The Key

CHAPTER XXI THE SHADOW SPEAKS

“I HAVE heard these accusations,” came Berlett’s unruffled statement. “In return, I demand that my story shall be heard. Do I have your assurance on that score, commissioner?”

“You — you have,” stammered Weston, as he stared into the gun muzzle.

“Very well.” Berlett calmly thrust his revolver into his pocket. “I am here to speak, not as a criminal nor as a dupe, but merely as a chance person who can provide the solution to your problems.

“I held nothing against Lester Dorrington in the past. I never approved of him as Torrence Dilgin’s personal attorney. I did not send Dilgin to him; nor did I send the other clients. I can see why Dorrington suspected me of so doing, for as a corporation lawyer, I have contacts with many big men of industry. But Dorrington was wrong.

“All I ever did against Dorrington was to instruct my man Morgan to keep an eye on him while I was in Rio. I doubt that Morgan did so. Morgan is somewhat incompetent. Moreover, he thinks that I am dead.”

Preliminaries ended, Berlett resumed with a more steady tone. His voice came without interruption. Hushed listeners were swayed by the persuasive words of a story that was fully as convincing — despite its incredible features — as those which had been told before.

“In Rio,” stated Berlett, “I was present at the death bed of Torrence Dilgin. The old man gasped words about a key. He named the sum of one million dollars. He tried to state the identity of a living person. He failed.

“Before leaving Rio, two Brazilians — one an attorney, the other a physician — told me that they feared Torrence Dilgin had been poisoned. They suspected Warren Sigler, the secretary, as the murderer. I decided to feign ignorance. In fact, I did everything I could to make Sigler feel that I was not concerned.

“I arranged prompt shipment of the body. I avoided embalming, for I wanted an autopsy when I reached New York. I thought that I could trap Warren Sigler here — not in Brazil — and in that way bring the matter to a rapid head.”

BERLETT paused. As he came to the next portion of his story, he seemed to be picturing scenes aboard the Southern Star. At last, he faced the eyes that scanned him.

“In Pernambuco,” related Berlett, “I found a note in my cabin. It warned me that Warren Sigler intended to murder me; that thugs were coming aboard the ship, to do their evil work outside the harbor. The note told me how I could avoid death. I was to rouse Sigler’s suspicions — the man had never trusted me — by meeting the writer in my cabin. There, I was to discuss Sigler as a murderer.

“I went to the cabin. I met the writer of the note, a man who called himself Carlos Mendoza. Sigler had hidden himself in the cabin — his method was crude — and he overheard all that was said. When the Southern Star left Pernambuco harbor, I went back in the pilot ship. Mendoza had arranged the ruse.

“Sigler and his thugs were beaten in their fight. I came on to New York, by plane, still following Mendoza’s instructions. When I arrived at the Hotel Goliath, under the name of Edmund Talbot, I received a call from a man named Burbank, who was evidently an agent of Mendoza.

“Burbank told me all would be well. He had men watching me, to see that I was safe. I knew that Mendoza would somehow arrive in New York. Burbank assured me of that fact. I knew that Sigler had been in the employ of some swindler who had duped Torrence Dilgin. Therefore, I still needed protection.

“Meanwhile, lawyers were slain — two of them — while my benefactor, Carlos Mendoza, was still aboard the Southern Star. Just before the third death, Burbank informed me that Mendoza had reached New York; that soon, I would be called upon to play a part in return for the aid that had been given me.

“Tonight, the opportunity arrived. Burbank instructed me how to leave the Hotel Goliath. He told me how to avoid pursuers; he even stated that one of Mendoza’s men would make sure of my safe departure. He also told me where to go — along a strange path that Carlos Mendoza had arranged for me.

“Tonight” — Berlett paused emphatically — “I entered the home of Kelwood Markin, by coming through the trapdoor in the roof. I descended to Markin’s living room. I lay behind the curtains of the window. I saw all that took place within that room.”

A hush; then a sudden statement from old Kelwood Markin. The gray-haired lawyer was seizing upon Berlett’s words to make a new thrust.

“He must have seen Dorrington—”

“Berlett placed the death machine.” It was Dorrington who spoke. “This sounds like a confession—”

“Let him speak!” thundered Weston.

“I saw George Tharxell produce that device that lies upon the table,” stated Berlett, simply. “I saw him return without it. Lester Dorrington is innocent!”

EYES toward Tharxell. The man was quivering. Edwin Berlett’s tones began again.

“Through Carlos Mendoza,” declared the third accuser, “I learned the truth concerning crime. Mendoza pieced the riddle. I am but his spokesman; He is the one who saw through the cunning game.

“A master schemer planned gigantic swindles. He spoke to millionaires. He showed them how — through his device — they could avoid inheritance taxes. Each gave the schemer a large sum — Dilgin’s contribution was a million — and he in turn sent each man to a duped lawyer. Those poor chaps held the keys, to boxes already empty. For the crook kept their money for himself.

“He had the millionaires go to Lester Dorrington as the lawyer to handle their estates. Dorrington knew none of the men who held the keys. Thus conspiracy was avoided. The vicious schemer, however, chose Dorrington with a purpose. He knew that in emergency, he could sign up some killer whom Dorrington had represented — for instance, Whitey Calban — to slay the lawyers who held the keys.

“How was he to protect himself? There lay the deepest measure of his cunning. By naming himself as an extra dupe. By pretending that he, too, had been approached by a wealthy man whose estate had been handled by Lester Dorrington. He, like his victims — Verbeck, Durton, Keith — was ready to hold up a key and cry for pity!”

No name was needed. The accusing words told the final story. All eyes turned toward Kelwood Markin.

The old lawyer’s face was purple. With clawlike hands upon the arms of his chair, he was trying to rise while his lips sputtered vain epithets.

“It fits!” exclaimed Dorrington, leaping to his feet. “Berlett is right! Markin never received a key from Rufus Gilwood! I remember now — I had known Gilwood slightly before he came to me to make his will. He was not one of the mystery clients.”

“You did well, Dorrington,” commented Berlett, from the door. “Markin failed to pin the murders on you. That is why he had Tharxell plant the mechanism in the fire place.”

“Tharxell called up so we’d stop the gas,” broke in Cardona, suddenly. “The game is up, commissioner. We’ve got our man—”

As Cardona pounced toward Markin, the old lawyer leaped to his feet. He yanked a revolver from his pocket with amazing speed. Wildly, he aimed toward the man whom he had come to hate the most — Edwin Berlett.

Caught off guard, Berlett responded as quickly as he could. He reached for his own gun, but his action was belated. Markin’s aim was ready as Berlett’s hand came in view. To those who watched, Berlett seemed doomed to the death that he had escaped.

THEN came an unexpected roar. An automatic flashed from the darkness beyond the opened door. A whistling bullet, aimed past Berlett’s arm, found its mark. That shot spilled Kelwood Markin on the floor. Writhing, the unmasked fiend coughed out his evil life.

With that shot came the weird rise of a taunting laugh. The triumph of The Shadow sounded through the paneled room. As Tharxell, yanking a gun, was beating Cardona to a shot, a second roar was followed by a cry from the man who had aided Markin. Tharxell’s arm dropped while the laugh broke into its high crescendo.

As Howland also yanked a revolver, the smoking muzzle of the automatic turned straight toward the secretary. The third shot, however, was unnecessary. As The Shadow’s laugh produced its shivering echoes, Cardona pounced upon Howland before the man could gain an aim.

As Edwin Berlett stepped inward, the men on their feet were staring toward the door. They saw nothing more than blackness. A gloved hand was dropping the automatic beneath the folds of a cloak. A swishing form was already making its departure. The Shadow had spoken — with bullets.

Joe Cardona understood. He knew why Markin’s schemes had failed. The old man had told Calban to tip off his gorillas with the false story regarding Dorrington. Scramming, Calban would have left the others for the dragnet.

It was The Shadow who had spoiled that scheme. He had begun the fight that had ended in the wiping out of Calban’s mob. Again, he had spoiled Markin’s last bet by placing Edwin Berlett as the witness of the old fiend’s final scheme of treachery.

JOE CARDONA knew that Edwin Berlett’s incredible story must be true. For Joe knew the identity of the personage who had worked as Carlos Mendoza. The Shadow! His uncanny power; his mighty hand — these had brought justice as the final outcome.

Tharxell and Howland, pitiful tools who had known but shreds of Markin’s game, were blurting out their stories. Tharxell had formed contact with Whitey Calban. He had carried orders to the killer.

Howland confessed a knowledge of the swindles. Berlett and Dorrington smiled in grim satisfaction as the secretary stated that Markin, a miserly hoarder, had stowed away the funds that he had gained. The keys to deposit boxes that Howland kept in the study would open the old fiend’s hidden coffers.

A million would be gained to save the Dilgin Refining Corporation. Edwin Berlett and Lester Dorrington, friends at the finish, could arrange the financial aid that the great company required.

But these discoveries were mere words to Acting Inspector Joe Cardona. The star sleuth was finding answers to his mental questions. He could picture The Shadow listening in at Markin’s, finding a clue to crime as he heard the statements of the cunning fiend.

Murders had struck while The Shadow was absent. Another crime had succeeded through the victim’s own blunder. These had been triumphs for the insidious schemer, Kelwood Markin; but the final victory had been The Shadow’s.

As he stared at the dead form of the fiend before him, Joe Cardona could still hear echoes of The Shadow’s laugh. Whispers of triumphant mirth still seemed to linger as tokens of the vanished conqueror.

Righteous men had been cleared of suspicion. Millions would be restored to their proper owners. A murderous monster had perished. Justice had prevailed — through The Shadow!