The Death Giver

CHAPTER XII. THE STROKE OF DEATH

A TAXICAB rolled up to the home of Irwin Langhorne. Eyes were watching it from an upstairs window.

They were the eyes of Jarvis, the secretary. The gazing man recognized the stocky figure of his millionaire employer. Slinking away, the peering man retired.

A heavy step sounded on the stairs. A few minutes later, a light shone in Irwin Langhorne’s specially constructed office. Jarvis, prowling outside the door, listened intently for any sound from within.

A bell rang. Straightening up, Jarvis waited for half a minute, then opened the door and walked into the office. He saw Irwin Langhorne seated at the glass-surfaced desk. He noticed the millionaire’s hat and overcoat lying on a chair. That was not unusual.

“Jarvis” — Langhorne’s tone denoted worriment — “I want to talk with you about a very important matter. I have been receiving letters from an unknown source. I should like you to read them, Jarvis.”

“Very well, sir,” responded the secretary.

Irwin Langhorne reached into the desk drawer and brought out three envelopes. He slipped the contents upon the desk, and motioned Jarvis to draw up a chair beside the desk. Langhorne’s eyes showed an unfamiliar sparkle as they watched the secretary study the material.

The glistening light from the heavy chandelier above the millionaire’s head revealed the expression upon the secretary’s face. Perhaps Irwin Langhorne, himself, might not have noted anything unusual about Jarvis; but the eyes of The Shadow could detect facts that were not apparent to others.

Jarvis was considering the notes with feigned surprise. It was several minutes before he raised his head to face his employer. By that time, a dullness had come into the eyes of Irwin Langhorne.

“This is quite alarming, sir,” asserted Jarvis.

“So I can testify,” came Langhorne’s dry reply. “The question is: How should I act?”

“It is a dangerous threat,” continued Jarvis. “It involves your life. You have made a mistake to mention it to me. Indeed, Mr. Langhorne, you have already violated the terms of the message.”

“Indeed I have,” declared Langhorne seriously. “Yes, Jarvis, I should not have done so. What would you advise me to do now?”

“Obtain the million dollars, sir. Look at the facts. This man called The Death Giver has you in his power!”

“He has,” returned Langhorne. “Nevertheless, I might have some way of escaping him.”

“There could be none,” protested Jarvis. “Take my advice, sir. Destroy those letters. Value your life above money. You can raise a million dollars, sir. You would not want to suffer the death that came to Henry Bellew. You may rely fully upon me, Mr. Langhorne. I will preserve silence.”

“That is very considerate of you, Jarvis,” came the millionaire’s cold tones. “Nevertheless, I do not intend to follow your advice. To destroy those letters would be to destroy all evidence. No. I shall keep them.”

With one hand, the man at the desk reached forth to grasp the letters and the clippings. With the other, he picked up the telephone. He eyed the instrument with care.

“Bellew’s telephone was wired,” came his sarcastic comment. “This one is not. Strange, isn’t it, Jarvis, that Bellew died the moment that he went against The Death Giver’s instructions? Yet I have defied them in speaking to you; and I still live. I wonder, Jarvis, what would happen if I called police headquarters?”

WITH this statement, the pretended Irwin Langhorne raised the receiver and clicked the hook. When the operator responded, he calmly called for police headquarters. His eyes, gazing steadily toward the telephone, did not appear to notice Jarvis. The secretary was rising as in alarm. Backing slowly toward the wall, several feet from the desk, he kept his eyes upon the form of the millionaire.

Langhorne’s voice was speaking over the wire. With a quick turn, Jarvis placed his hand against the light switch in the corner. He clicked it quickly up and down — up and down — the motion twice repeated.

Jarvis was swift; but he had not seen the sidelong gaze from the man at the desk.

Even as Jarvis began his movement toward the switch, Langhorne’s form had risen from the chair.

Straightening and lengthening, it cast a grotesque shadow as it sprang across the floor in the blinking light.

Hands clutched the secretary’s shoulders just as Jarvis made the final click. The tall personage Irwin Langhorne no longer — flung the secretary away from the wall.

Jarvis, light of frame, plunged headlong toward the very chair where he had seen Irwin Langhorne sitting.

The sudden shift came in a twinkling. Jarvis was hurtling toward the desk with meteor speed. With that final click of the light switch, an answering crackle had come from the ceiling above.

The room was plunged in darkness as the glittering chandelier broke from its fastenings and dropped straight downward, a mass of heavy bronze and crystal. The target of the huge object was Irwin Langhorne’s chair. The occupant was no longer there. But as the massive chandelier crashed against chair and desk, a dying cry rent the gloom with horrible shrillness.

The shriek was from the lips of Jarvis. Cast aside by The Shadow’s powerful arms, the secretary had sprawled head-foremost across the chair and the desk. His body was crushed beneath the Jagannath that he had loosed for the destruction of Irwin Langhorne!

Beneath the chandelier, Langhorne had been in the power of Jarvis, secret aid of The Death Giver. But The Shadow, in Langhorne’s place, had sprung away from the fatal snare; and by the swiftness of his action had hurtled Jarvis to a deserved doom!

A light glimmered in the room. The Shadow’s flashlight sparkled as its rays struck the widespread remnants of broken glass. The glare showed the upturned face of Jarvis, cut and bloodstained amid the mass of wreckage.

“Speak!” came The Shadow’s sinister command. “Speak! Tell me of Thade, The Death Giver!”

The secretary’s lips trembled. Jarvis, dying, could not form the words that came to his paralyzed brain.

The miserable man gasped, and his head fell listless.

There were cries from other parts of the house. Scurrying servants were coming up the stairs to learn the cause of the tremendous crash. The Shadow’s light went out. His hands swept Langhorne’s coat and hat from the chair. With swift stride, the master of darkness hurried from the room.

WHEN the servants arrived, they found the crushed form of Jarvis beneath the shattered chandelier.

They saw the telephone off the hook. They believed that the secretary must have been making a call.

The police would be arriving soon, although these servants did not know it. The call had gone through to headquarters. Detectives were already responding. When they arrived, they, like the servants, would consider the death either accidental or unsolvable.

For the evidence was gone. The hand of The Shadow had carried away the data and the messages which Thade had sent to Irwin Langhorne.

To-night, The Shadow had thwarted the scheme of the master killer; he had nullified the death that Thade had planned for Langhorne, should the millionaire disobey instructions.

A murderous wretch had been sent to a deserved death; yet, despite his victory, The Shadow had once more been foiled in his ceaseless effort to trace The Death Giver. The dying lips of Jarvis had failed to tell what they knew about the master killer.

Once again, an underling of Thade had perished while in The Shadow’s grasp. The stroke of death had fallen; not upon emptiness, but upon the living form of a man whose testimony The Shadow had desired.

Chance had aided Thade to-night. Jarvis, unable to stop his plunge, had died. Yet even chance seemed subservient to Thade. The chandelier in Irwin Langhorne’s room had been placed there with design to kill. The special operation of the switch had done its work.

Not Irwin Langhorne nor The Shadow — neither of these had fallen before Thade’s might. Nevertheless, the death-dealing mass had found a victim. Jarvis, in his failure, was of no further use to Thade. He had died, and could speak no damage.

The stroke of death had fallen. It had done its work as certainly as if it had been controlled by the hidden hand of The Death Giver himself!