In rapid, roaring seconds, The Shadow had polished off this mob, so swiftly that Cliff Marsland had been scarcely able to aid him. Only Crix, the master plotter, remained unscathed.
He was choking on the floor, the vengeful hands of Angelo upon his neck.
A cry came from Cliff Marsland. In response, The Shadow’s eyes turned toward the door. The four mobsmen stationed outside were coming in. They saw The Shadow beside the door of the safe. Their guns were swinging upward.
As The Shadow fired, his tall form swung to one side. His first bullet dropped a mobsman; then came the replying shots from the remaining trio of invaders.
They had nearly trapped The Shadow; but his action had frustrated them. The Shadow had swung behind the half-opened door of the vault. Bullets flattened against the steel barrier. The Shadow was protected; only the muzzle of one automatic offered a target as it rested against the edge of the door.
Cliff Marsland fired at one mobsman, and wounded the fellow in the left arm. The gangster turned to fire in reply, while the others still blazed at the safe. But the muzzle of The Shadow’s automatic was speaking now. It ejected swift, sure missives toward the reinforcements who had come to aid the crippled gang.
The trio of mobsters staggered crazily. First among them was the one who had aimed at Cliff Marsland. That gangster twisted as he fell, his lips mouthing incoherent oaths. The others sprawled beside him.
A shot came from beyond the desk. Crix, by a lucky twist, had wrested free from Angelo, and had shot the Italian with a single shot. Up came the body of the supercrook. Crix saw the shape of The Shadow emerging beyond the door of the vault.
With a cry of exultation, Crix aimed to slay the being who had been his nemesis. Cliff Marsland swung to shoot the master crook.
He could not prevent Crix from firing — Cliff was too late for that — but Cliff’s sudden intervention meant that Crix would fall within a second after he delivered that single bullet toward the black-garbed form of The Shadow.
Crix had aimed with vengeance. It was too late for Cliff to save The Shadow. But the weird fighter whom Angelo had called the black ghost needed only his own firm hand to save himself. An automatic blazed from a swiftly aiming fist.
The rising form of Crix poised. A strange, hideous expression covered the evil face. The outstretched hand faltered. Its fingers spread, and the revolver fell toward the floor.
Before the dropping weapon reached the woodwork, Cliff’s revolver spoke, and another bullet joined The Shadow’s in the body of the supercrook.
Crix toppled with a swiftly speeding crash. He flattened motionless upon the floor. His body lay huddled, without life.
Crix, the supercrook, had been the last to die. He, like these other rats of crime, had been blotted out by The Shadow!
Victor Venturi was uninjured. The Italian, moving unsteadily, reached the form of Angelo. The servant was dying. He had been mortally wounded in his fight with Crix. Cliff Marsland went to aid Venturi; seeing that Angelo was beyond saving, Cliff stared about the room.
Everywhere were motionless mobsters. These men had sought to slay The Shadow; instead, they had met the doom which they deserved. Sure bullets had found their marks in fiends of crime; on the side of right, the only casualty was Angelo. The servant’s own impetuosity had made it impossible for The Shadow to aid him and save his life.
Within a few exciting minutes, the tide had turned completely. Crix had decreed, when he had summoned his crew of mobsmen. The Shadow had answered, stepping from the vault where no one had dreamed that he could be.
Justice had triumphed over evil in this swift, exciting fight that had marked the end of the schemes evolved by Crix. The fiend and his henchmen were through.
Crix had decreed; The Shadow had answered. The triumph belonged to The Shadow. The strange, sinister laugh that now echoed through the room was The Shadow’s cry of victory!
CHAPTER XXIII
JUSTICE PREVAILS
THE door to the vault lay open. The tall form of The Shadow stepped behind it. The door opened wider still. Victor Venturi looked up. Angelo was dead in the Italian’s arms. Slowly, Venturi lay aside the body of his servant and rose to face The Shadow.
A now black-covered finger pointed to the interior of the vault. Venturi advanced. There, upon the floor of the vault, he saw two packages. He realized what they were. These were the packets of wealth that Crix had stolen from Winston Collister and Sturgis Bosworth.
Venturi looked toward The Shadow. He saw the gleaming eyes and stared, half in fear, half in bewilderment. The voice of The Shadow spoke, in his sinister, whispered tone.
“They are yours,” were The Shadow’s words. “Take them.”
As Venturi reached to lift the packages, the finger pointed to a box beyond.
“That is yours, also.”
In his eagerness and excitement, Venturi entirely forgot the presence of The Shadow. He carried the bundles to the desk, and opened them. Within, he found the masses of currency intact. Crix had not utilized these funds to pay Bart Shallock and Bumps Jaffrey.
The supercrook had kept the millions intact.
Venturi went back to get the box which The Shadow had indicated. He brought it to the desk — it was heavier than the packages — and opened it by a key that was in the lock. There was an envelope within. Venturi raised it, and saw a stack of money covered by a loose array of glittering gems. He recognized that these jewels possessed great value.
Within the envelope, Venturi discovered a card. It bore these words, in ink:
Articles found within Roberts Faraday’s vault. These will serve as a considerable portion of his promised contribution to Aristide Ponjeau.
Venturi closed the box. He realized that The Shadow, after opening the vault, had obtained all valuables and placed them in this one box for a definite purpose. Victor Venturi looked at the card again. The writing was disappearing letter by letter. Now, only the blank card remained!
“Are you ready?”
Looking up at the sound of the voice, Venturi saw a man in baggy trousers and sweater. It was Cliff Marsland. Venturi recognized him as the man who had stepped from the mob to start the furious battle against Crix and his henchmen. The Italian knew that Cliff Marsland was a friend.
“Yes,” said Venturi. Then, looking blankly about: “Where is — where is — the one they call The Shadow?”
“He has gone,” returned Cliff. “We must leave immediately. Come. There are cars outside, by the hedge. We will take one.”
Victor Venturi followed Cliff Marsland’s lead. The two were on their way to safety. The Shadow, his work of vengeance complete, had silently disappeared.
With Cliff aiding him in carrying the wealth that must be delivered to Aristide Ponjeau, Venturi threw a last glance back at the room, to stare at the scene of carnage which had followed Crix’s vain attempt to establish crime against the wishes of The Shadow!
POLICE, summoned later to the home of Roberts Faraday, were confronted by a strange mystery, which was destined to enter the annals of unsolved crime. They found the body of Roberts Faraday, millionaire, surrounded by the dead forms of mobsters.
Among these was Bumps Jaffrey, a notorious gang leader. Bart Shallock, international confidence man, was also there. The body of Angelo perplexed the police. They could not learn his identity. He was obviously not a mobster.
The vault was open, and evidently it had been rifled. What had become of the men who had entered? The police did not know. They assumed that some big shots of the underworld had caused this raid; that Faraday had been forced, under threat, to open the vault.
They decided that Angelo must have been an informant who had tipped off Bart Shallock regarding some international deal on the part of Roberts Faraday. The more that the case was discussed, the more perplexing it became to the authorities.