Murder Trail

CHAPTER XXIII JUSTICE PREVAILS

THE door to the vault lay open. The tall form of The Shadow stepped behind it. The door opened wider still. Victor Venturi looked up. Angelo was dead in the Italian’s arms. Slowly, Venturi lay aside the body of his servant and rose to face The Shadow.

A now black-covered finger pointed to the interior of the vault. Venturi advanced. There, upon the floor of the vault, he saw two packages. He realized what they were. These were the packets of wealth that Crix had stolen from Winston Collister and Sturgis Bosworth.

Venturi looked toward The Shadow. He saw the gleaming eyes and stared, half in fear, half in bewilderment. The voice of The Shadow spoke, in his sinister, whispered tone.

“They are yours,” were The Shadow’s words. “Take them.”

As Venturi reached to lift the packages, the finger pointed to a box beyond.

“That is yours, also.”

In his eagerness and excitement, Venturi entirely forgot the presence of The Shadow. He carried the bundles to the desk, and opened them. Within, he found the masses of currency intact. Crix had not utilized these funds to pay Bart Shallock and Bumps Jaffrey.

The supercrook had kept the millions intact.

Venturi went back to get the box which The Shadow had indicated. He brought it to the desk — it was heavier than the packages — and opened it by a key that was in the lock. There was an envelope within. Venturi raised it, and saw a stack of money covered by a loose array of glittering gems. He recognized that these jewels possessed great value.

Within the envelope, Venturi discovered a card. It bore these words, in ink:

Venturi closed the box. He realized that The Shadow, after opening the vault, had obtained all valuables and placed them in this one box for a definite purpose. Victor Venturi looked at the card again. The writing was disappearing letter by letter. Now, only the blank card remained!

“Are you ready?”

Looking up at the sound of the voice, Venturi saw a man in baggy trousers and sweater. It was Cliff Marsland. Venturi recognized him as the man who had stepped from the mob to start the furious battle against Crix and his henchmen. The Italian knew that Cliff Marsland was a friend.

“Yes,” said Venturi. Then, looking blankly about: “Where is — where is — the one they call The Shadow?”

“He has gone,” returned Cliff. “We must leave immediately. Come. There are cars outside, by the hedge. We will take one.”

Victor Venturi followed Cliff Marsland’s lead. The two were on their way to safety. The Shadow, his work of vengeance complete, had silently disappeared.

With Cliff aiding him in carrying the wealth that must be delivered to Aristide Ponjeau, Venturi threw a last glance back at the room, to stare at the scene of carnage which had followed Crix’s vain attempt to establish crime against the wishes of The Shadow!

POLICE, summoned later to the home of Roberts Faraday, were confronted by a strange mystery, which was destined to enter the annals of unsolved crime. They found the body of Roberts Faraday, millionaire, surrounded by the dead forms of mobsters.

Among these was Bumps Jaffrey, a notorious gang leader. Bart Shallock, international confidence man, was also there. The body of Angelo perplexed the police. They could not learn his identity. He was obviously not a mobster.

The vault was open, and evidently it had been rifled. What had become of the men who had entered? The police did not know. They assumed that some big shots of the underworld had caused this raid; that Faraday had been forced, under threat, to open the vault.

They decided that Angelo must have been an informant who had tipped off Bart Shallock regarding some international deal on the part of Roberts Faraday. The more that the case was discussed, the more perplexing it became to the authorities.

A big shot in the offing? Strangely enough, the police did not find a clew to the name of Crix. They learned nothing regarding the double identity which Roberts Faraday had played. The body of the big shot of crime had lain before them; they had not realized it.

Weeks went by, and the strange mystery of gang war at the Faraday home was still a perplexity. But its aftermath occurred far away, in a foreign land.

At Lausanne, Aristide Ponjeau, the man of high ideals, who had planned the World Court of Industry, received from Victor Venturi the sum of nearly twenty million dollars. The contributions to the noble cause had been gathered from willing donors.

No crime had spoiled the course of these negotiations. With the death of Roberts Faraday, murder had been ended. Freed from the schemes of Crix, the great work was ready for its consummation.

Crix, the master crook! Plotter and murderer, he had planned a mad career of crime for wealth — a merciless rule of massacre and evil that had been ended by The Shadow!