The heavy cheeks were there; the close-clipped gray mustache was perfect in its detail. The suit which the standing man wore was similar to Langhorne’s own attire. The man was speaking now, and his enunciation was very much like Langhorne’s own.
“You are in danger,” said The Shadow. “You have received messages from a man who calls himself The Death Giver.”
“How do you know that?” queried Langhorne, in alarm.
“Do not fear,” replied The Shadow, still affecting Langhorne’s tone. “I am not in league with The Death Giver. My purpose is to thwart him.”
“How?”
“By acting in your stead. By taking your place, I can meet the present danger. I shall act to-night. Where are the messages?”
“In my desk — in the little room I use as an office.”
“Give me the essential details of your house,” ordered The Shadow; “the plan of the rooms; the names of your servants. I am going there to-night. It was I who called you, Langhorne. When I learned that you were going out to dinner to-night, I arranged to meet you.”
Methodically, Irwin Langhorne began to disclose the details which this strange being required. The millionaire became more and more impressed with the exactitude of The Shadow’s disguise. When he had finished his talk, Langhorne rested back in his chair to watch the incredible person who stood before him.
“The Death Giver,” declared The Shadow, in a now perfect replica of Langhorne’s accustomed tones, “is a monster who plans and executes murder. Henry Bellew was struck dead because he defied The Death Giver. Terrible danger lurks in your home even now. The Death Giver does not wait!
“I am the one who can meet it. I do not fear The Death Giver. My only apprehensions are regarding your safety. No one can possibly know that you are here. Therefore, I rely upon you to inform no one. Wait patiently. I shall return. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” responded Langhorne.
The Shadow donned Langhorne’s coat, picked up Langhorne’s hat. The perfect image of the millionaire, as he had left his home, the disguised master went to the door. There, he faced the millionaire and delivered a last warning.
“Remember,” came the carefully affected tones, “I intend to end the menace that now threatens you. Stay here in hiding. I shall return, to give you further word.”
The door closed. Irwin Langhorne dropped back into his chair. The millionaire rubbed his eyes in amazed perplexity. It seemed to him that a miracle had happened here to-night. The threat of The Death Giver had been strange, indeed; compared to the amazing actions of The Shadow, it was nothing!
The master mind of darkness had set forth to challenge the master mind of death!
CHAPTER XII. THE STROKE OF DEATH
A TAXICAB rolled up to the home of Irwin Langhorne. Eyes were watching it from an upstairs window.
They were the eyes of Jarvis, the secretary. The gazing man recognized the stocky figure of his millionaire employer. Slinking away, the peering man retired.
A heavy step sounded on the stairs. A few minutes later, a light shone in Irwin Langhorne’s specially constructed office. Jarvis, prowling outside the door, listened intently for any sound from within.
A bell rang. Straightening up, Jarvis waited for half a minute, then opened the door and walked into the office. He saw Irwin Langhorne seated at the glass-surfaced desk. He noticed the millionaire’s hat and overcoat lying on a chair. That was not unusual.
“Jarvis” — Langhorne’s tone denoted worriment — “I want to talk with you about a very important matter. I have been receiving letters from an unknown source. I should like you to read them, Jarvis.”
“Very well, sir,” responded the secretary.
Irwin Langhorne reached into the desk drawer and brought out three envelopes. He slipped the contents upon the desk, and motioned Jarvis to draw up a chair beside the desk. Langhorne’s eyes showed an unfamiliar sparkle as they watched the secretary study the material.
The glistening light from the heavy chandelier above the millionaire’s head revealed the expression upon the secretary’s face. Perhaps Irwin Langhorne, himself, might not have noted anything unusual about Jarvis; but the eyes of The Shadow could detect facts that were not apparent to others.
Jarvis was considering the notes with feigned surprise. It was several minutes before he raised his head to face his employer. By that time, a dullness had come into the eyes of Irwin Langhorne.
“This is quite alarming, sir,” asserted Jarvis.
“So I can testify,” came Langhorne’s dry reply. “The question is: How should I act?”
“It is a dangerous threat,” continued Jarvis. “It involves your life. You have made a mistake to mention it to me. Indeed, Mr. Langhorne, you have already violated the terms of the message.”
“Indeed I have,” declared Langhorne seriously. “Yes, Jarvis, I should not have done so. What would you advise me to do now?”
“Obtain the million dollars, sir. Look at the facts. This man called The Death Giver has you in his power!”
“He has,” returned Langhorne. “Nevertheless, I might have some way of escaping him.”
“There could be none,” protested Jarvis. “Take my advice, sir. Destroy those letters. Value your life above money. You can raise a million dollars, sir. You would not want to suffer the death that came to Henry Bellew. You may rely fully upon me, Mr. Langhorne. I will preserve silence.”
“That is very considerate of you, Jarvis,” came the millionaire’s cold tones. “Nevertheless, I do not intend to follow your advice. To destroy those letters would be to destroy all evidence. No. I shall keep them.”
With one hand, the man at the desk reached forth to grasp the letters and the clippings. With the other, he picked up the telephone. He eyed the instrument with care.
“Bellew’s telephone was wired,” came his sarcastic comment. “This one is not. Strange, isn’t it, Jarvis, that Bellew died the moment that he went against The Death Giver’s instructions? Yet I have defied them in speaking to you; and I still live. I wonder, Jarvis, what would happen if I called police headquarters?”
WITH this statement, the pretended Irwin Langhorne raised the receiver and clicked the hook. When the operator responded, he calmly called for police headquarters. His eyes, gazing steadily toward the telephone, did not appear to notice Jarvis. The secretary was rising as in alarm. Backing slowly toward the wall, several feet from the desk, he kept his eyes upon the form of the millionaire.
Langhorne’s voice was speaking over the wire. With a quick turn, Jarvis placed his hand against the light switch in the corner. He clicked it quickly up and down — up and down — the motion twice repeated.
Jarvis was swift; but he had not seen the sidelong gaze from the man at the desk.
Even as Jarvis began his movement toward the switch, Langhorne’s form had risen from the chair.
Straightening and lengthening, it cast a grotesque shadow as it sprang across the floor in the blinking light.
Hands clutched the secretary’s shoulders just as Jarvis made the final click. The tall personage Irwin Langhorne no longer — flung the secretary away from the wall.
Jarvis, light of frame, plunged headlong toward the very chair where he had seen Irwin Langhorne sitting.
The sudden shift came in a twinkling. Jarvis was hurtling toward the desk with meteor speed. With that final click of the light switch, an answering crackle had come from the ceiling above.
The room was plunged in darkness as the glittering chandelier broke from its fastenings and dropped straight downward, a mass of heavy bronze and crystal. The target of the huge object was Irwin Langhorne’s chair. The occupant was no longer there. But as the massive chandelier crashed against chair and desk, a dying cry rent the gloom with horrible shrillness.