Death in the Stars

Granting the situation to be precisely as Claremont had put it, the committee proceeded to debate an important point; namely, Claremont's argument that Scorpio would not have turned crook when he knew that he could gain a quarter of a million dollars without recourse to crime.

It was Grendale who talked first. He tried to laugh off the matter of the money, insisting that Scorpio had made a bigger haul through crime than he could otherwise. But Jamison, Albion, and the other victims of the robberies shook their heads.

Combined, their losses might total more than a quarter million, but not in cash. Claremont's argument still stood. It was due to be shattered, though, as The Shadow could tell from the trend of the conversation. It was Carradon who struck the answer.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "It's Scorpio, the alibi artist, all over again. The fellow is so crooked he can't think of anything straight. When anything legitimate comes his way, he tries to think how he can use it to cover something else.

"Suppose we didn't have all the goods on him. Suppose he was still in his Castle, under suspicion of the heaviest sort, but with nothing fully proven. What would our reaction be, after what Claremont just told us? Why, we'd go over to see Scorpio, and apologize for ever suspecting him of crime!"

Carradon's analysis brought a chorus of assent. It fitted perfectly with Scorpio's actions all along.

Claremont's arrival could be regarded as Scorpio's trump card. No one wondered any more why the professor had so brazenly waited out events.

Niles Rundon picked up where Howard Carradon left off.

"What about tonight?" queried Rundon, suddenly. "Are you going to stand by and let Scorpio get away with something else?"

Some listeners were puzzled. Rundon laughed.

"You don't think the professor will pass up Claremont's cash, do you?" continued Rundon. "Carradon is right; this deal is Scorpio's alibi. But it's also his chance to more than double his haul, here at Lake Calada."

A buzz circled the group. Henry Denwood looked toward Lamont Cranston. He caught the slightest of nods.

"Claremont must be warned," decided Denwood. "At once."

The statement produced derisive chuckles that grew into hearty laughs, with Grendale's booming loudest.

"Warn Claremont!" expressed Grendale. "Why, he's warned us! Anyone who interferes with his affairs will probably get a load of slugs from a blunderbuss or whatever kind of gun that old miser has over at his place.

"I've never known it to fail. The men who can squeeze pennies out of people and turn them into millions, are always the quickest to hand over their wealth to clever fortune hunters."

The rest seemed to agree, with the exception of Cranston. The Shadow felt that the rule did not apply in Grendale's own case. The financier was a first-class penny squeezer, but he had never shown himself open-handed or big-hearted toward anyone.

All that, however, was apart from the major theme. The question was: would Scorpio visit Claremont?

The answer was unanimously yes. Which produced another question: What could the committee do about it?

Denwood suggested calling in the sheriff, but he was promptly overruled. Should Sheriff Kirk agree to call at Claremont's, it was a foregone conclusion that Scorpio would not show up. On the other hand, if the sheriff knew that volunteers were going to Claremont's against the old eccentric's wish, he would probably use his authority to prevent such an expedition.

It was Grendale who summed it up, with the first really sensible suggestion that he had made that afternoon.

"We've got to handle this ourselves," he declared, emphatically, "and do it outside the law."

The thing seemed justified, the more the group considered it. In fact, several of the others had been on the point of putting the same proposal. Two points were at issue: Claremont's property rights, and the quest for Scorpio. Denwood found the situation comparable to a previous one.

"When we wanted Barcla," he reminded, "we let Scorpio go through with a séance, knowing that Barcla would surely come. We had men in the offing, who closed in and prevented Barcla's departure. In this case, we know that Scorpio will visit Claremont. Perhaps our former method will work again."

Denwood looked toward Cranston as he spoke. He knew that it was The Shadow, not the deputies, who had assured success the night of the séance. He was sure that The Shadow would act again, this evening.

"Excellent, Denwood!" agreed Grendale. "We caught Barcla with the goods-those spooky robes that he was wearing. We'll get Scorpio with the goods, in the shape of Claremont's money."

"Not at all" returned Denwood, "because the money will be a voluntary gift. Scorpio will be taken because of his past crimes. Even if it happens on Claremont's property, I think the captors will be justified."

ALL were enthusiastic, but The Shadow could foresee a sudden cooling. He was smiling slightly when it came.

When Carradon proposed that they form a party for the trapping of Scorpio, everyone favored it but no one wanted to be included, not even Carradon himself. He had beaten the others to the proposal, apparently in order to get out of it.

"Come, gentlemen!" exclaimed Carradon. "You are all big losers. Aren't you willing to take a risk in order to regain your losses?"

Apparently, they weren't. Grendale argued that they had lost enough already. Gillespie, Jamison, and Albion concurred with him. Derisively, Grendale demanded:

"Why don't you go, Carradon? You're a loser, too."

"No, no," smiled Carradon. "Paula is the loser. Those were her jewels. I've lost nothing."

"Then take the risk," retorted Grendale, triumphantly. "You have a score to settle with Scorpio, anyway.

He had you cooped up for a few days underground."

Carradon gestured toward Rundon and Harry, said, "They were prisoners, too."

"Then why don't you all go?" parried Grendale. "You're all in the same boat." He chuckled, feeling that he had made a jest. "All in the same boat; that's it! Go in a boat together, over to Claremont's this evening."

No one laughed at Grendale's self-appreciated joke. Carradon's face had sobered, with recollection of his imprisonment under Indian Rock. Looking at Rundon, Carradon saw an expression that matched his own. Both glanced toward Harry Vincent. He, too, was serious, but his eyes were gazing elsewhere.

Harry was awaiting a flash from The Shadow.

"I'll go," decided Carradon, suddenly. "Someone has to break the ice, and it appears that I am justified."

"Which puts it up to me," declared Rundon. "I was in trouble before, along with Carradon, and both of us got out of it. I'll go along with you, Howard."

Harry caught a glitter from Cranston's eyes, while Carradon and Rundon were shaking hands to close the deal. When the pair turned toward Harry, he met their combined stare squarely and said:

"You may count me in."

Grendale was on his feet, warmly pounding the shoulders of the venturesome three. He winced a bit, when Albion added to the approbation by saying that he and the other losers-which included Grendale-would combat any lawsuit that Claremont might institute against the trespassers.

The commotion simmered down to a discussion between the three volunteers. They decided that they would start from the Community Center at dusk, using a canoe to reach Claremont's property, which was only about a mile away. The water route was preferable, since Claremont's preserves were surrounded by a picket fence, which might be troublesome to cross.

"If Scorpio comes by water," declared Rundon, "we will probably hear him. But my hunch is, he'll use the woods."

"We'll have to close in on the bungalow, then," put in Carradon. "If we don't hear Scorpio climbing the fence, we'll certainly know when he goes into the house."

"The fence is a big help," added Rundon. "It means we'll have Scorpio boxed when he leaves."

"Except for the water front," reminded Carradon. "It's a pretty wide expanse at Claremont's."

The point in question bothered the listeners. In picturing the lake front at Claremont's, they also recalled Scorpio's getaway on a previous night, when the professor had transformed himself from a robed mystic into a limber cross-country runner.

They remembered, too, that Scorpio had wrenched himself from more than three men who grabbed him.

Physically, the rogue was quite as slippery as he was mentally.

"We'll have to bring in the sheriff," decided Rundon, ruefully, "and a bunch of deputies. But if we can only keep them off until we need them! Somebody's got to handle it."

RUNDON looked to Grendale and the other money men. They, in turn, appealed to Denwood, who shook his head slowly. He doubted that he could handle the thing himself; and it was difficult to pick from among the others. Whoever was chosen couldn't afford to bungle; and it was too likely that the man would.

They were buzzing among themselves, however, and eyes were turning toward a person who had hitherto been little more than a spectator: Lamont Cranston. He had suddenly become the choice of everyone, for a very sensible reason. Sheriff Kirk held a high opinion of Cranston and had voiced it heartily. He credited Cranston with being the quickest thinker that he had ever met, because of the episode at the Pioneer Mine. The deputies liked Cranston, too, because he had saved the lives of a few of them during their mistaken encounter with Harry Vincent.

Catching the buzzed words, Denwood glanced toward his friend and received The Shadow's nod.

Denwood settled the discussion.

"Our minds are all agreed," he declared. "The sheriff values Cranston's opinions and will follow his suggestions to the limit. He knows, too, that Cranston has visited obscure sections of the lake and might pick up a clue to Scorpio, should the professor come back through the mountain pass and stay in hiding hereabouts.

"I believe, knowing Cranston as I do"-Denwood was keeping his tone as casual as possible-"that he will be able to keep the sheriff quite satisfied, yet unaware of actual matters, until the time for action. There is just one question, and Cranston alone can answer it: Will he accept the assignment?"

Eyes turned hopefully toward The Shadow. They saw the impassive face of Cranston light with what seemed a real enthusiasm.

"Gentlemen," came the calm-toned reply, "I shall be delighted to undertake the intriguing task that you suggest."

Only Harry Vincent, long in The Shadow's service, could sense the mockery behind that acceptance. He was sure that The Shadow was laughing inwardly; later, perhaps, Harry would know why.

At present, only The Shadow knew!

CHAPTER XVIII. THE COMMON GOAL.

They dined at the community lodge-Harry, Carradon, and Rundon. Lois Melvin was at their table, Because her presence would naturally be expected. By mutual consent, they took the girl into their confidence, enough so to curb her curiosity.

Lois could be trusted not to talk, and she wasn't the sort to fuss about anyone taking risks. The trouble was something that Harry should have anticipated. Informed briefly of what was to happen, Lois wanted to go along.

No argument would persuade her otherwise. Rundon became testy, in an undertone, and Lois displayed anger in her flashing eyes.

"Scorpio was right on one thing," she told him. "Gemini doesn't harmonize with Virgo. You turn facts to suit your wishes, Niles; while I only want things that facts permit me to have."

"Just how does that apply in this case?" growled Rundon.

"Very definitely," replied Lois, firmly. "You want to trap Scorpio, and you've talked your friends into thinking that the three of you can do it."

"It was Carradon's idea-"

"Your own, too, Niles," interrupted Lois. "You have good points, as well as faults. You are generous, overly so, in giving credit to others. But you haven't stuck to facts. You three are the last who should have been selected for this job."

"Why?"

"Because Scorpio tricked all of you, and captured you in the bargain. Individually, you have demonstrated just one ability-that of being trapped."

Rundon's eyes flashed fury. Carradon looked very much annoyed. But Harry eased the tension with a chuckle, as he told the others:

"Lois is right."

"Perhaps," said Rundon, regaining his calm. "But tonight there are three of us."

"Which doesn't change the case, returned Lois, sweetly. "What you need is somebody that Scorpio can't catch."

"Yourself, I suppose."

"Exactly!" argued Lois. "Think back, and you'll recall that I'm the one person who did manage to give Scorpio's bunch the slip. It's nearly dusk"-she glanced from the window-"so I'll go and change to my camping outfit. I'll meet you in the canoe."

She looked to Harry and Carradon as they walked from the dining room. Both looked doubtful, yet neither could find a solid reason why the girl should not accompany them. It seemed that Virgo people were unbeatable, when it came to logical argument.

It was up to Rundon to spike the idea, if he could find a way, and Rundon was doing some quick thinking. Laughing, Lois said that he was giving a display of Gemini ingenuity; but she reminded him that this was a sporting proposition, which should also appeal to people born under the sign of the Twins.

Rundon paused by the clerk's desk, stalling while he watched Sheriff Kirk come into the lobby and enter a telephone booth. He whispered to the others:

"That's Denwood calling, asking Kirk to come over and talk to Cranston."

"Which means it's time to start," analyzed Lois. "I'll go up and change."

"Wait!"

Rundon turned to the clerk, asked him to hand over a pack of cards that lay near the telephone switchboard. Stepping to a table near the stairway, Rundon spread the pack in front of Lois.

"We'll make it a sporting proposition," he decided. "Take any card you want, and carry it up to your room. If it's a low card, you can get into that camping outfit and join us at the canoe."

"And if it's a high one?"

"You're to go to bed and stay there, as a lesson that Virgo persons should not interfere with other people's business."

Lois calculated, then asked how high the low cards went.

"I'll be generous, as usual," conceded Rundon. "I'll give you from deuces up through eights, which is more than half the pack."

Lois drew a card, and snuggled it against her waist as she started up stairs. Reaching her room, she started the change to her camping garb, confident that her luck would hold. At the last moment, she turned the card face up.

It was a jack; a high card.

ANGRILY, Lois threw the card on the floor, her camping outfit with it. Obtaining pajamas instead, she finished undressing and flung herself into bed. Sullenly, she decided that people of her sign weren't good losers.

She wished that she hadn't taken up the proposition. By this time, the canoe had started, and she would have forgotten about it, ordinarily. She could have gone to the community movies instead, as everyone else was doing, judging from voices and laughter that she heard from the pier and the darkening ground outside her window.

Instead, she had sent herself to bed at sunset, by drawing the wrong card. It would be a miserable ordeal, lying awake for hours, listening to all the fun around the Community Center. But Virgo people always kept their agreements, just as they also cried over spilled milk.

They analyzed, too, as Lois had said, particularly when they had nothing else to do. It wasn't long before she began to wonder why Rundon had told her to take the card upstairs before she looked at it. The others should have seen it, too, to know whether or not they should wait in the canoe.

Scrambling from bed, Lois put on slippers and dressing gown; telephoning the clerk, she told him to send up the pack of cards that Rundon had borrowed.

The pack arrived. Closing the door, Lois examined the cards by the table lamp. Her lips compressed in anger. It was just what she expected; Rundon had carried his ingenuity too far. This was a forty-eight card pinochle pack; it didn't contain a card under a nine spot!

Guests on the veranda were suddenly disturbed by a shower of cards that came fluttering from a second-story window. Caught by a spanking breeze, the pinochle pack was distributed all over the lawn, as a token of Lois' sentiments toward it.

Stirred by the same breeze, the surface of Lake Calada was rolling wavelets in toward Claremont's shore, slowing the progress of the canoe.

Harry and his two companions had agreed to hug the shore very closely, and it was difficult, considering the choppy water, which frequently threatened to beach their craft too soon.

Carradon grumbled about it, claiming that they might be too late to trap Scorpio, but Rundon reassured him. The professor couldn't approach Claremont's by daylight; therefore, at best, he would still be on his way.

In Rundon's opinion, the waves helped matters. They would be an excuse for Cranston to keep the sheriff's boats well off Claremont's shore.

Beaching the canoe near Claremont's dock, the three men moved along the tree-shrouded frontage, guiding themselves by the starlight that had replaced the afterglow above the mountains.

Satisfied that no other boats had been here, they spread, working their way up toward the bungalow well back on the gently rising slope.

The building looked very small from the water because of the wide woods surrounding it, but its sprawling shape enlarged at close range. Evidently, Claremont had built on a larger scale than most persons supposed; but none of his neighbors had ever visited him, to find out what his residence was like.

Converging near a porch that jutted from the bungalow front, the three men held low conversation.

Rundon pointed toward the lake, black through the wavering trees, to little lights that dotted the waters.

"The sheriff's boats," he undertoned. "Cranston's keeping them well out."

There were echoes of a spurting motor from the flotilla. One batch of lights headed down the lake; soon, another followed. Rundon chuckled softly.

"He's giving them the runaround, too," he said. "A good stunt, having them anchor off this shore as if by chance. If Scorpio sees those lights, he won't suspect trouble. They're thinning out very neatly."

ACTUALLY, The Shadow was keeping the boats on the move, much to the mystification of Sheriff Kirk, who wondered what was in Cranston's mind. The sheriff had a lot to be puzzled about, because he wasn't in one of the motorboats at all.

With Cranston, the sheriff was floating in a very curious craft, that bobbed like a coracle upon the black waves. The thing was big and round, like an enormous automobile tire, and its bottom was nothing but a thin layer of rubber.

The Shadow had inflated this rubber boat with a pump attached to a motor. He and the sheriff had left the few remaining boats in the anchored flotilla and were floating in toward Claremont's wharf. The sheriff noted that Cranston was guiding the craft with a short paddle.

He noted, too, that the sides of the rubbery nest were quilted, but did not realize that they consisted of compartments. In those secret pockets were the guise that The Shadow favored-black cloak, hat, and gloves, that could render him invisible when he reached the shore.

They reached the dock. The rubber coracle made no sounds as it grazed. The only noise was the soft whispering of the tree boughs, high above. Then the sheriff undertoned:

"Say! This is Claremont's dock. The old boy showed up today. He's kind of fussy about people using it."

"In that case," came Cranston's calm suggestion, "we can go ashore."

The sheriff went ashore, and was scratching his head when Cranston joined him.

"Claremont wouldn't like this, either."

"Is he likely to be strolling around, sheriff?"

"Not him," returned Kirk. "Fresh air poisons that old fossil. He'll be in his bungalow, maybe with a fire lighted."

"If the bungalow is up the slope," decided The Shadow, in Cranston's deliberate fashion, "it would be just the place from which we could properly watch the boats."

"But if Claremont hears us-"

"You can tell him why we're here. As sheriff, you have the necessary authority. But if we ascend carefully, without lights, Claremont will neither see nor hear us."

The sheriff hadn't been informed of Claremont's threat against visitors this night. He merely considered Claremont to be an old crab, who would listen to reason after having his say. With Cranston, who was carefully muffling a flashlight in something that hung across his arm, the sheriff moved toward the bungalow.

Halfway there, the sheriff stopped short and gripped Cranston's arm, but not the one that held the cloak.

"Hear that?" he whispered.

The Shadow heard it-a distant clang, that ended with a slight rattle. He pretended not to know the cause; so the sheriff explained it.

"There's a picket fence along the property line. Somebody's climbing over it, Cranston!"

Ready to throw aside caution, the sheriff pulled gun and flashlight. The Shadow stayed him, undertoning a warning in the sheriff's ear.

"It would be better to approach the bungalow," advised The Shadow. "I have heard that Percy Claremont is expecting a visitor this evening."

"A visitor?" came the sheriff's echoed whisper. "Who could it be?"

The time for subterfuge was past. In the midst of that strange, whispery darkness The Shadow spoke two words, that told the sheriff all he needed. Enough to spur the sheriff to any action that Cranston might suggest.

The Shadow's calm words were:

"Professor Scorpio!"

CHAPTER XIX. DEATH'S TRAIL.

THE three men at the cabin had heard the slight clang from the fence. Rundon, always ingenious, was the first to suggest a plan that would suit the situation.

"We've got to cover all doors," he told the others. "Whichever of us sees Scorpio enter must inform the others. He'll probably come out the way he's going in."

Creeping upon the porch, Rundon tried the front door and whispered down to the others:

"It's locked, but maybe Scorpio has a key. I'll stick here, while you pick other places."

At the side, Harry and Carradon found another door. It was locked, but Carradon covered it, while Harry went on to the rear. Finding a back door, The Shadow's agent tried it, discovered that it was locked, too.

Dropping back, Harry waited. Judging the distance to the side fence, he decided that Scorpio would reach the bungalow very soon.

Then, from within the house, Harry heard slight creaks. He decided that they must mean Claremont, for he was sure that the wealthy recluse was at home, even though the venturers had seen no lights.

The creaks traveled eerily, almost like one of Scorpio's spooks. Harry thought he heard them from two separate quarters.

Maybe it was his imagination. It had been proven that persons who saw two lake monsters had seen the same one twice, but had been fooled by its speed. There was argument, too, about the time of Barcla's capture; deputies claimed that they had spotted the bobbing ghost near one side of Grendale's house, while the rest had been spying Barcla at the other side.

But there was no mistake about the creaks. Momentarily, Harry heard both sets at once; knew that two men must be in the house. There was a fourth door, probably, or a convenient window through which Scorpio had crept. The professor was meeting Percy Claremont.

Edging off, Harry decided to find the entrance place and report back to Rundon and Carradon. Before he had gone a dozen steps, the indoor creaks were ended. Other tokens replaced them. Things that came with fearful suddenness.

A light gleamed through a shaded window. There was a sudden cackle, in Claremont's high-pitched voice. Scuffling sounds, followed by the hard thwack of a club, that must be Claremont's walking stick.

Then, a triumphant shout in a voice that Harry knew too well: the tone of Professor Scorpio!

Hard upon that shout came two reports from a revolver, splitting sounds, that seemed to quiver the atmosphere. Before he could get to a door, Harry heard the smash of another barrier; then a terrific clatter, as an entire window was ripped from its frame.

A figure bounded quickly from beside the house wall. Harry took after it, yelling for the others. Carradon deserted the door that he was watching and joined in the chase. They heard Rundon's voice, gasping but loud, from the window:

"It Scorpio! Get him!"

Two others-the sheriff and Cranston-were coming through the front door. Hearing them, Rundon staggered about, stumbled toward them, and sagged into a huddled shape. He stabbed his finger toward the lighted room. His words were panted.

"Scorpio... came in by the front!" Rundon gave a gulp, pressed his hand to his collar, which was ripped.

"I... I followed him. He had a key. Wouldn't have jumped at him... was going to get the others... only, he got Claremont. In there!"

Outside, shouts told that Harry and Carradon were still in pursuit of their quarry. Suddenly, Harry yelled; a gun barked twice. With the echoes, they could hear Carradon's angry snarl.

"Scorpio went that way," panted Rundon, pointing to the window. "Maybe... maybe they couldn't catch him."

The sheriff hesitated, looked at Cranston.

"You see to Claremont," The Shadow told him, pointing to a groaning form by a desk in the lighted room.

"I'll go along the trail."

IT was a trail, indeed. Along the hallway to the window lay half a dozen bills, all of thousand-dollar denomination. Vaulting the window sill, The Shadow bored his flashlight as he struck the ground, and saw more money scattered irregularly ahead.

One fluttering bank note had stopped against a tree twenty yards away, but beyond that point, the direction changed.

Harry and Carradon were down by the water front, with flashlights. Boats were racing in from the lake, spreading to control the shore. Deputies had heard the gunfire; they took it as a signal from the sheriff.

Stopped outside the window, The Shadow extinguished his flashlight. His laugh, low-toned and under-standing, seemed to blend with the whispers of the breeze-swayed trees.

Within the lighted room, the sheriff was stooping above the prone form of Claremont. The withery millionaire was staring feebly with his tiny eyes, that were bead-like through his thick glasses. His long jaw wagged, weakly. Sheriff Kirk could see a clawlike motion of the long, bony fingers. It was a death pluck.

Rundon was crawling in from the hall. Weakly, he pointed to the dying man. His breath returned, Rundon was able to furnish details.

"Claremont is trying to tell you what happened," said Rundon. "He'd promised that money to Scorpio; but the professor was too eager for it. Claremont swung at him with the cane-"

The cane was lying broken beside the desk, which bore a great dent from the blow that Claremont had meant for Scorpio. But that was not why Sheriff Kirk motioned to Rundon for silence. It happened that Claremont was managing to speak.

Words came with a death cough; a tone so forced that it was no more than a croak.

"He... shot... me-"

A bony hand had lifted; it settled, its wavering finger pointing along the floor toward the door.

There was a ratty gargle from Claremont's throat; his last.

"Yes, Scorpio shot Claremont," nodded Rundon. "From the doorway, just like he said. He'd have shot me, too, when I pitched on him, only he'd put his gun away, to grab the money. He got me by the neck, though, and chucked me long enough to smash out through the window. He lost some of the money when he went."

The sheriff stood looking at Claremont's body, noted the two bullet holes that marred the old man's shirt front. He swung to Rundon, who was rubbing the side of his head, muttering that he had struck a wall when Scorpio flung him.

"Scorpio didn't give the poor old fellow a chance," growled the sheriff, bitterly. "Shooting from the doorway, like that-why the range was only about six feet!"

"Just about," began Rundon, turning toward the doorway, as did the sheriff. "He was right there-"

Rundon halted, his mouth and eyes wide open, like the sheriff's. They were even more astonished than if they had seen Professor Scorpio. For there was a figure on the threshold; stranger, more mysterious than Scorpio had ever been, even in his Hindu robes.

It was a figure cloaked in black; a shape of the night come into light. A weird form that dying crooks and rescued prisoners had mentioned, yet which none had seen more than hazily. This was the fighter who had done so much to stifle crime at Lake Calada.

The Shadow!

THERE was no identifying him as Cranston. The collar of the cloak was lifted, the brim of the slouch hat turned down, so effectively that they hid all the black-clad crime-fighter's features except his burning eyes.

Orbs that seemed to flash with vengeance, those eyes turned upon the figure on the floor. In Percy Claremont, The Shadow saw a man who should not have died; yet the weird, quivering laugh that whispered from hidden lips was one of satisfaction.

Riveted, Rundon and the sheriff followed The Shadow with their eyes, as though his approaching figure magnetized their gaze. He passed between them, came close to Claremont's body and stared down at the scrawny, dry face. The Shadow's arms were folded in front of his cloak. He extended one hand, pointed with a thin gloved finger.

"Those glasses, sheriff," spoke The Shadow in a sibilant tone, "mark Claremont as a man of very exceptional eyesight."

Sheriff Kirk shook himself from his daze. To hear this creature of darkness address him so familiarly was as amazing as a meeting with an actual ghost. Rather numbly, Kirk approached the body. He found his voice.

"Poor eyesight," he corrected. Then, hastily: "Not that I want to argue. But the glasses are thick, like magnifiers."

"They do not magnify," said The Shadow. "They reduce. Those glasses are part of a disguise."

Stooping, The Shadow plucked away the spectacles. The eyes beneath the glasses enlarged, as did their sockets. Instead of tiny beads, the eyes were large and glary; their power was apparent, despite the death glaze that had come over them.

Claremont's eyes seemed wider apart, too, with the glasses removed.

The sheriff was wondering where he had seen those eyes before, when he noticed that The Shadow's hand was moving between the dead man's face and the light.

The hand stopped, casting a shadow that obscured the long jaw with blackness that suddenly reminded the sheriff of a beard. From Kirk's throat came the amazed ejaculation.

"Professor Scorpio!"

Even as the sheriff shouted, The Shadow wheeled. His other hand whisked from the cloak, swinging an automatic. The muzzle of the weapon covered Rundon, as the fellow was springing toward the door.

Coming full about, Rundon froze.

He had a revolver half drawn; thousand-dollar bills were dripping, in slow flutters, from a packet that he had stowed deep beneath his coat. He was caught with the evidence of crime upon him, unable to make another move.

The Shadow's laugh told Rundon something that he had learned too late: Only one person had guessed the dual identity that was Professor Scorpio and Percy Claremont. That person was The Shadow. With Scorpio both the killer and the victim, by Rundon's statement, it was plain that Rundon, himself, was the master hand of crime.

The supercrook who had managed criminal schemes at Lake Calada, Niles Rundon, had exposed his entire game by murdering his living alibi, Professor Scorpio!

CHAPTER XX. THE LAST FLIGHT.

STEADILY, in a tone that seemed to throb with echoes from the past, The Shadow was telling the truth of Rundon's crimes, so clearly that every word struck home to Sheriff Kirk. Rundon, the culprit, stood listening, while the money fluttered, building a little mound of wealth beside his feet.

"With Scorpio's innocence now proven," spoke The Shadow, "my task was to pick the guilty man from others. Scorpio's innocence was proven, from the very start. Facts told that he was not the murderer of Drury."

Rundon's eyes actually bulged, as he heard the revelation that proved The Shadow's early knowledge.

"Clever of you, Rundon," declared The Shadow, "to seek the death of a troublesome Mr. Cranston.

Clever, too, to willingly sacrifice the life of Lois Melvin, the girl you claimed to love, in order to strengthen your own alibi."

"But you forgot another passenger on board that ship: Edward Barcla. You knew that Barcla was Scorpio's accomplice; but it did not occur to you that Barcla would logically have cut adrift from Scorpio had the professor tried to wreck the plane."

It was now occurring to Rundon, as he listened; but the idea came too late. The sheriff gave an understanding grunt, that carried self-reproach. He realized that Scorpio never could have explained the episode satisfactorily to Barcla.

Both the professor and his star accomplice knew that someone else had been behind the thing; in all probability they had suspected Rundon, but kept it to themselves.

There were others who heard The Shadow's denouncement. Harry Vincent and Howard Carradon had arrived in the hallway, bringing Lois Melvin along. She was the person that they had pursued outside the bungalow. Her camping clothes formed her present attire; they were torn from her climb over the pickets.

The Shadow's words were continuing to hold his listeners spellbound. Briefly, he was tracing the circumstances which showed how simple crime had been, though seemingly complex.

Scorpio had been deep in the spook racket. He had bribed many servants, had tricked up many houses, for his séances. In so doing, he had made himself a perfect target for a schemer more clever than himself: Niles Rundon.

Going in for crime in a big way, Rundon had bought out a few of Scorpio's most capable tools, to work with his hidden crew. He had assembled the mystery boat, its plans stolen from a crazed inventor, to insure his criminal success.

The Shadow revealed the strongest part of Rundon's game. It was his trick of staging crime only on the nights when Scorpio gave séances. Rundon was throwing suspicion upon a man who could not stave it off, considering that Scorpio, himself, was engaged in an illegitimate racket!

Earlier robberies had been simple. At Paula Lodi's, where quick action was needed, Rundon and a few others of his band had stripped the jewels from the actress, sending the swag out by the veranda door while everyone was after the ghost.

A daring thing, yet it had made it very bad for Scorpio and Barcla. To cover their game, the fleeing crooks had been forced to carry Carradon along; for he had seen the lake monster, harbored in the boathouse, and had recognized it as a water craft of sorts.

"You were prepared for that, Rundon," accused The Shadow. "Even your own men did not know that you were the man behind crime. Some of them, like Rufus, actually believed that they were working for Scorpio. You encouraged the idea, by using horoscopes to send your secret messages.

"They followed form when they abducted you outside your own cabin, for you saw the mystery ship, too, though Lois did not. But you thought of everything, Rundon"-there was an ironic touch in The Shadow's sinister laugh-"even to concealing keys in the cells beneath Indian Rock!"

THAT was one that amazed Carradon and Harry. They realized that they, as fellow prisoners, had testified that Rundon was with them on the night when Grendale's stocks were stolen.

It was a robbery that only Rundon could have managed, as Harry suddenly understood. The Shadow came to that event, disclosed it as a duel of wits between Scorpio and Rundon.

"Scorpio knew you were working up an alibi," The Shadow told Rundon. "To ruin it, he told Barcla to impersonate you at the séance. Should you return, later, alive, it would have made matters very hard to explain.

"You met that one, Rundon, by coming in person. You were the ghost that entered; you knew the combination of Grendale's safe, as many of his friends did, and robbed it during your brief intermission of disappearance."

From the doorway, Lois could not suppress an ejaculation:

"But I didn't think the ghost was Niles! He failed to answer my question."

"Because he was purposely bungling his impersonation of himself." explained The Shadow. "His men had already captured Barcla, and were prepared to throw him into the path of guns. Rundon wanted Barcla to take the whole blame-as Barcla did."

There was mockery in The Shadow's final words, telling that he had divined the twofold game. Harry remembered the talk of two ghosts on that night outside of Grendale's. There had actually been two, but one had made a getaway.

Rundon had reached a hidden speedboat, the one that had led a false chase to the cove, when others pursued the lake monster.

The Shadow turned an almost sorrowful gaze toward Scorpio's body. The dead man was a rascal; in a measure, he had furthered murder by continuing his secret duel with Rundon. The death of Scorpio was no loss to humanity; still, Scorpio deserved credit for the scheme whereby he had later aided the trapping of Rundon.

While The Shadow had been looking for a way to put full blame on Rundon, Scorpio had returned to Lake Calada as Percy Claremont. He had actually shaved his beard, as he had evidently done often before, to pay one of his occasional Claremont visits.

Scorpio had brought the money as bait for Rundon. He was confident that Rundon did not know Claremont's other identity. Only The Shadow divined it; perhaps because he had never met Claremont before and had been solely on the outlook for Scorpio. The disguise had been almost perfect, the trap excellent.

As Claremont, Scorpio had expected to down Rundon with his cane and expose him as a crook. Later, the withered Mr. Claremont could have returned as Professor Scorpio. But Rundon had won the physical duel, stabbing home shots as he managed to half dodge the hard-swung cane.

It was Lois who supplied the final accusation, as she pressed forward into the room. Her horror of Rundon had become indignation, particularly because he had dragged her into the final game.

"You thought you'd get here ahead of Scorpio." exclaimed the girl. "You wanted to murder Claremont and leave a false trail. But someone had to be prowling around, to draw the others off. You wouldn't bring me in the canoe, but you found a way to make me come by land. You knew I'd guess the trick you played, and that I'd be angry enough to set out alone!"

Stooping, the girl picked up the flood of thousand-dollar bills that had piled around Rundon's feet. She intended to hand them to the sheriff, then go out and pick up those in the hall, plus the ones that Rundon had tossed from the window so that the breeze could continue the false trail.

SIGHT of the money, more than the accusations, drove Rundon to his desperate step. Seizing Lois, he whirled the girl between himself and The Shadow's gun; drove for the door, dragging her behind him. His revolver was gone; hence Harry and Carradon tried to grab him, Rundon broke free.

This time, it was Lois who left an actual trail. Rundon was stifling her screams as he headed toward the lake, but the girl was letting the money strew behind her.

Coming along with flashlights, Harry and Carradon were spotting the fluttering bank notes, as they shouted for the deputies to head off Rundon and his prisoner.

The Shadow had taken a shorter route, through the window broken earlier by Rundon. He heard Rundon trying to start a speedboat; there were scuffling sounds, as Lois fought to stop him. Then a big splash, as Lois went overboard. Rundon had taken the only way to free himself of the battling girl.

The speedboat was off. The Shadow leaped aboard another, and Harry sprang in with him. They saw Lois scrambling back to shore; she was yelling that she'd reclaim the money, if they would handle Rundon. The chase was on, in full, for deputies had reached other boats and were following The Shadow's lead.

Rundon headed where The Shadow expected-to his cabin. Reaching it, he grabbed for his rifle and a batch of cartridges, finding them in the darkness. Then a circle of flashlights burned upon him. Startled, Rundon almost dropped the rifle.

All about him were the fruits of former robberies: bonds, paintings, statuettes, jewels, and stocks. The men with the lights were deputies. The Shadow had sent a boatload of them earlier, with instructions to dig beneath the cabin and bring up whatever they found. They had assembled all of Rundon's spoils.

Outside, the stopping chugs of a speedboat told that The Shadow had arrived. Flailing wildly with the rifle, Rundon broke from the circle of deputies. Somehow managing to escape their prompt gunfire, he took to the back woods.

He was loading the rifle as he went, for occasionally he snapped shots back at them. But they kept up the pursuit, close enough to keep constantly on his trail.

The trail led to the Pioneer Mine. Rundon bobbed from sight. When the deputies caught up, the sheriff was there to flag them down. He had joined Harry and The Shadow; the trio had come here by water.

The Shadow was leading the way down into the mine.

A light was glimmering in the deepest pit. There, Rundon was using his rifle to pry up the sunken stone that the sheriff and his men had once ignored. Rundon had ruined the rifle barrel in his frantic efforts.

"His route to the cave," whispered The Shadow, to the sheriff. "He must have kept that large stone loose, except when he was on the other side; then, he could let it settle."

The sheriff understood. The stone could be easily hoisted by pressure from below. But Rundon had not come out that way the last time he had used his secret passage. In fact, it was unlikely that the passage would be any good to him on this occasion.

Actually aiding the dying hand of Rufus, that time beneath the rock, Rundon had blasted most of the passage, to cover the secret route by which he had managed to remain a prisoner and still be at large.

Even the crooks had been fooled by that deception.

Rufus had really thought that the chain he grabbed would blast the whole cavernous depths, for Rundon's messages to his tools had claimed that such would happen. At present Rundon, like Rufus, was banking on a hopeless thing.

At least it so seemed, until Rundon, by a Herculean effort, got the stone loose. He rolled it aside and squirmed down into the cavity. They heard him clattering below. Then, his head and shoulders appeared, with the light.

The sweep of his flashlight showed his other hand. It contained a bomb-shaped object. He'd been seeking it, instead of an outlet. Remembering what Rufus had tried to do, Rundon was banking upon taking The Shadow and others with him to a deep and permanent grave. But he hadn't expected The Shadow quite so soon.

RUNDON'S light outlined the black-cloaked figure before the crook had lifted the roundish object in his other hand. Frantically, Rundon tried to make his throw; but the roar of a gun stopped him. He seemed to stiffen in his pit.

With the recoil, The Shadow whirled; he hurled Harry and the sheriff back along the passage. A howl sounded, as Rundon's wounded form went straight down, the light and the bomb going with it. After moments of interminable suspense, scurrying men heard the bomb's great blast.

The Shadow's gunshot had echoed loud. This report actually drove air ahead of it. The ground was quivering; masses of ore were collapsing; walls of the old shaft were dancing, as The Shadow rushed his companions between them.

Having confined the blast to the lower pit, The Shadow had gained moments that proved vital. Ahead of the deafening, increasing roar, he and the men with him dived out to the ground before the underground avalanche could overtake them.

The explosion had found one victim only, the man responsible for it. Niles Rundon, leader and only survivor of a criminal band, had finished his career, by blowing himself to atoms and burying his scattered remains beneath tons of shattered rock.

From the outer darkness came a quivering laugh, that seemed to pick up the reverberations of the blast and add a touch of triumph to their fading echoes. Those who heard it recognized the laugh of The Shadow.

Later, the wind quieted, the surface of Lake Calada lay motionless. Waters of crime had stilled; but their blackness showed the reflection to two twinkling lights, red and green, that seemed to scoot through vast depths.

The lights themselves were high above; they came from the night plane bound for Los Angeles. Among the passengers were two who glanced back, as the plane banked, for their last look at Lake Calada.

Lamont Cranston and his friend Harry Vincent had finished their play with Henry Denwood. They could count their work complete.

Black though the waters lay, they harbored crime no longer. Evil had gone from Lake Calada, banished by The Shadow!

THE END.