OUTSIDE the mansion a plain-clothes man was guarding the side door — the very door where Matthew Wade had left in his coupe when he had started for the flying field.
The driveway was narrow and dark. The detective looked toward the street. He fancied that he had seen something move. He pulled his flashlight from his pocket and stepped to the center of the drive. The torch gleamed.
Only a flickering shadow showed momentarily. The sleuth thought nothing of it. He still watched down the driveway. He did not hear a slight sound by the door in back of him.
A man had entered the hallway of Matthew Wade’s home. He stood in a narrow passageway, each side a paneled wall. There was no light there. A door blocked his path in front; he had closed the door behind him. He knew that a detective was on the opposite side of the barrier ahead. One patrolled the driveway outside the door in back.
Only one man could have entered so silently, and that man was The Shadow!
It was he who stood alone in the silent passageway. The smoking room was beyond the inner door and to the right. But The Shadow did not advance. Instead, he felt along the panels at his right. They were exquisite, highly finished oak panels. That was not visible in the dark; but visitors to Wade’s home had often noticed them when the passage was illuminated.
Lamont Cranston had visited Wade’s home on several occasions. He, too, had noted those panels. He had often wanted to run his hands along them, but had desisted when in the guise of Lamont Cranston.
But as The Shadow, in solid darkness, the man who now stood in the passageway was free to investigate. He was working quickly and skillfully, searching with greatest pains, but losing no time in his efforts.
Slender, tapering fingers found a spot which yielded. They pressed slowly, cautiously. One of the lower panels slid aside, without the slightest noise. A body slipped through. The panel closed.
A LONG, narrow room, low and windowless — a pitch-black den.
Silence reigned in the place. Then came a low muttering. The rays of a tiny flashlight suddenly appeared and glowed upon the wall. A hand pressed a button. A dim illumination filled the room.
It revealed a man seated by a table upon which rested a pair of earphones and a mouthpiece. In front of the man was a peculiar instrument — a little box with a tiny dial on the top.
The man’s face was hidden as he looked downward. He stretched his hand forward. His fingers rested on the knob, about to turn it. Then his hands spread and he looked up suddenly as he fancied he heard a noise near by.
The man was Matthew Wade. A strange, evil look was on his full face. He stared down the corridorlike room in momentary alarm. Then he became transfixed. From the other end of the room a figure stepped forward. A man was approaching, clad in black. His face was hidden in the folds of a black cloak. A slouch hat covered his eyes. An automatic showed in his outstretched hand — a hand that wore a silken glove of black.
“The Shadow!”
The dread name was gasped by Matthew Wade.
“Yes!” came a hissing voice. “The Shadow! Come to end the fiendish schemes of a murderer!”
“I am in my home,” growled Wade without moving his hands.
“The home of a monster,” came The Shadow’s whisper.
“You can prove nothing!” exclaimed Wade.
A low, whispered laugh was the reply. It struck terror into Wade’s evil heart. The laugh seemed more fearful than the man who uttered it!
“Listen,” came the Shadow’s accusation. “I shall tell the story of your crimes — the crimes which I have discovered and have pieced together.
“Matthew Wade — a man who loved to kill! A big-game hunter — who looked for bigger game — human game! A man of wealth — jealous of the power wielded by lords of the underworld. Inspired by an evil desire — to gain such power for himself!
“I have not only learned your crimes. I have fought against them. One by one I have met your underlings.
Tonight the last of them are gone — all but Tony Marano — and evidence will soon reach the police to put him where he belongs — in prison, as a murderer.
“Your first victim was your friend, Judge Harvey Tolland. You tried to bribe him to spare Tony Marano, against whom he had evidence. Why? Because you believed Marano would be useful to you. Tolland refused. You drove him away with a threatening message — the first of the so-called Double Z letters. He hid and was safe for many months.
“That began your reign of terror. Cautious, first, you used Sneaks Rubin, a man who brought you information. You obtained him through Loy Rook. You had learned of Loy Rook in Shanghai. You knew he was as evil as yourself — a man who loved crime. You felt that you could trust him.
“Through Rubin’s information you tipped the police on crime for three reasons: to frighten Tolland, who was in hiding; to make your name feared; to bring confusion to important figures in the underworld.
“You thwarted Lombrosi. You performed a job that he feared to do— the killing of Philip Farmington.
That was my first clew — the subtle poison, li-shun. Only Loy Rook could know of it. You, as a guest in Farmington’s home, put the poisoned cigar in his desk the night before he died.
“You had the killer desire even before that. Necessity had forced it on you when you had discovered Judge Tolland’s hiding place.
“You entered there to kill. You were just in time. Tolland was giving away your secret. To a newspaper reporter — Caulkins. You killed them both. You removed Tolland’s body. It was carried away by one of your underlings — probably by Jake Dermott!”
Matthew Wade’s gasp showed that The Shadow’s impeachment was true. The murderer could only stare at this strange being from nowhere who had come to make him listen to his crimes.
“The death of Arnold Bodine represented a temporary drawback from the joy of killing,” continued The Shadow. “One of my agents sought to thwart it but failed. With Bodine’s death and the elimination of Markan and Lombrosi, you ruled supreme. The biggest of all big shots. A man who needed no hideout — because your identity was unknown.
“But there you encountered The Shadow. You sought to combat this unknown enemy — who you knew was more powerful than the police, so far as you were concerned. You failed. Your hirelings were slain. Worst of all — for you — your great ally, Loy Rook, perished.
“For once you knew fright. But you were clever. You conspired to kill yourself! Double Z threatened Matthew Wade!”
THE SHADOW’S mirthless laugh expressed the ironic humor of this situation.
“But I knew you by then, Matthew Wade,” went on the man in black. “Your strength — your knowledge — your intelligence — all pointed to a man above the gangster type. Your ruse did not fool me, as it did Cardona. I waited for your next move.
“I come now to the most fiendish part of all your schemes. The notes from Double Z. They appeared to be the work of a maniac. You wanted a perfect alibi. You found one — through Loy Rook.
“Old Zachary Shellmann had known Loy Rook in China. There, Shellmann had adopted a Chinese boy, Luke Froy, who loved him as he would love a father. In New York, in an old house in the Bronx, Shellmann became afflicted with a mad desire to kill. Luke Froy nursed him. They were short on funds. He went to Loy Rook.
“They suddenly had money. Everything that the old man wished was his. Luke Froy encouraged the killer desire because it was the only thing that made the old man happy.
“Letters came to him — your letters — the Double Z notes. He copied them. He used your cryptic signature. He sent them to their destinations. Luke Froy mailed them. The young Chinaman knew that it was wrong; but he feared to oppose Loy Rook, and he kept on to please his foster-father.