The Isle of Doubt

CHAPTER XXIII. WEALTH RESTORED

FOR a long, lingering instant, the strange tableau remained unchanged. Weston Levis was staring at The Shadow. Harvey Wendell was gazing toward Weston Levis. Harry Vincent could see both Levis and The Shadow.

Then came the climax. With a venomous snarl, Levis whipped his revolver toward the phantom shape at the door. The old man’s action was performed with amazing rapidity. Levis pressed his finger to the trigger.

A terrific report sounded from the doorway. The tongued flame of an automatic burst forth. The Shadow, his gun projecting from a hand that was close to his black cloaked form, had acted with his unfailing precision.

Weston Levis staggered. His gun hand faltered. The Shadow’s bullet had clipped the old man’s arm.

There was method in The Shadow’s aim. At the very instant when he fired, the black-garbed avenger had seen Harvey Wendell spring into action.

Desperately, the investigator had made a mad break for life. As Levis staggered back, Wendell was upon him, drawing his revolver. Wendell heard the roaring shot; amid the cannon-like report he sought to seize the fiend before him.

Madly, Levis tried to stop this new antagonist. He showed grim nerve as he wrested free and managed to raise his wounded arm. His aim was faltering; had it been true, it would have availed him nothing. For Harry Vincent, still watching the figure of The Shadow, saw that the avenger was ready to deliver another bullet.

Then Harry leaped into action, coming to his senses. He drew out his own gun as he sprang. It was a gesture on Harry’s part; one that was unneeded, but which served as a role in the drama which The Shadow had created.

Covered by The Shadow’s automatic, with Harry Vincent coming from the other side, Weston Levis was in a hopeless case. But with his evil frenzy, he was making a last vain effort to combat the man whom he had tricked — Harvey Wendell.

The investigator, forgetting Harry, and unaware of The Shadow’s presence, was the one who acted.

Seeing Weston Levis swinging a revolver in his direction, the investigator fired from three feet away.

Levis wavered. His fiendish expression faded upon his face. His lips twitched. He collapsed upon the floor. His revolver, no longer held by fingers which had worked with sheer determination, clattered upon the floor.

Harvey Wendell stopped short as he saw the fiend fall. Realizing that he had delivered the fatal shot, the investigator stooped above the quivering body, forgetful of all else. He saw Weston Levis gasp, then caught the glassy stare in the old man’s eyes.

Weston Levis lay still. He had proven his own statement: that death was no more than a quick, short episode, when properly administered.

HARRY VINCENT was looking across the room. Beyond the body of Weston Levis, past Harvey Wendell’s stooping shoulders, Harry could see The Shadow. He caught the motion of the automatic, as it was replaced beneath the folds of the black cloak. He saw the beckoning motion of The Shadow’s hand.

Then, with a quick swing, The Shadow turned. The cloak swished; Harry saw a flash of its crimson lining.

Like a specter of darkness, The Shadow disappeared into the blackness beyond the door. Harry followed toward the door.

“Levis is dead!” Harvey Wendell looked up as he pronounced the words. The investigator was astonished to see that Harry Vincent was no longer beside him.

Then Wendell heard Harry’s voice from the hallway. Realizing that new danger might be present, the investigator leaped up and hastened in that direction. The hallway light flashed on. Harry Vincent stood in view, pointing toward the veranda.

Wendell saw the indication. The screen door was half opened; blocking the path was a huddled form.

Hadley lay motionless, wedged between screen door and doorway. The overseer’s gun glittered upon the surface of the veranda.

“You got him!” exclaimed Wendell. “Great work, Vincent! Is he dead?”

“Knocked out,” returned Harry quietly.

The Shadow’s agent said no more. He did not tell what he now knew; that The Shadow, lurking in the darkness, was the person who had overpowered Hadley when the overseer had stepped back through the doorway.

Silently, effectively, The Shadow had dropped Hadley with a powerful blow. So cleanly had the stroke been delivered, that even Weston Levis had not known it. The appearance of The Shadow in the doorway was the first indication that the fiend had gained of Hadley’s fate.

“Drag him in!” ordered Wendell.

Harry aided. He and the investigator brought Hadley’s unconscious body into the living room. Wendell yanked away the overseer’s belt, and used it to strap the man’s arms.

“Great work, Vincent,” complimented Wendell. “Say — when I jumped forward, I thought that Levis would get me sure. I heard the shot — you must have clipped his arm.”

Harry smiled.

“And how you nabbed Hadley” — Wendell was continuing — “was the greatest piece of business yet. What did you do — head right for the front door while I was battling Levis?”

“I moved there pretty quickly,” declared Harry.

“You’ve got me stumped,” admitted Wendell, rising to gaze admiringly at Harry. “The way you clouted me on the boat — that was smart enough. But this beats it by a mile. First you cripple Levis so I can plug him; then you knock out Hadley before he has a chance to shoot!” Wendell looked at the boxes in which the wealth had been replaced, then pointed to Hadley’s bound form. The overseer was feebly stirring.

“Lucky he’s still alive,” commented the investigator. “When we get his confession, it will incriminate old Levis. I’ll call the sheriff; then put in a long-distance to St. Louis. We may need some officials up here. This mix-up is going to require some explaining — even with my credentials.

“Here I was watching you, telling Levis all about my suspicions. Then you turn out to be on the level, Vincent, and the old man comes out with the fact that he’s crooked!”

ONE hour later, Sheriff Keegan was in possession of the plantation house. He had accepted Harvey Wendell’s credentials; the fact that the investigator had summoned him here was also proof of Wendell’s official status.

Wendell had vouched for Harry Vincent. Nevertheless, the sheriff, in view of the amazing circumstances which had been related, was awaiting further verification of Wendell’s official position. Hadley, bound in a corner of the room, had maintained a sullen silence.

“I called the head of the banking commission,” explained Wendell. “Got him over long-distance. There’ll be men up from St. Louis by the end of another hour. We’ll identify Zach Telvin positively; and when we quiz this fellow Hadley, we’ll get results quick enough. We have the goods on him now.”

A large iron chest was with the wooden cases which Harry and Wendell had brought from the cave beneath the rocks. This box was open. It, too, contained a huge sum of stolen wealth. The sheriff’s men had found it in the cellar — Weston Levis’ share of the ill-gotten gains. The key to the compartment in which the chest had been hidden had been discovered on the old man’s key ring, along with the key to the chest itself.

Harry Vincent maintained a discreet silence. He had answered the important questions. He would be required to give his testimony later. With Wendell as his sponsor, Harry would encounter no difficulties.

Furthermore, he had dispatched a wire to Rutledge Mann. Papers would arrive to prove that Harry had actually been acting in the capacity of representative for a real-estate promotion plan. When The Shadow’s agents fared forth on widespread quests, they were invariably backed by well-arranged plans for the establishment of identity. This emergency, so far as Harry was concerned, would be capably handled through Rutledge Mann.

Still a bit shaky, however, Harry gazed toward the open window. He forgot the men within this room — the dead as well as the living. It was the blackness of the night that fascinated him; that impenetrable veil through which the vast Mississippi coursed on its mighty way.

Strange events had occurred beside that river tonight. Right had triumphed over wrong, and through the conflict, with its unexpected developments, the power of a hidden hand had been the single factor in the victory.

Sullen crooks had failed in evil purpose. A crafty schemer had been brought to doom. The life of one wrongdoer had been spared. Hadley alone remained, in token of The Shadow’s wisdom. The captured overseer could not remember what had happened in the hallway. He had not seen the hand that struck him down. He knew nothing of The Shadow’s presence.

This time, Harry Vincent knew for certainty that The Shadow had departed. His work completed, the master fighter had gone. His campaign had been one of well-timed deliberation. His keen brain had sensed the situation in a moment.

The Shadow’s vigilance had continued after his agent, and the State investigator had recovered Birch Bizzup’s buried swag. The master of darkness had followed Harry Vincent and Harvey Wendell to the plantation house that he might witness the successful culmination of their efforts.

There, in one cool stroke, he had thwarted the attack of Possum Quill, Lefty Hotz, and Zach Telvin. In that activity, The Shadow had sensed the treachery displayed by Weston Levis, and his henchman, Hadley.

The Shadow had lingered on that account. He had waited for the climax. He had given Weston Levis the opportunity to reveal himself, to tell his story to men whom the old man had decided to slay.

The facts were known. From the lips of the supercrook had come statements which had led to the recovery of other wealth. Crime was nullified; evil schemes had been destroyed. Well did Harry Vincent, his thoughts upon the subject, realize the intuition of The Shadow — a power as great as the master’s skill in decisive action.

Where was The Shadow?

That question was one which Harry could not fathom. The Shadow’s presence was like the unending flow of the great Mississippi — a mysterious force that left one in awe — a power that seemed mightier than the hand of man.

Yet there was an answer to Harry’s question — a sinister reply that was uttered miles away. It came from the darkness of a speedy sedan that was rolling along the highway to St. Louis.

The Shadow was at the wheel of that mystery car, returning to his headquarters in the Missouri city. The headlights of the speeding sedan revealed an approaching car that was coming from St. Louis. Ere the cars had passed each other, The Shadow had divined the identity of those who occupied the other automobile.

The men whom Harvey Wendell had summoned were on their way. They would arrange the return of the recovered wealth. Money and bonds would be restored to their rightful owners.

The sedan was speeding on alone. From its darkness came the echoes of a weird and appalling laugh — uncanny tones vibrated in a cry of strident mirth.

Whirling along beside the silent Mississippi, The Shadow had sent forth his final burst of mocking triumph. Eerie echoes caught the sardonic merriment.

When the lights of the sedan had vanished past a bend, taunting whispers still persisted, like ghostly symbols from a mystic past.

The Shadow, master of the night, had declared the final token of his victory!