His statement about the tag, however, was a satisfactory one. Only one man could dispute it: that was the person who had subst.i.tuted the poisoned tea for the ordinary. Being a murderer, that person would not produce an argument on the subject of the tags.
"It still doesn"t help," insisted Cravlen. "I admire your judgment, Allard. If you think there"s a chance of Brendaw"s innocence, I"m willing to listen. But when you told him that the tea was poisoned, he would have known it himself.
"In fact"-Cravlen nodded as he spoke-"Brendaw realized that if he didn"t stop Miss Merrith from drinking the tea, you would have. That"s why he staged the hero stuff. We"ll give Brendaw credit for being a quick thinker-but that"s all. He had to be a quick thinker, to handle those murders the way he did."
Allard"s lips produced a slight smile. "Rather odd," he remarked, "that a quick-thinking murderer should make the mistake of letting the law take over a death gun that bore his fingerprints."
"The best of them make mistakes," returned the sheriff. "Brendaw didn"t think of fingerprints; that was all."
"The murderer must have thought of them when he used the mace," parried Allard. "Also the rifle, and even the monkey wrench that he used to kill Lenley."
Reaching into his pocket, Allard produced the folded paper that ClydeBurke had given him. In a casual tone, he remarked: "You came to a false conclusion this afternoon, sheriff. You thought that those rifle shots were meant for you. Instead, they were intended for Burke."
"For Burke?"
Cravlen"s tone carried a puzzled echo. Allard nodded.
"Yes," he replied. "Do you remember telling us that Burke had been looking through some old newspaper files?"
"Yes, I remember."
"Burke has told me that he found one issue missing. It was the one that recorded the marriage of old Lionel Brendaw. At least, Burke supposes it was, because a later newspaper spoke of Mr. and Mrs. Lionel Brendaw."
Cravlen shrugged his shoulders.
"I can"t see how that concerned the rifle shots," he declared. "George Brendaw would rather have killed me than Burke."
"Probably," agreed Allard, "if George had wanted to kill any one. But let us return to the fact that Lionel Brendaw was married. Wouldn"t it be quite possible that Lionel had a son?"
"I suppose it would be-"
"And that son," interposed Allard, "would be more likely to seek vengeance than George, who was only a distant relation of Lionel?"
Cravlen stroked his chin. He nodded as the pictured the possibilities.
Then, after further consideration, the sheriff shook his head.
"Good theory, Allard," he declared, "but too much supposition. We have no proof that Lionel Brendaw did have a son. George Brendaw is the only member of the family that we have ever heard about. And we have the evidence that George killed Roderick Talroy. Take another look at the bullets, Allard."
ALLARD stepped over toward the table, while Cravlen waited patiently.
Instead of looking through the microscope, Allard plucked out the death bullet and held it to the light. He turned half away; no one saw the gleam in his eyes. Those were the burning eyes of The Shadow.
Allard"s hands came together as he lowered them. He reached out his right hand, to give the bullet to Wright. He asked the expert to replace it beneath the microscope, for another comparison. Wright complied. He said that the bullets matched perfectly. Allard looked through the microscope, then beckoned to the sheriff. Standing beside Allard, Cravlen viewed the bullets.
"You see?" said Cravlen, his eye to the microscope. "The markings are identical!"
Something thumped the table with a tiny, dull thud. Cravlen bobbed up from the microscope, to stare at a bullet that Allard had placed beside it.
"What"s that?" growled the sheriff. "Where did that bullet come from?"
"You have seen it before," replied Allard, calmly. "It is the bullet that killed Roderick Talroy!"
"The one that you took from the microscope?"
"Yes. But I gave a different bullet back to Wright. He put it under the microscope-and both he and you identified it as the death bullet. Would you like to know where that bullet came from?"
Cravlen did not answer. His eyes were steady; his jaw set hard.
"It came from the corner of the hen house," declared Allard. "It was one of two bullets that you fired, sheriff! I dug out one, but left the other, so that the coroner could find it there, himself!"
THE words were enough for Cravlen. With a scowl, the sheriff wheeled away; he sped his hand for the revolver holster. Cravlen was quick, when it came to drawing a gun, but this time, his speed did not serve him. His holster was empty.
Allard"s hand lifted from beside the table. In his fist, he gripped Cravlen"s .38. With the precision of The Shadow, Allard covered Cravlen.
Steady lips warned the sheriff not to make a move.Cravlen"s face was murderous. He had never suspected Allard"s ruse.
Gawking through the microscope, the sheriff had not felt the deft shift whereby Allard had disarmed him.
Speaking to the coroner, Allard reached out his free hand. He requested that the coroner hand him George"s revolver. The tone, quiet though it was, carried an irresistible command.
One look at two faces-Allard"s and Cravlen"s-convinced every one that Allard was in the right. If ever a man"s suppressed fury betrayed him, Cravlen"s pent-up emotion was doing it at this minute.
Side by side, Allard held the two revolvers. There was hushed silence in the room. Then came Allard"s voice, in monotone: "George Brendaw owned a revolver, and Sheriff Cravlen saw it. Later, the sheriff purchased a gun of the same make and caliber. He carried that .38 with him. He used the weapon to murder Roderick Talroy. He came here later, representing the law.
"Using his authority, he seized George"s gun. Later, he transferred the gun barrels, so that George"s revolver would be accepted as the one that had been used in the murder of Roderick Talroy. It happened, however, that Cravlen was induced to fire two shots from his own revolver before he had opportunity to switch the barrels.
"The bullets prove that story. As for the motive behind Cravlen"s murders, I have already stated it. To-night, Burke looked for information in new places. He sought facts regarding the Cravlens, instead of the Brendaws.
He learned, from an old family record, that Matilda Cravlen was the wife of Lionel Brendaw; that their son, Amos-"
Allard"s tone halted. The sheriff had slumped to a chair. His scowl was gone; his face showed a hunted look. The murderer"s game was finished. He was ready to pour out his own confession.
Amos Cravlen, man of vengeance, had been vanquished by The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXI.
A KILLER"S DOOM.
IN his conflict of emotions, Amos Cravlen showed no regret for the deaths that he had dealt. He was a man given to anger; he became sullen when defeated. But when he began his story, his tone showed proud contempt. His was the bitter tale of a life wherein the only inspiration had been revenge.
"Lionel Brendaw was my father," declared Cravlen. "My mother left him and took me with her. For years, I was taught to despise him; instead, I admired him. When he went to prison, that was proof that his whole life had been wrong. I figured it the opposite.
"When my mother died, I returned to Northridge. I had adopted her name; there were many Cravlens in the old days, but few were left. I pa.s.sed as a member of another branch of the family. I sought popularity and gained it-as a Cravlen. It would have been impossible for a Brendaw."
Cravlen saw Allard put the revolvers back in the exhibit box and clamp it shut. The tall accuser spoke to the prosecutor, who nodded.
The prosecutor had the handcuff keys. He unlocked George"s wrists.
Cravlen scowled; these bracelets would be his next. The sheriff went on with his mystery.
"I visited my father here," he declared. "He showed me the secret pa.s.sages. I told him that I would some day use this house as a place of revenge. When he died, I let George inherit the place. I made secret visits here; from them, I formed my plans.
"I learned Lenley"s game and let him go ahead with it. I used Lenley to bring the Merriths here, through a fake letter, suggesting that Augusta Merrith might invest in his invention. It was easy to get Roderick by faking a telegram from his girl. A crazy wire from Roderick was sure to bring Fant.
"I admit the murders. I pinned the goods on George, to fit the vengeancemotive. I wanted the world to know that Lionel Brendaw was revenged! Lenley was an obstacle. Even those fingerprints might not have incriminated George, with Lenley alive. A jury might think that a crook like Lenley was smart enough to frame George. So I killed Lenley."
Cravlen looked about defiantly. He saw Allard speak to Clyde Burke; then stroll from the room. Cravlen met George"s gaze. The former prisoner put a question: "Why did you want to murder Lucille? Her father would have sent Fant and Talroy to jail, if he could have managed it."
"Would that have helped?" snapped Cravlen. "Merrith was the government prosecutor. That marked him, so far as I was concerned. I couldn"t get him, so I pa.s.sed it on to Lucille. As for you, I had to frame you, to cover myself."
CRAVLEN rose from his chair. He put his hands out toward the prosecutor, as if welcoming the handcuffs. But when the bracelets approached him, Cravlen showed a quick change of manner.
From a sullen, disgruntled crook, he became the murderous battler that he had been before. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the handcuffs from the prosecutor"s grasp.
Wheeling, he drove for the deputy who had charge of the rifle from the lookout room.
Cravlen whipped the handcuffs like a lash. The deputy dodged; warded the blow with his arm. An instant later, Cravlen had the rifle. He dived to a front corner of the room; turned about to cover a startled throng.
Deputies were caught flat-footed. Their hands came up helplessly.
Viciously, Cravlen gave his ultimatum.
"I"m finishing the job I started!" He looked toward Lucille, then glared at George. "Two of you are going to die! You know who they are. If any more want to start something, they"ll go out, too! I"m leaving through the front window"-Cravlen nudged his head in that direction-"and any one that starts after me may get plenty of trouble!
"You might give the job to Allard"-Cravlen looked toward the hall, hoping to glimpse his tall foeman-"because there"s n.o.body I"d like better to meet than-"
A terrific crash interrupted Cravlen"s challenge. The big front window smashed inward. From its blackened void came a sinister laugh that rang in Cravlen"s ears. That tone had a weird chill, like the taunt of a vengeful ghost, arrived to confront a human enemy.
No one could have resisted that threat, least of all, a murderer like Cravlen.
The killer had heard the laugh of The Shadow.
CRAVLEN spun about with the rifle.
He saw gleaming eyes that shone from blackness. In them, the killer saw a glow he recognized. His brain at a hair-trigger pitch, Cravlen made the instant guess that this was Allard, cloaked in black.
The murderer did not quail at sight of The Shadow. He tugged the rifle trigger as he swung the muzzle toward the gleaming eyes. Cravlen was swinging to the right. The rifle barrel, long and unwieldy, was easily followed at that close range. The Shadow shifted to the left, with a speed that rivaled Cravlen"s swing. The killer fired; his bullet whistled through blackness, where The Shadow had been. At the same instant, an automatic stabbed from the edge of the shattered window.
The blast from the .45 was lost amid the roar that echoed from the rifle. But the effects produced by the rival weapons were quite the reverse.
Cravlen"s shot missed; The Shadow"s found its target. The murderous sheriff staggered backward, toward the center of the room.
The Shadow had gone. Cravlen"s gun was slipping from his right shoulder, where The Shadow"s bullet had lodged. In sheer rage, the killer remembered his threat against Lucille and George. He turned about, recovering from his stagger.The Shadow"s shot had finished Cravlen"s chance to deliver evil. The killer"s right hand still gripped the rifle trigger, but his fingers were numbed.
If Cravlen had held a revolver, witnesses would have seen his plight.
His left hand, however, managed to keep the rifle leveled, even though he was unable to use it.
The Shadow had delivered the murderer to the law, but the gun-yanking deputies were too excited to make the capture. They saw Cravlen as a threatening killer. They took no chances. Drawn revolvers spoke from every side.
Amos Cravlen sprawled upon his rifle, dead.
IT was a solemn group that sat there later, in that room where final death had struck. George was beside Lucille; Aunt Augusta was no longer antagonistic. Clyde Burke had remained at Five Towers as a guest.
Clyde had talked last with Kent Allard; he explained that the crime-solver had expressed his regret at making a hurried departure. It happened, so Clyde said, that Allard had stayed much longer than he originally intended.
Had Allard fired the shot from the window, to halt Cravlen"s last attempt at murder? That, frankly, was a question that Clyde could not answer.
He agreed that Allard might have inserted the timely stroke, although he had left ten minutes earlier.
Clyde did know that The Shadow had fired the needed bullet-but the reporter did not say so. The Shadow"s hand had remained a hidden one throughout the episodes at Five Towers; so much so, that Clyde himself doubted that Allard was The Shadow.
However, The Shadow"s revelations had come through Allard, and that was the basis upon which Clyde discussed them.
"Allard learned that Lenley had too much to hide," stated Clyde. "That was why he knew that he could not be the murderer. But he also had reasons that eliminated you, George."
"What were they?" queried George, in surprise.
"Granting that you wanted vengeance," replied Clyde, "you had chosen the worst place to attempt it. Deaths in this house put immediate suspicion upon you. Ordinarily, they would have made it impossible for you to attempt another move.
"Fant"s death was Allard"s clue. It should never have happened, coming from you-or from Lenley, for that matter. The attempt against Lucille was even greater proof of who the real murderer was. Even with secret exits to move through, no one could have risked such bold murder unless the scenes were set for it."
George nodded. He saw the logic of it. One person alone had been in a position to continue the chain of death. That man was Amos Cravlen. George remembered that Cravlen had brought in Fant"s cane. Purposely, the sheriff had left it in the trophy room, so that Fant would go there.
Again, Cravlen had posted only one deputy on upstairs patrol, so that it would seem logical that either George or Lenley had managed to reach Lucille"s room openly.
Cravlen had seen to it that George and Lenley were at large when Fant died.
When he had taken those pot shots at Clyde, the sheriff had first watched George go to the trophy room, while Lenley headed downstairs to the laboratory.
The sheriff"s own telephone call had been an order for Lenley to prepare his fuel for a test; with it, Cravlen had told George to go over old correspondence.
Yes, Cravlen had fixed it so that suspicion always rested upon others.
The sheriff"s word had been law at Five Towers. He had calculated that it would be, before he began his campaign of murder.The beginning had been when Cravlen used the typewriter that Lenley had left in the village; the simple act of entering the repair shop had enabled the sheriff to prepare the letter and the telegrams.
The finish had occurred here to-night, when George was working in the trophy room. By a secret arrival, Cravlen had not only slain Lenley, he had left the poisoned tea for Lucille.
THESE facts and many others had been a.n.a.lyzed by a superbeing whose counter-strokes had beaten a murderer"s game. The spell of The Shadow"s presence still seemed to hold its powerful sway within the walls of the old mansion where he had waited for Cravlen"s final move.
That had come when the killer had located the secret pa.s.sages, as if he had never known of their existence. Cravlen had even worked in Clyde as an aid to that discovery. Failing to murder the reporter at Five Towers, the sheriff had given him another task, hoping that he would forget the importance of the missing newspaper.