“You are fighting Thade,” the bearded man exclaimed. “He is The Death Giver — and he has death for you! Do you think that Thade would leave me helpless? No! No! He has given me protection — a way to rid myself of enemies such as you! Only chance saved you before. Now I can act — and you will die!”
As he spoke, Quinley was shifting away from the car. Suddenly, he sprang up from his cringing position, and made a dash across the garage toward the corner beyond the table. As he ran, the man snatched a large, keylike instrument from his pocket.
The unexpected action put Harry in a difficult position. Only a shot could stop Quinley; and if Harry fired, it was more important than ever that the garage door should be shut. With his back half turned toward the running man, Harry would find it awkward to shoot. The predicament caused Harry to fumble.
Thinking of the garage door first, the young man turned to close it; but before he acted, his thoughts went back to Quinley as the greater menace. He realized that he must stop the man at any cost. Swinging away from the door, Harry aimed his automatic just as Quinley neared the corner.
“Stop!” came Harry’s tense order.
A threat was better than a shot — if it worked. But Vernon Quinley could not be forestalled by any threat.
He had reached his objective — a metal box set against the wall. With clutching fingers, the man thrust the big key into a slot in the center of the box. His writhing claws began to turn the key.
In an instant, Harry knew that this box must be a death-dealing machine installed for emergencies.
Quinley had shouted his reliance upon Thade. Here was an instrument that had been reserved to forestall intruders. A shot was necessary now — vitally necessary.
Harry pressed the trigger spontaneously. He wanted to warn Quinley, not to injure him. The Shadow’s orders had been to watch — not to attack.
Harry’s bullet flattened against the wall a foot from Quinley’s head. The roar of the gun; the impact of the bullet — these made Quinley quail. His hand faltered on the key but with a hunted cry, the man tried to continue.
Another shot burst from Harry’s automatic. The bullet clipped Quinley’s left shoulder. The man nearly lost his grip; then, in frantic despair, he clutched the key more tightly with his right hand, and gave it a twist with all his strength.
Harry Vincent was pressing the trigger for a third time, but too late to forestall Vernon Quinley. Even had his bullet lodged in the man’s body, it could not have stopped the turning of the lever. The futile shot, however, did not reach its mark.
Just as Harry was about to shoot, the door of the garage slid swiftly open behind him. Some one plunged in through the opening, at the same instant. Harry Vincent felt a powerful arm sweep in front of his body.
As Harry fired, he was lifted up as though he were a small child. His gun fired toward the ceiling. A man of tremendous strength had raised him in a mighty grasp, and for one fleeting instant Harry saw eyes that sparkled from beneath the broad brim of a black slouch hat.
Then Harry was carried from his feet, by a swift heave that swept him clear across the driveway outside the garage. A half second of rapid transit; the hold released, and Harry hurtled head foremost upon the grass. He struck upon his shoulder; his automatic sailed from his grasp; he rolled over twice, and crumpled into a thick bush.
In the space of a second, Harry Vincent had been carried nearly thirty feet from the garage door; and as his spectacular, involuntary flight came to its abrupt ending, a new and more terrific shock occurred.
A MIGHTY roar burst from the garage. A terrific explosion rocked the ground. Harry’s eyes, staring back along the way which he had come, saw the structure split asunder from the force of a terrific explosion!
The whole building seemed to cave; showers of debris came thundering forth; and Harry huddled himself to escape the remnants of scattered wreckage.
The noise of the concussion reverberated back and forth, amid the shattering sound of breaking glass from all the windows in the neighborhood.
Harry was momentarily stunned; then he opened his eyes and stared at a rising cloud of thick dust and smoke where the garage had been. Not a remnant of life or property remained within the place where hidden dynamite had burst.
Pressure upon his arm brought Harry fully to his senses. Some one was helping him to his feet. He recognized the black-garbed form of The Shadow. His mysterious chief was drawing him away from this spot of doom. With The Shadow aiding him, Harry reached the coupe.
He slumped into the seat and lay there, while the car moved under The Shadow’s guidance. Harry was just recovering from the effects of the driving plunge which he had taken before the explosion; but he realized now the importance of that deed.
The Shadow, arriving too late to stop Vernon Quinley’s action, had swept Harry Vincent from the area of certain doom, carrying him far enough away to escape the destruction caused by the explosion.
THE car came to a stop several miles from Felswood. Harry stretched and looked toward the driver’s seat. He fancied that he saw the door closing. He reached out his hand. There was no one behind the wheel. The Shadow had gone!
With regained strength, Harry slid over to the wheel and drove slowly away. He knew The Shadow’s purpose; the master of darkness had taken him away before the police arrived. Harry was safe; and The Shadow had departed.
Driving toward New York, Harry could but dimly recall the events that had taken place. They came back to him one by one; and he listed them mentally for the report which he must forward to The Shadow as soon as he got back to the city.
Harry knew only that Vernon Quinley had been instructed to dispose of the death-dealing instruments that were in his car; that the man, in desperation, had turned a switch that had demolished the garage and buried him in its wreckage.
Quinley — the strange gun — the glasslike poison bombs — even the sedan with its special top — all were gone. Not a shred of evidence could remain within the shattered garage.
But Harry Vincent did not know the power of the mind that had prompted Vernon Quinley to perform such drastic action. He did not realize that Quinley, the faltering coward, would not have deliberately destroyed himself along with the evidence.
That explosion had been planned by the master mind of Thade, The Death Giver. He had made Vernon Quinley believe that the device installed in the corner of the garage would bring destruction to intruders — not to the man who operated it.
Only The Shadow had known, because The Shadow had learned the ways of Thade by viewing Barcomb’s death. Arriving just as Quinley’s hand was turning the key of death, The Shadow had performed the superhuman task of saving Harry Vincent.
Once again, the hand of Thade had balked The Shadow. Vernon Quinley, from whose lips The Shadow could have gained new facts, had gone to his doom.
Another victim had fallen prey to Thade, The Death Giver. The fiend lay hidden — and The Shadow knew that his evil brain was plotting further death!
Six deaths: three useless, one with base intention, the other two a stroke of genius directed against men who had reached the limit of their usefulness.
The man who had devised such terrors was the one whom The Shadow sought to meet. What fiendish plots might lie within his brain of evil! What tragedies might he be planning now!
Before The Shadow could learn the lair of this insidious monster, new crimes would be on the way. The rule of doom was not yet over. But if The Shadow could not stay its immediate progress, the course of the future still might be diverted.