The shriek was from the lips of Jarvis. Cast aside by The Shadow’s powerful arms, the secretary had sprawled head-foremost across the chair and the desk. His body was crushed beneath the Jagannath that he had loosed for the destruction of Irwin Langhorne!
Beneath the chandelier, Langhorne had been in the power of Jarvis, secret aid of The Death Giver. But The Shadow, in Langhorne’s place, had sprung away from the fatal snare; and by the swiftness of his action had hurtled Jarvis to a deserved doom!
A light glimmered in the room. The Shadow’s flashlight sparkled as its rays struck the widespread remnants of broken glass. The glare showed the upturned face of Jarvis, cut and bloodstained amid the mass of wreckage.
“Speak!” came The Shadow’s sinister command. “Speak! Tell me of Thade, The Death Giver!”
The secretary’s lips trembled. Jarvis, dying, could not form the words that came to his paralyzed brain.
The miserable man gasped, and his head fell listless.
There were cries from other parts of the house. Scurrying servants were coming up the stairs to learn the cause of the tremendous crash. The Shadow’s light went out. His hands swept Langhorne’s coat and hat from the chair. With swift stride, the master of darkness hurried from the room.
WHEN the servants arrived, they found the crushed form of Jarvis beneath the shattered chandelier.
They saw the telephone off the hook. They believed that the secretary must have been making a call.
The police would be arriving soon, although these servants did not know it. The call had gone through to headquarters. Detectives were already responding. When they arrived, they, like the servants, would consider the death either accidental or unsolvable.
For the evidence was gone. The hand of The Shadow had carried away the data and the messages which Thade had sent to Irwin Langhorne.
To-night, The Shadow had thwarted the scheme of the master killer; he had nullified the death that Thade had planned for Langhorne, should the millionaire disobey instructions.
A murderous wretch had been sent to a deserved death; yet, despite his victory, The Shadow had once more been foiled in his ceaseless effort to trace The Death Giver. The dying lips of Jarvis had failed to tell what they knew about the master killer.
Once again, an underling of Thade had perished while in The Shadow’s grasp. The stroke of death had fallen; not upon emptiness, but upon the living form of a man whose testimony The Shadow had desired.
Chance had aided Thade to-night. Jarvis, unable to stop his plunge, had died. Yet even chance seemed subservient to Thade. The chandelier in Irwin Langhorne’s room had been placed there with design to kill. The special operation of the switch had done its work.
Not Irwin Langhorne nor The Shadow — neither of these had fallen before Thade’s might. Nevertheless, the death-dealing mass had found a victim. Jarvis, in his failure, was of no further use to Thade. He had died, and could speak no damage.
The stroke of death had fallen. It had done its work as certainly as if it had been controlled by the hidden hand of The Death Giver himself!
CHAPTER XIII. CHANCE INTERVENES
WHEN The Shadow, playing the part of Irwin Langhorne, had conferred with Jarvis, he had struck close to the millionaire’s actual type of action. For Langhorne was one who placed considerable reliance in those who had his confidence.
From the moment that his mysterious double left the Bastion Hotel, Irwin Langhorne began to ponder upon the situation which surrounded him; and in pondering, he decided that he must seek dependable advice.
Going over a mental list of persons whom he knew, Langhorne struck upon one name that impressed him. That was Paul Roderick. The two were friends; and during the past few months they had often discussed business matters when they had met at the Merrimac Club.
It did not occur to Langhorne that Roderick might be the man behind the menace which now threatened him. Not for one instant would the millionaire importer have associated Roderick with The Death Giver.
One reason was the millionaire’s constant reliance upon his friends; the other was the cleverness which Roderick had displayed in his meetings with Langhorne.
In compiling his list of prospective victims for the toils of Thade, The Death Giver, Paul Roderick had used considerable discretion. He knew that there were many millionaires whose wealth consisted chiefly of frozen assets. Therefore, in picking such names as Henry Bellew and Irwin Langhorne — the two who topped the list— Roderick had first assured himself that each would be capable of raising a million dollars in a hurry.
Roderick had named Bellew chiefly through hearsay and reports; he had chosen Langhorne because he had heard the man talk freely about his affairs. Importing, in which Langhorne dealt, was at its zenith; and Roderick had shrewdly made friends with the man whose life Thade was to threaten.
Actually, Langhorne had many friends who were closer than Roderick; but as he sat alone in the room at the Bastion Hotel, the millionaire recalled Roderick as a young man of unusually sound judgment. It was this recollection that made Langhorne forget his promise to The Shadow.
He felt a sense of unreality. He wanted some one with whom he could talk. Why should he mistrust every one on the say-so of an individual whose identity he did not know? Certainly it would be all right to call upon Roderick.
With this thought, Irwin Langhorne went to the telephone, and when the sleepy clerk responded, the millionaire gave the number of the Merrimac Club. The clerk dialed it to the central operator.
Langhorne learned that Roderick was at the club. A few minutes later, he was engaged in earnest conversation with his friend.
Langhorne’s first words were the exacting of a promise that Roderick would not tell any one he had heard from the speaker. Roderick acquiesced. Langhorne then added that he was in hiding at the Bastion Hotel, and gave the room number. Roderick promised to come there right away.
LESS than a quarter hour later, there was a soft rap at Langhorne’s door. The millionaire opened the portal and smiled in wan relief as he saw the face of Paul Roderick. He invited the clubman into the room.
“What’s the trouble?” was Roderick’s first question.
Briefly, and with another caution for secrecy, Irwin Langhorne related the events that had occurred. He described the letters that he had received from The Death Giver; he told of his strange meeting with the amazing being garbed in black, who had revealed himself as the image of Irwin Langhorne.
“This may sound fantastic, Roderick,” asserted Langhorne, “but I assure you that it is all true — unless I have lost my mind—”
“It sounds incredible,” returned Roderick. “The part about the letters is understandable; but this phantom that you say brought you here — are you sure you were not under some sort of delusion?”
“I am positive that I told the cab driver to take me to the Albion,” persisted Langhorne. “I have never heard of this place — The Bastion — before. Some one else gave the order. Some one who later proved to be the image of myself!”
“And you say his purpose was to return to your home?”
“Yes. To thwart the mission of The Death Giver.”
“Who is there now?”
“Several servants. Jarvis, my secretary, is in charge.”
“Ah! You have confidence in Jarvis?”
“Yes.”
“Well, suppose,” suggested Roderick suavely, “that you call your home and talk to Jarvis. Be cautious about it; let him know that an impostor is at your house. This looks to me like a fiendish scheme directed against you.”