Fingers of Death

CHAPTER XIV. THE SHADOW SPEAKS

LATE the next evening, a large car stopped before the home of Julius Selwick. The safety director alighted, accompanied by Chief Detective Howard Grady. The gruff, heavy-jowled safety director was in no amiable mood. Grady, hard-faced and taciturn, was keeping silence.

Together, the pair went up to the second floor and entered a room which Selwick used as an office in his home.

The room had two doors, one from the front hall; the other an entrance that opened upon the back stairs.

Seating himself at the desk, the safety director stared at the chief detective.

“I still think you’re wrong, Grady,” he growled.

“I think I’m right,” responded Grady. “This Risbey death is murder.”

“Maybe the Risbey case is murder,” declared Selwick. “That looks bad, I’ll admit. But you can’t go on figuring a string of crimes. What bearing does this have on the deaths of Preston and Pettigrew? Bosh!”

“There’s something wrong in Holmsford,” declared Grady calmly. “That’s why I’m not giving up on any point. People don’t die in odd ways, one after another — particularly when they are all prominent persons in the same town. I’ll tell you something I’ve been thinking about tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if old Josiah Bartram had been murdered, too!”

“Rot!” snorted Selwick. “Listen, Grady. If you want to do some heavy work, concentrate on this Risbey case, but let the others ride for the time. Be careful and methodical. Don’t come to conclusions too quickly. It takes time to solve a murder mystery.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Grady.

Julius Selwick then settled back in his chair. The man looked very tired. Grady noted it, and made a comment.

“You’ve been working too hard, director.”

“I always work too hard,” admitted Selwick. “This job has been wearing. I’m going to resign shortly, Grady. After that” — Selwick smiled — “you won’t have such a tough fellow to deal with.”

“I’ve got no kick,” answered Grady, with a grin. “You’re a good man to work for, director.”

There was a long pause. Grady wondered what Selwick was thinking about. He would have been surprised had he known.

Julius Selwick was considering Hurley Adams. There were reasons, tonight, why he wanted a man detailed to watch the old lawyer. But there were also reasons why Selwick could not give such an order.

The principal reason was Grady.

With the chief detective’s mind set on solving murder, it would be an unwise step to have him on the trail of Hurley Adams. It was bad enough that the detective should see a link between the deaths that had been mentioned. Selwick realized that he must be tactful with Grady.

“Tonight,” said Selwick, “I’ll think over what you have said. I’m going to rest a while, Grady. Suppose you stay here. Sometimes, after I have rested a bit, I get a good hunch. You go downstairs and bring in those four men of yours. Have them come up here, and you can give them their orders. Don’t make too much noise — that’s all.”

Grady nodded. Selwick had referred to four detectives who had come in another car, which was waiting in the street outside of Selwick’s drive. Grady had intended to leave with them after a conference with the safety director.

SELWICK stared downward at the desk when Grady had gone. If the chief detective’s suspicions made it unwise to keep a man on the trail of Adams, it would, at least, be easy to have some men stationed here where they could serve as bodyguards.

But Selwick did not want to show any anxiety concerning his own safety. That was why he had made the pretext of needing a short rest. There was a couch in the room adjoining this office. He could lie there a while, and consider matters, while Grady and the four detectives were close by.

Selwick suddenly gained the impression that some one had entered the room. He stared upward, and his blood froze as he saw, facing him, a tall form clad in black.

Like a monster of the night, this strange being had entered, unheard and unseen. Piercing eyes gazed from beneath the brim of a dark slouch hat. Firm, black-gloved hands projected from the folds of a flowing cloak. One fist held a leveled automatic.

The sight of the weapon made Selwick quail. Who was this mysterious personage who carried a threat of death?

A low laugh came to Selwick’s ears. It was the laugh of The Shadow — a sound that chilled Selwick and made him shudder. The mockery was low, but its whispered tones quivered through the room, and reverberated through the tense atmosphere.

Selwick’s paling face revealed his thoughts. The man believed that he was about to die at the hands of a mysterious assassin. The hopelessness of his expression became more evident. The Shadow’s laugh ceased.

“Julius Selwick,” sounded from The Shadow, in a voice as terrifying as his laugh, “I have come to save your life — not to take it. I know all that concerns the conspiracy in which you were engaged. I know of the millions which you have hoped to share.

“But for me, you would be doomed. I, alone, can lift the menace that confronts you. I, alone, can stop the evil work that has been performed by fingers of death!

“Forget all hope of ill-gained wealth. Seek only to prevent further crime — to obstruct the one who will otherwise gain all for himself — the one whom I, alone, can name!”

A sullen leer manifested itself upon Julius Selwick’s lips. Despite the sternness of The Shadow’s tone, the bluff safety director had regained some composure when he realized that the black-clad avenger had not come to slay him.

“I understand your thoughts, Selwick,” declared The Shadow, in a slow, uncanny voice. “Last night, when you said that when one of three was dead, one of two would know, you were wrong. Fingers of death! They threaten you now!”

THE final words came in a sepulchral whisper. Never before had Julius Selwick heard such sinister tones. The Shadow’s direct reference to the conference of the night before was frightening. How had this strange being learned what had transpired there?

“I bring you opportunity,” concluded The Shadow, in the same deep whisper that came in weird diapason to Selwick’s ears. “I offer you one chance to perform your duty. Forgo the stolen riches. Let them be restored to their rightful owners. In return, I shall name the murderer — and lead you to him.”

A hunted fear filled Selwick’s eyes. The Shadow divined its cause, and added a needed statement.

“You need not fear betrayal,” his eerie voice declared. “Once known, the murderer will be afraid to speak. He will know that he will not be believed if he names you as a conspirator. Moreover, he may not have the opportunity to speak.”

Selwick caught the significance of the last sentence. The Shadow held no pity for the criminal whom he was willing to unmask. A murderer might well be killed in course of capture. These words eased Selwick’s fear. His mind, suddenly relieved, began to function shrewdly.

For the first time since The Shadow had appeared, Selwick found his voice. He spoke in a pleading tone, and the fright which he had suffered gave a masked sincerity to his words.

“How can I act?” he queried. “What shall I do? I am willing to work with you — willing to accept your terms.”

“Mislead Grady no longer,” declared The Shadow. “Work with him. Rely upon me. You have fostered crime by keeping silence and obstructing Grady’s work. You have tried to keep a secret which will be of no use to you — letting murdered men go unavenged in your mad desire to protect the wealth you want.”

The accusation seemed to cower Selwick. The man crouched back in his chair and huddled there, a pitiful wretch. The Shadow’s hands were lowered. His automatic had disappeared. His right arm raised now, and his forefinger pointed its scorn.

“You can make amends, Julius Selwick,” said The Shadow, in even tones. “I have given you the opportunity. Life — in return for your written statement to do as I have bidden you. Once you have fulfilled your duty, that statement will be destroyed—”

Selwick, cowering, suddenly changed his action. His cringing attitude; his bowed head — both proved themselves shams. Sliding his chair back from the desk, the safety director came bolt upward, a shining revolver brilliant in his hand!

His terror had turned to frenzy. Desire for wealth had persisted. His object was to kill this visitant who had come to offer him assistance if he chose the course of right.

AS Selwick’s finger felt the trigger of the gun, The Shadow’s form came plunging forward across the desk. The fall preceded the revolver shot. As Selwick fired, The Shadow’s left arm arrived, and a gloved hand caught the director’s wrist in viselike grip.

A strange, swift action that worked. By his prompt lunge, The Shadow diverted the shot. The bullet tore a gap through the brim of the black hat, and implanted itself at the top of the wall, near the ceiling.

Again, Selwick fired. This shot was very wide. The Shadow was twisting the director’s wrist. Selwick, purple-faced, tried to struggle. The lithe black form swept suddenly upon him. The big man sprawled upon the floor beside the chair, his gun clattering across the room.

The black cloak swished, and its shimmering folds showed a crimson lining as The Shadow whirled to his feet and crossed the room in one long stride. He was by the door, his automatic covering Selwick.

Despite the fact that Selwick had made an attempt upon his life, The Shadow bore no malice toward the man whom he had overcome. The Shadow had entered here to offer Selwick a chance to live — not to die.

Shouts came from outside the house. The shots had been heard across the lawn, by the police car where Detective Grady had been talking with his men. The Shadow had come here to treat with Julius Selwick alone. His only course was to leave, now that the safety director had refused his terms.

To reach the side door of the room, The Shadow would have to cross the spot where Selwick was lying on the floor. That might involve an encounter with the man. The Shadow chose the way that led to the front hall. His form suddenly disappeared from Selwick’s view.

Infuriated, Selwick scrambled to his feet and seized his revolver. He leaped forward in pursuit. As he neared the door of the room, he caught a glimpse of The Shadow’s form at the top of the stairs. The Shadow’s path was blocked. Detectives had been closer than the shouts had indicated.

Turning, The Shadow pointed his automatic and turned in Selwick’s direction. The shot was a warning. It whistled close to the director’s chin. In cowardly fright, Selwick dived back into the room. From the corner of the door, he fired futile shots at the spot where The Shadow had been.

For, now, The Shadow was on the stairs, face to face with a quintet of men who were coming upward with drawn guns. So quickly had the black-clad figure appeared that none realized its arrival until The Shadow, like a human avalanche, came plunging down the stairs in one tremendous leap.

His amazing rush toppled Chief Detective Grady, the leader of the reinforcements. Grady caught the rail of the banister, and clung there as The Shadow shot by. The other men were not so fortunate. The Shadow, his arms spread wide in a mighty dive, clipped them like a flock of tenpins.

Cries sounded as the startled men rolled down the steps of the wide staircase. Their bodies had received the full force of The Shadow’s plunge. Wildly, the detectives sought to save themselves as they hurtled backward. Revolvers clattered down the steps.

One man — the last of those upon the steps — had grimly seized the black form that came like a thunderbolt from the floor above. This fellow was carried on by the impetus of The Shadow’s dive. The lone detective lay beneath the black-garbed form as the entangled bodies rolled to a stop at the foot of the steps.

THE figure of The Shadow moved. Rising, The Shadow stood uninjured above the half-conscious form of the last man who had tried to stop him.

Like a diver plunging from a high board, The Shadow had suffered no ill consequences. He had let his adversaries take the brunt of the fall. His cloak was twisted about his tall frame; the brim of the slouch hat was jammed down low upon his forehead.

With a laugh that faded in a moment, The Shadow gazed toward the stairs down which he had come.

Men were strewn all along, from Grady, near the top, to the last of the five at the bottom. Only one was capable of prompt action; that was Grady, who was gripping his revolver as he regained his balance by the banister.

The chief detective raised his gun, believing that the moving figure in the black would form a target on its way toward the front door. The Shadow, however, did not take that path. Swinging, he headed into a side room on the ground floor. Grady fired three shots toward his fleeting form.

The other detectives were gaining their feet. Bruised, shaken, but capable of action, they scrambled down the steps, regaining their guns. The only one who failed to join this pursuit of The Shadow was the man who lay at the foot of the stairs. He was still dazed from the fall.

The Shadow had gained a precious start over the three who were following him. With his object purely to leave his identity a mystery, and the purpose of his visit a matter known only to Julius Selwick, The Shadow had headed for the outer darkness.

As the three detectives reached the porch outside of Selwick’s home, they saw no sign of their sable-clad assailant. But, to their ears came the sound of strident mockery — a fanfare of mirth that rippled weirdly across the darkened lawn.

Off on a fool’s chase, the detectives hurried toward the spot from which they believed the laugh had come. A hopeless effort was theirs. They were seeking The Shadow — the man who could merge with night!