Master of Death

CHAPTER XXIII. FIEND VERSUS SHADOW

“YOUR name?” inquired Cardona.

“Alpha,” responded the corpselike man.

“Eric Veldon is your master?” quizzed the detective.

“He is my master,” responded Alpha, pointing to Rupert Sayre.

“Where is the one who was your master?” put in Sayre, to aid Cardona’s quiz.

“He is away.”

“When will he return?” asked Cardona.

“Soon,” declared Alpha.

“Show us where he will be,” ordered Cardona.

Steadily, Alpha walked forward. The detectives followed as the man mechanically led the way to the floor below. He stopped before a panel in the wall.

“Is this the place?” demanded Cardona.

“Yes,” said Alpha, staring at the panel he had pointed out.

“Open the panel,” commanded Cardona.

“I cannot,” said the man in his deliberate tones. “Only my old master can open it. From within.”

Doctor Sayre had arrived with the wounded detective. He nodded as he heard Alpha’s statement.

“Veldon’s room is somewhere near,” he asserted. “He has an X-ray device that makes him look like a living skeleton. If we wait—”

“Quiet, every one,” whispered Cardona, with a nod. Then, to Alpha: “Does your master summon you here?”

“Yes.” Alpha’s eyes were staring wide open. “Soon. He will summon me.”

The group moved back as Alpha approached the panel and stood in listening attitude. Cliff Marsland and Rupert Sayre were as tense as the detectives.

“I think the panel will open,” whispered the surgeon. “We can go in then — and wait until the lights go out.

The skeleton will then appear. It will not be invulnerable. By shooting from the sides of the screen—”

“Keep ready,” decided Cardona.

A full minute passed. Suddenly, as Alpha stood staring, the panel slid open. Cliff Marsland gripped the minion’s arms. Quickly, the detectives entered the dim room. Cliff and Sayre followed, with Alpha. The minion was completely subdued.

The lights went out. Only a slight flicker of dull illumination came from the corridor, for the panel was still open. Then came the bright glow beyond the screen on the table. The skeleton came into view. Doctor Sayre gave a gasp of elation. He realized that from the skeleton’s seat, one could not see who was in the room!

“Get him, men!”

The command came from Joe Cardona. With it, the detective fired. Shots burst from the sides of the room. The skeleton toppled and disappeared as it fell beneath the table.

“Find a light switch!” ordered Cardona.

A DETECTIVE discovered one with the aid of a flashlight. Another found another switch. Both pressed.

One switch brought illumination to the room; the other caused the radiant light to vanish from the farther wall. The second switch had raised the leaded panel covering the front section of the X-ray projector.

A cry of amazement came as Cardona rounded the end of the table. Upon the floor, instead of a human body, lay the crumpled figure of an actual skeleton!

Click!

All eyes turned toward the exit. The panel had shut. With it came the knowledge of a trap. In the confusion, Alpha, the minion supposedly turned to aid the law, had gone from the room!

“Tick — tick — tick—”

A teletype was working in the corner. Doctor Sayre sprang to it and began to read the ribbon. Cardona joined him; so did Cliff Marsland. The detectives stared about them, ready with their revolvers, but seeing no one at which to shoot.

This message came along the ribbon:

The ticking ceased. The doomed men looked at one another. They realized that the extinguishing of the dull light and the appearance of the rays had been automatic. They were truly due to die. Somewhere, they could picture Eric Veldon, the superfiend, ready to release poison gas through jets that lined the walls of this terrible room!

The mental image was correct. Outside, by a small panel which he had opened in the side of the corridor, stood Eric Veldon. From his face, the fiend had clawed away the waxy substance which he had used to make himself look like one of his automata.

The evil smile was upon Eric Veldon’s features. His left hand was raised to draw the heavy cord which would loose a vast volume of poison gas. In his right hand — the precaution seemed unnecessary — the murderer held a revolver which he had picked from behind the little panel.

Murder dominated Veldon’s mind. He would slay these enemies; after that, he could travel away at will.

With his mechanical equipment packed within the dark-screened limousine, hidden by the special glass which Merle Clussig had devised, he could go where he chose, and set up a new home of crime.

His knowledge of Barratini’s methods would serve him in the accumulation of another horde of henchmen. All these ideas of an evil future swept through Veldon’s crime-mad brain. It was some fleeting fancy, only, that caused him to stare along the corridor as his hand prepared to draw the fatal cord.

ERIC VELDON’S evil leer became a fixture on his bloated lips. There, framed in dull light at the end of the corridor, stood an enemy whom he had not yet met. A tall, sinister being clad entirely in black, was staring toward him with eyes that blazed like living coals.

The Shadow!

Eric Veldon had heard of this weird enemy of crime. The Shadow had come to stop his evil deed! The Shadow would fail! A fierce hiss came from Veldon’s lips as he leveled his revolver toward the phantom figure and placed his finger to the trigger.

A mighty roar burst forth — not from Veldon’s gun, but from an automatic in The Shadow’s hand. With that shot, Eric Veldon staggered. His revolver fell from his grasp. With a defiant effort, the fiend clutched the cord, hoping that it would draw as he fell. Again The Shadow’s automatic burst its thunderous report.

The shot struck Veldon’s left wrist. Numbed fingers opened. The cord swung back and forth within the little niche which contained it. A ghastly scream came from Veldon’s smile-frozen lips. The superfiend sprawled dead within the corridor.

With silent tread, The Shadow advanced. He stood above the body of Eric Veldon. His small-rayed flashlight played upon the features of the dead man. For the first time, The Shadow had seen Eric Veldon’s countenance. The man who had eluded him while living, could not escape him when dead.

The Shadow turned. He strode to the end of the corridor, to the spot where the hidden panel made an entrance to the room where Eric Veldon had played his role of living skeleton. With sweeping stride, The Shadow found the secret release in the floor. He pressed it.

The panel opened. Startled cries came from within. Seconds intervened; then the deluge burst forth as Joe Cardona and his detectives rushed to safety, followed by Doctor Rupert Sayre and Cliff Marsland.

They found Eric Veldon’s body. Dead, the fiend was as hideous as in life. The cord, still swinging, marked his vain attempt to slay the men who had battled him. But there was no sign of the mysterious avenger who had ended the monster’s vile career.

The Shadow, mysterious, had vanished. Cliff Marsland, alone, knew that it was he who had played the part of rescuer. Joe Cardona, wise but taciturn, suspected the same fact. The ace detective had seen evidence of The Shadow’s prowess in the past.

A TRIM coupe was speeding toward Manhattan. Sweeping along the broad highway, it was far, far in advance of the men who were also due to return to New York. As the automobile whirled along a lonely highway, a strident peal of mirth burst forth from its interior.

The Shadow, triumphant, was crying forth his victory in tones of strident mockery. That laugh, uncanny in the chill night air, marked the final touch to the battle of justice against evil.

Eric Veldon, murderer and fiend extraordinary, was dead. The Shadow’s hand had again brought vengeance to an evil wretch who had deserved his miserable end.

Fiend versus Shadow. That had been the climax. The Shadow had gained the triumph.