The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER XXII. THE REVELATION

WESTON LEVIS paused after uttering his first derisive statement. The old man was holding his revolver in a steady hand. His eyes were watching for any movement on the part of the two whom he covered.

Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell were both aware that a single motion would mean instant death.

Levis seemed to read their thoughts.

“Death,” remarked the old man, “is not a bitter thought. View those corpses upon the floor. They were living only a short while ago. They are silent now — as you, soon will be.

“You are wondering if I have gone mad. Quiet your minds on that point. I am sane — and wise. You are sane — and foolish. You, Wendell, are the greater fool. Vincent’s folly is excusable. He has not known me a long time.”

The old man paused to emit one of his derisive chuckles. He spoke again, eyeing both of the helpless men before him, but concentrating his remarks upon Harvey Wendell.

“You, Wendell,” remarked Levis, “considered Birch Bizzup to be a superior type of bank robber. You considered him to be a craftsman. You were wrong. He was nothing but an ordinary crook — backed by brains. My brains!

“I arranged Bizzup’s forays; advised him where to strike. I was a man who served on many boards, but whose holdings were comparatively small. I designed the raids, and Bizzup did the work. This wealth which you have just been tabulating is Bizzup’s share of the spoils. I received my percentage from every raid.”

Glittering eyes and leering lips — these were the features which predominated the old man’s face. Weston Levis was revealing his part in crime. Harry Vincent, tense and worried, realized that he and Harvey Wendell were trapped by an arch plotter.

The Shadow was gone — that Harry knew from his observations by the window. Weston Levis had been more cunning than he knew. He had not only deceived the men who had found the buried money; to all appearances he had tricked The Shadow also!

“I knew that Bizzup was burying his wealth,” gloated Levis. “It was his share of the swag — he was welcome to it. Bizzup was getting dangerous, however. I gave him more difficult assignments. At last, when he was wanted dead or alive, he was taken — dead.

“The spoils that he had gained? You traced them, Wendell. When you told me of the island, I planned to aid you in your search. You followed my advice. No one but Hadley and myself knew what you were after here. You kept your quest to yourself.”

AT that juncture there was a motion at the door. Hadley, leering as he swaggered into the room, stepped within range of vision, his hand upon his gun.

“You were doomed from the time you came here, Wendell,” pronounced old Levis. “Doomed if ever you found that buried wealth. Hadley and I were watching you. We let you search while we waited. We were wise.

“Three crooks arrived. A complication? Not for us. You were watching the crooks; you were reporting all that you learned to me. With Hadley in readiness, I was waiting for the turn of events I needed. It came, tonight.

“With Vincent, a chance entrant into the situation, you found Bizzup’s store of wealth. You brought it here. When I ordered Wendell to get the sheriff, you were going to stow the money out of sight.

“You and Vincent were going to the island with the posse. Hadley, you thought, was to remain here. Not at all. He would have traveled with you, to shoot you in the backs when you reached the island. Those mysterious shots would have been sufficient cause for a posse to annihilate the three crooks.” Levis laughed. With Hadley standing, gun in hand, the old man could relax his vigilance. He indicated the three dead crooks.

“Those men came here,” declared Levis. “They turned the tables; but I turned them back. Hadley had them covered. I gave him the signal, and he understood.

“He shot one down; but he lingered on the other two, long enough to let them fire. By all rights, you two” — Levis was scowling at Wendell and Harry — “should have died. I expected better marksmanship from those two crooks.”

Harry Vincent understood it all. He knew now why Hadley had faltered in his fire. The overseer had deliberately given the crooks an opportunity to kill the helpless men whom they were covering.

It was not faulty aim, however, that had saved Harvey Wendell and Harry Vincent. The intervention of The Shadow had been the cause.

The Shadow!

Dully, Harry realized that the confidence which Harvey Wendell had shown in Weston Levis was sufficient reason for the black-clad phantom to believe that the old man favored the cause of justice.

Somewhere in the night, Harry had heard the faint taunt of The Shadow’s laugh — the sardonic tone which invariably signified the departure of the master warrior. Justice — to all appearances — had prevailed.

With justice triumphant, there was no further need for The Shadow’s mighty presence. But justice had been balked. Victory was fading. Death was looming before Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell, the two who had fought in the cause of right.

“DEATH,” remarked Weston Levis sarcastically, “is not a very great annoyance. Particularly when one dies honorably. Such death will be yours. Hadley and I intend to shoot you at the spots where you now are.

“We shall remove the spoils — Hadley and I. The wealth will go to the cellar of this old house, where Hadley has already brought the money which was my share of Birch Bizzup’s loot. While you have lived here, Wendell, half a million has lain beneath your feet — in a small locked room to which I hold the key.

“It was best to have my own wealth here, where it could not be discovered. Birch Bizzup’s share will be added to it. Then, while your dead bodies still lie warm, I shall call the sheriff. He will arrive to learn only of this bloody fray.

“A raid by desperate outlaws — a battle in which they died. You, Wendell — you, Vincent — will be dead heroes. Victims who fell while protecting a helpless old man.”

A pause; then Harvey Wendell uttered a hoarse articulation, a futile challenge which merely brought a mean laugh from Weston Levis.

“You can’t get away with this,” asserted Wendell. “Your crimes will find you out—”

“My crimes?” Levis was ironic. “No one will suspect me of any crime. My standing is too high. All questions will be answered, Wendell. Your status as a State investigator will serve to my advantage.

“I shall explain how you were here, spying upon Zach Telvin, the escaped convict, who had chosen the island as a hide-out, along with other rogues. You, in turn, were spied upon. The crooks came here to get you.

“I shall attribute the victory to Hadley — tell how he entered the battle and slew the crooks after they had murdered you and Vincent. I, a helpless eyewitness, cowering at the end of the room, expecting to die also.”

Wendell had no answer. Harry Vincent knew that the investigator was at a loss. Weston Levis chuckled in a merciless tone. His mirth was the death sentence.

“We are ready, Hadley” said the old man quietly. “We shall make this finish a dramatic one. I am covering these men” — Levis was holding his revolver steadily — “and you can play your part with relish. Come in from the door; blaze away, and do your work.

“Do not fear failure. I am as sure a hand as you. These men are at my mercy also. They will find that the only mercy which I allow is that of quick and certain death.”

HARRY VINCENT, staring from the corner of his eye, saw a malicious grin appear upon Hadley’s face.

To give realistic touch to the approaching tragedy, the overseer turned and stepped beyond the door.

Weston Levis, his eyes beady and cunning, held Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell helpless.

“All tight, Hadley,” ordered the old man.

Foreboding gripped Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell. They were staring at Weston Levis. They met the glint of the old fiend’s eyes. They could hear a growl from Hadley beyond the door of the room. They saw Weston Levis turn to glance at the overseer.

Then came a startling change. The leer upon the face of Weston Levis turned to a soured expression. The glaring eyes blinked as they stared toward the door.

Harry Vincent, turning his gaze in the same direction, saw the cause — something which Harvey Wendell, from his angle of vision, could not observe.

The growl from Hadley — a heavy tread at the doorway — both had been deceptive. Some one had stepped through the opening, but the arrival was not the overseer.

Weston Levis, his eyes mad with fury, was staring squarely at a tall form clad in black — a sinister being whose burning eyes outshone the maddened light of Weston Levis’ gaze. Those eyes were the only features that were discernible. From between the upturned collar of a black cloak and the down-turned brim of a slouch hat, they peered like orbs of retribution!

Weston Levis, superfiend, was face to face with The Shadow. In place of Hadley, the phantom had returned. The invisible master of the night had come to meet the scheming crook.

Weston Levis had revealed his part in crime. Now, The Shadow had retaliated. He had revealed himself as a champion of justice!

The eyes of The Shadow shone like living coals!