensive. Therefore, I suggested a plan, which Cranston thinks is a good one.”
Bryce Towson nodded with interest. The three men were prepared for a close discussion. But all the while, there was an unobtrusive listener; one whom Lamont Cranston silently noticed while the other men ignored him.
THAT listener was Shelburne. The baldheaded secretary was stooped before the filing cabinet. He was arranging papers and making notes on a sheet of paper. To Cranston’s keen eyes, Shelburne’s real actions were plain. The secretary was jotting down each point of information that he overheard.
“I am going away,” declared Whilton. “While I am gone, the affairs of our committee will rest entirely in your hands, Towson. I shall give you full power to act while I am absent.
“Of course, there is a proviso. You must not depart from the agreements which we established without first notifying me. You will send all communications to my home. They will be forwarded to me.”