The Golden Quest

CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST SHOT

MEN were rising from massed debris. Harry Vincent and Vic Marquette were finding their feet in the midst of a strange setting. Pushing aside strips of lath and chunks of plaster, they formed white-powdered figures as they came up from the floor.

Rex Brodford, too, was crawling out. The wreck of the living room had been a complete one; but it was due largely to the light construction of the lodge. That same fact accounted also for their lack of injury.

The ceiling was fragile; its falling portions had contained no heavy beams.

Hoxon’s few remaining henchmen were also stirring. Badly beaten, they had no urge for fight. Harry and Vic were quick to find their guns and cover these survivors. Seeing that the men were submissive, Harry turned to look for The Shadow.

There, by the door to the cellar, the tall black form had risen. The Shadow was leaning obliquely against the wall. One cloaked arm lay limp. The other was lowered and its fist held an automatic. The mirth that Harry had heard was ended.

As Harry stared, he saw a fierce burn come into The Shadow’s gaze. Instinctively, Harry wheeled.

Dumfounded, he became witness to a scene that he had not anticipated. The Shadow was staring toward the far corner where another form had risen.

It was Cortland Laspar. Never before had Harry seen a face so tinged with venom. If ever he had been a ruling menace, the magnate was one now. For Laspar had profited by the explosion that had wrecked the lodge. Occupying a corner remote from the explosion; situated in a spot where the stone bulwark of the fireplace had protected him, Laspar had regained new opportunity. From the floor he had picked up a loose revolver that had been kicked toward his corner. He was wielding the weapon with intent to kill.

Laspar was aiming for The Shadow. His gun was coming up. The lumber magnate’s move was swift; and Harry, recalling The Shadow’s pose, could do no more than give a despairing cry. True it was that Harry swung his own gun in a hurry; but he realized that he would be too late to prevent Laspar’s shot.

In that crucial instant came a burst of whispered mirth. The Shadow had seen Laspar before Harry had observed the lumber magnate. The Shadow’s pause had not been one of incapacity. He had delayed for steadiness.

Harry had turned just in time to see Laspar start an upward aim. The Shadow, too, had put his gun hand into motion on that same instant. It was a race to the shot, between The Shadow and the chief of crime.

The finish came with terrific suddenness. The Shadow’s automatic roared. Hard upon it came the burst of Laspar’s revolver. Then Harry Vincent fired.

In those split-seconds, The Shadow’s agent noted a singular phenomenon. Quick though Laspar’s shot had been, the villain’s hand had wavered as his finger pressed the trigger. Upon the waver had come a slump — so promptly, that Harry’s shot went wide. Again, Harry fired too late; Laspar was caving faster, than Harry could aim.

The crooked lumber magnate sprawled upon the floor. Again a whispered laugh came to Harry’s ears.

Turning, the agent saw The Shadow, moving wearily forward. Harry realized what had happened. The Shadow had beaten Laspar to the shot. With one bullet, he had slain the master of crime.

The last bullet. The Shadow had reserved it wisely. Harry did not know that the automatic had held but one live cartridge. He did know, though, that The Shadow had gained this last belated triumph. Harry stood watching The Shadow’s progress.

STEADIED, The Shadow was moving from the lodge, out through the shattered doorway, across the wreck of the verandah. The cloaked figure blended with the outer blackness. Silence; then to Harry’s ears came the trailing mockery of a sardonic laugh.

Triumphant, The Shadow had left the field. Though wearied and wounded, he still possessed strength to go his way.

Harry Vincent realized that his chief must have some reason for this action.

The Shadow’s departure indicated that a sequel to conflict was due.

Vic Marquette had ordered the prisoners back into their corner. Rex Brodford was with the Secret Service man. As Harry turned to join them, he heard a distinct sound from the cellar of the lodge. Harry spoke quickly to Vic, who told him to guard the door to the inner steps.

Some of the lights had survived the explosion; when Harry reached the cellar door and pressed the switch, a glare appeared from below. Looking down, Harry saw a man coming through the stacks of furniture. He recognized Sheriff Hawlings.

The official came up as Harry greeted him. Hawlings became grim as he saw the scene of conflict. Then Harry introduced Vic Marquette. Astonished when he learned the true identity of the man who had played the part of Old Absalom, the sheriff listened with respectful attention.

“I get it,” he acknowledged, when Marquette had finished brief, blunt facts. “I knew something phony was up when I came over to the Chalice mine tonight. I was making another inspection there. Trebold and most of his men were gone. A couple of guards that were still there tried to stop us.

“I had three deputies with me, just by luck. We grabbed Trebold’s guards and one of the deputies took them back into town. I came in with these men” — he indicated his two deputies — “and we found Trebold and his outfit in the shafts. Some dead, some wounded. We came on through.”

As the sheriff paused, there was a new sound from outside. Automobiles were snorting in from the road.

The sheriff gave a hail. It was answered. Two groups of men arrived. Some were deputies, who had started out to the Chalice mine. Others were from the lumber camp; men who had been in Laspar’s employ, but who were not parcel to his game.

The explosion at the lodge had alarmed the countryside. All hands had made for this spot to learn the cause of the trouble.

Sheriff Hawlings issued orders. Bodies were carried out; debris was cleared; prisoners were packed into cars, under arrest. Hawlings also sent men down into the passage under the lake, to bring out the dead and wounded of Trebold’s crew. He stated that Trebold was among the ones who had died in the fray.

Nothing had been said of The Shadow. Vic Marquette, as spokesman, had been careful to avoid such mention. Like Harry, Vic knew that the hidden master had departed in order to keep his part unknown.

Rex Brodford also showed equal tact. When he approached to talk to Harry Vincent, it was on a different matter.

Rex grasped Harry’s hand. In warm tones, he told his appreciation. His words had added significance, for Harry knew that Rex was expressing thanks that could be forwarded to The Shadow later.

“ABOUT the mine,” concluded Rex. “The claim is fully established. My fortune is made, and the other stockholders will gain their proper share.

“Although I didn’t tell Witherby, I knew the mine was worth something, for my uncle intimated it in letters I received before his death.

“As for the investors in the Chalice mine, they will certainly be entitled to a return from Laspar’s estate, now that his crookedness has been proven. He had shares in the Quest mine; the profits from it will go a long way toward redeeming money to those he swindled.”

“I think you’re right,” agreed Harry. “With Vic Marquette on the job, it means Federal action. The Chalice mine was already branded as a fraudulent corporation.”

“That’s settled,” smiled Rex. “As for my controlling shares of the Quest mine, there will be a slice. Some of that stock is going to be made out in another name. After I see Witherby.”

“You mean your lawyer—”

“Will arrange the transfer of certain shares from Rex Brodford to Harry Vincent.”

Harry tried to protest against this generous plan. Rex would not listen. Smiling, the young man clapped The Shadow’s agent on the shoulder, then strolled out through the shattered doorway, leaving Harry speechless.

Another man walked into the wrecked living room. Harry turned about as he recognized Vic Marquette’s voice. During a brief absence, the Secret Service operative had undergone a transformation. His black beard had disappeared.

Smooth-shaven, Vic grinned. He rubbed his chin with real enthusiasm.

“Guess you thought I was talking to the sheriff,” remarked Marquette. “I wasn’t. I was back in the rear of the lodge, hunting scissors and a razor. I found them. It was good-by whiskers!”

Harry looked about. He and Vic Marquette were alone. Harry spoke in a low, serious tone.

“Listen, Vic,” he said. “This is our chance to slide out for a while. To a place where you would logically go.”

“To Old Absalom’s isle?”

“Yes.”

Vic chuckled.

“There’s nothing there,” he said. “Nothing that I need to take along—”

“I’m thinking of The Shadow.”

“You mean he’s over there?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded seriously. “That was one place where he could go to rest up after the battle. He must have taken a rowboat from the dock. We can use the motorboat. It’s here on the point.”

“Good,” agreed Marquette. “You’re right, Vincent. The Shadow may need our aid.”

“Not our aid,” corrected Harry. “But our services may be useful. The fact that he could reach the isle is proof that he is all right. But a visit, on my part, to that cabin of yours might prove most timely.”

THE two men left the lodge. Soon the motorboat was chugging across the lake in the direction of the isle.

Rex Brodford heard its departure. He assumed that Harry and Vic were paying a brief visit to the island.

An hour passed; then Vic returned alone, in a rowboat. From far away, Rex could again hear the chugging of the motorboat traveling farther down the lake. Vic had nothing to say. He suggested that Rex accompany him into town with the sheriff.

It was dawn when Vic and Rex returned to the lodge. Stopping by the edge of the shattered verandah, Vic recalled a belated message. He gave it.

“Vincent will see you in New York,” he remarked. “He’s not needed here; nor are you. My testimony will be sufficient to handle this case. Pack up what you brought along; look up Vincent at the Hotel Metrolite.”

Rex Brodford nodded in agreement. As he did, his ears caught a distant sound. Steadily it increased in monotoned rhythm; the purr of an airplane motor. Looking upward, Rex saw an autogyro winging a thousand feet above Lake Chalice.

With Vic Marquette, Rex Brodford watched the ship head eastward. He saw it dwindle until its whirling blades alone were conspicuous in the dawn-streaked sky.

The Shadow, Harry Vincent with him, was departing as he had come.