“Evil men were about to slay me,” said Venturi. “Then came the man in black — ‘a black ghost,’ Angelo called him. He shot down those who threatened me. He sent Angelo and myself away in an automobile — to a hiding place above a restaurant — the Cafe Bella Napoli.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Faraday. “You say that this occurred at Bosworth’s home?”
“Yes.”
“A man in black” — Faraday paused to consider — “who looked like a black ghost. A living ghost, you call him. There again, Signor Venturi, my knowledge of crime can offer an explanation. There is a man who fights crime — a strange personage of mystery — who calls himself The Shadow.
“He is the one who came to aid you. There is no doubt about it. The Shadow is opposed to Crix. Since The Shadow was at Bosworth’s, The Shadow may be expected here — to-morrow.”
“Then if Crix is here—” Venturi blurted the words.
“Crix will be here,” responded Faraday, in a confident tone.
“Ah! You feel sure of it?” questioned Venturi. “Then, this time, Crix may meet The Shadow!”
“Yes,” said Faraday, “and that is why we must be careful. Strange developments have caused two supermen of differing purposes to cross their paths. You, Signor Venturi, are but a plaything in this drama of crime and warfare. Millions are at stake, and it is beyond your power to preserve them.
“To-morrow night will be the crisis. I foresee a mighty struggle. It is not a question of your ability to frustrate the plans of Crix. The question is: can The Shadow do so?”
VICTOR VENTURI sat like a man in a daze. These amazing revelations had come so suddenly and from so unexpected a source that the Italian could not understand. Crix — he had never heard the name before, yet he was convinced by Faraday’s quiet tone that the man must be the murderer in back of all these crimes.
The Shadow — there was a fantastic thought — yet Venturi realized that such a personage was also existent. He and Angelo had seen The Shadow!
This interview with Roberts Faraday had proven bewildering. Nervously, Venturi surveyed the millionaire. Faraday was resting back in his chair, lighting another cork-tipped cigarette. The millionaire’s confidence was nerve-racking to Venturi. With sudden excitement, the Italian raised his hands in gesticulation.
“You are sure,” he questioned in an incredulous tone, “that all these facts are true? You have the proof of them?”
In reply, Roberts Faraday passed the sheaf of papers across the table. Venturi seized them eagerly.
The top sheet was blank. Venturi tossed it aside, and looked at the blue sheet to which Faraday had referred as Ponjeau’s letter. That sheet was blank also!
“There is nothing here!” exclaimed Venturi. “What can this mean? You have been reading from nothing! You have told me of a man called Crix — Crix — who is Crix?”
The Italian stared toward the man behind the desk. Roberts Faraday had arisen. From a desk drawer he had drawn two revolvers. With one weapon in each hand, the millionaire was covering Venturi and Angelo.
A fiendish smile had come over Faraday’s lips. The man’s eyes were gleaming with a fierce shrewdness that Venturi had not previously detected. The wreathing smoke of Faraday’s cigarette, lying in an ash tray, curled upward in fantastic shape.
“Who is Crix?”
Victor Venturi had asked the question almost unconsciously. He knew the answer now, even before he heard it from Roberts Faraday’s gloating lips.
“I am Crix!” proclaimed the millionaire. “I am Crix!”
CHAPTER XXI
CRIX DECREES
“FOOL!” The word came from the evil lips of the man who had revealed himself as Crix. “Fool! To think that you could thwart me! You have played into my hands, Venturi — into the hands of Crix!
“When Aristide Ponjeau came to America, he never dreamed that among the men with whom he talked was one who could see opportunity. He trusted all the millionaires whom he visited. He trusted Roberts Faraday among them.
“Why should I contribute two millions to a fantastic dream such as Ponjeau’s World Court of Industry? A great man in France — a great man at Lausanne; but Ponjeau could do nothing in world-wide affairs.”
“Twenty millions! Wasted millions. Easy millions. Easy for Roberts Faraday to acquire, by using his intelligence. So Roberts Faraday became Crix. How easy it was for me to learn that you represented Aristide Ponjeau in this country. I had men watching you, Venturi. But I did not stop at that; I had planned too well.
“I went to Europe — to Lausanne — and there I watched Aristide Ponjeau. Baron Hugo von Tollsburg visited him. I spied upon them. I learned their plan. A secret room aboard the dirigible Munchen — a hiding place for a stowaway de luxe. Von Tollsburg was to occupy it by arrangement with the commander.
“I was in that stateroom, Venturi. I had secreted myself within the berth of that room long before Von Tollsburg arrived. When he discovered me, I choked him to death.
“The supplies that were there for him served me until we reached America. Then, using the parachute which I took aboard with me, I escaped from the dirigible unnoticed, with nothing to stop me in my plan.”
Crix paused to gloat. His lips writhed in an evil smile. Venturi and Angelo were helpless before him. Crix laughed with disdain.
“Winston Collister was the first,” he said. “He saw that my signature was not perfect. I killed him and took his millions. I feared a similar difficulty with Sturgis Bosworth. He was the second, and he did not question my signature. But you came there, Venturi, and I was prepared. You would never have escaped my men, but for the intervention of The Shadow.
“I have been planning since — waiting here — unsuspected. I knew that a crisis would come to-morrow night. You had disappeared — you would be here. Then came the special word that brought this previous appointment. It is you tonight, Venturi — to-morrow night, The Shadow, should he appear.
“I see your hope” — Crix laughed fiendishly as he caught a glimmer in Venturi’s dark eyes — “and I can tell you that it is vain. The Shadow, tonight? Let him come! I am ready for him. The way is blocked by a dozen men!
“You are wondering about the millions? I shall tell you where they are. Safe, Venturi, safe — in that huge vault behind me. There they will remain, Venturi, while I, posing as you, shall go with your credentials to collect from the other victims.
“I shall murder them only if I encounter trouble. Otherwise, they may live. The wealth that Ponjeau wanted will become the property of Crix. Roberts Faraday? He will merely be another of the victims.”
CRIX was speaking in a low, hissing tone, that carried only to Venturi’s ears. The supercrook had a purpose. His announcement of his own identity had been loud enough for Bart Shallock and Bumps Jaffrey to hear; these subsequent revelations were intended for Victor Venturi, alone.
“Four millions are already safe,” hissed Crix. “Safe, in my impregnable vault which no cracksman could hope to enter. I am telling you all this, Venturi, because you shall not live to tell it. Your fate is sealed, Venturi, and there is nothing you can do about it.
“I am not the one who will kill you. Murder is unwise within the home of Roberts Faraday. I sent my servants away. You and your man will be taken away — by those who will dispose of you. Victor Venturi will be no more. Crix will remain.
“I have learned how you intend to notify Aristide Ponjeau that all is well. To-morrow night will be calm. Should The Shadow come here, he will find only Roberts Faraday. He will believe that Crix has given up the game.
“But after that, Crix will send the cable. As Venturi he will make collections. No trouble — no disturbance — all will be smooth for Crix. I am Crix!”