The Green Box

CHAPTER XXI FRUITS OF CRIME

SLADE FARROW stepped from the wall. He dropped his arms and nodded quietly, as if thanking The Shadow for the opportunity that had been given him. To all others, including Police Chief Kerr, The Shadow’s automatics still were a potent threat. None dared move.

Farrow faced the police chief. He could see Norton Granger’s tense face beside Kerr’s. He observed Griff standing just within the door. No others appeared of consequence. Under protection of The Shadow’s guns, Slade Farrow spoke.

“You see the fruits of crime,” declared the ex-convict, swinging his hand toward the mass of wealth upon the packing cases and the floor. “My men were the ones who gained these spoils. They did their work under my order. Their purpose, however, was to reclaim — not to pilfer.

“I was an inmate of the state penitentiary until a few weeks ago. Presumably there as a convict, I was actually confined at my own request. I am a sociologist, and my life work has been to lead men away from ways of crime.

“These men” — Farrow was indicating those who had served him — “were once criminals. All had served their terms. Through confidence in me, they have gone straight. I summoned them to aid me in my work in Southfield, because there was no other way to gain the results that I required.”

Farrow paused. Chief Kerr and Norton Granger stared in amazement. Griff glowered. Sight of a looming automatic muzzle made the big man quail. The power of The Shadow still prevailed.

“My cellmate,” resumed Slade Farrow, “was Ferris Legrand. I learned his true story. I shall tell it now. Legrand was a friend of Wilbur Granger, Southfield’s most prominent attorney. One night, Wilbur Granger came to Ferris Legrand and gave him a green metal box.

“That box contained full evidence concerning the fraudulent activities of three men in Southfield. I shall name them. Townsend Rowling; Rutherford Blogg; Hiram Marker. Wilbur Granger had warned them to desist their evil practices. They had refused.

“All three had gained properties through false deeds. Wilbur Granger had obtained the originals. All three had dealt in crimes of greater order — even to murder — as in the case of Hiram Marker, who caused the death of his brother-in-law.

“The green box contained genuine papers to dispute fake documents. It held testimonies of dead men and living. Its contents were sufficient to put an end to the combined evil that Rowling, Blogg and Marker had committed in their greed for wealth.

“Wilbur Granger was fleeing town. He left Legrand’s home. Legrand, in turn, went directly to the railway trestle above the deep gorge. He hid the green box in the open end of a steel girder.

“Returning, he went to Wilbur Granger’s home. He had another duty to perform. It was his task to remove personal funds and belongings that Wilbur Granger had left; to keep them until his friend’s return. But Wilbur Granger was never to return.”

NORTON GRANGER’S face was firm. This reference to his father was rousing fury in his mind. He knew enough to piece the story. He understood the perfidy that lay beneath the smugness of the three men who were his clients: Rowling, Blogg and Marker.

“Wilbur Granger was murdered,” declared Farrow, solemnly. “He was slain shortly after he left Legrand’s. His body was discovered. Men went to his house. They surprised Ferris Legrand — not in the act of robbery, but while he was performing a duty to his friend. He was trapped in this very house. All that he had taken was restored to Norton Granger. Ferris Legrand was then sentenced to the penitentiary.

“Legrand was afraid to speak. He was awaiting his release. By regaining the green box, he could prove his innocence and lay crime upon the three evil men who ruled Southfield. Death intervened; but before Ferris Legrand died, he told his story to his only friend — myself.”

Another pause. Not a man stirred. The whispered laugh of The Shadow crept through the room. It was an ominous tone that held no mockery nor mercy. Those who heard it shuddered — all except Slade Farrow.

“I came to Southfield,” asserted the sociologist. “I recovered the green metal box. It was taken from me. I knew why — because suspicions had been aroused by my purchase of Ferris Legrand’s business.

“I remained here.” Farrow’s tone was firm. “I knew that the contents of that green box would be found in certain places. I brought former criminals to my aid. They did the work that I required. They raided Blogg’s; then Marker’s; and finally, they blew open Rowling’s own vault.

“They took all that they found. Such was my order. The wealth of those three men has all been stolen from those to whom it rightfully belonged. Furthermore, I decided to leave no clew. Yet Townsend Rowling feared. He sensed the purpose of the robberies. He wanted deputies to guard his bank.

“Here is the reason why.” Triumphantly, Farrow reached his hand into a packing case and drew out a green metal box. “This was in Rowling’s vault. It contained some real deeds, and other documents, of which Blogg and Marker had the forgeries. Rowling gave the originals to his friends; he kept the false ones. He wanted to hold the whip hand. A crook at heart, he could not trust others of his kind.

“Other proofs are here — some, even, that can incriminate Rowling himself. But the irony is yet to come. In this box, Rowling placed other documents which he had in his vault. He trusted no one — not even those who served him.

“I have completed my examination of these papers. Among them is a signed statement, evidently obtained by Townsend Rowling, from the man who was the murderer of Wilbur Granger. The murderer was paid for his work; his confession was his receipt.”

Turning, Farrow thrust the box into the hands of Police Chief Kerr.

“Take care of this,” warned Farrow. “For there, beside you, stands the man who slew Wilbur Granger!”

With a dramatic gesture, Farrow swung his arm and pointed straight at Eric Griffel!

THERE was no need for further accusation. Griff, the powerful leader of the vigilantes, was cowering in the doorway. His face betrayed his own guilt. His game of years had been uncovered.

Griff’s fealty to Townsend Rowling; his desire, tonight, to slay Slade Farrow — these were fitting proofs to Alexis Kerr and Norton Granger.

The Shadow’s mockery crept weirdly through the room where astounded men were standing. That weird laugh was the affirmation of Slade Farrow’s words.

The Shadow, ever since that night when he had visited the penitentiary, had been gaining new facts concerning Slade Farrow’s purpose. He had thrown his might into the balance.

Slade Farrow, the man who had come to Southfield to right great wrong, had gained his sole desire. When failure had capped Farrow’s noble efforts, The Shadow had stepped forth to bring the truth to light!