The Road Of Crime

CHAPTER X THE SAMARITAN

Two dozen men were tramping along a rough road. Behind them came three others, armed with rifles. A command sounded from the rear; the gang fell out at the side of the road. One of the guards opened a huge box that was standing beside a tree. Each of the two dozen men advanced in turn to take out a pick.

Methodically, the road gang fell to work. Under the watchful eyes of the armed guards, these prisoners began their daily toil. Pick points clicked upon stone. Snatches of conversation began.

Road work in this county was no sinecure, yet it lacked the barbarity so popularly supposed to dominate all chain gangs. Two dozen short-term prisoners, under the supervision of several competent guards, were allowed reasonable privileges so long as they kept busy with their picks. Graham Wellerton, drafted to this toil, found it an annoyance rather than a hardship. He was in his fifth day of service and he had taken his temporary fate in a philosophical manner.

He paid very little attention to words uttered by the other prisoners, but today, something that he heard made him listen for further information.

“Out in Grand Rapids,” one man was saying. “The paper that I seen was a coupla days old—”

A pick clicked in interruption. Then came a question that told more.

“You say the cops plugged seven of ‘em?” a man was asking. “Didn’t none of ‘em get away?”

“It wasn’t the cops,” Graham heard. “That’s the funny part of it. When the holdup started—”

Words were intermittent as they came to Graham’s ears, but the young man caught the important details of the story as he labored away with his pick.

A squad of armed marauders had entered the Riverview Trust in Grand Rapids, a few nights ago. Before they had been able to engineer the holdup, shots had broken loose. The sight of dropping raiders was the first token of the contemplated robbery.

The shots had been delivered from the semidarkness of the street. Mobsmen had started to flee; they had been shot down. Others had dashed into the bank to be met by watchmen and tellers. Police had arrived to find seven victims.

It seemed that mutiny must have broken out in the ranks of the raiders during the crucial moments of the attack. There was no other explanation for the startling result. The case was a baffling one.

GRAHAM WELLERTON was grim as he swung the pick. He knew the answer to this frustrated crime. The broken attack was a repetition of the Parkerside disaster in New York, where Wolf Daggert and his henchmen had been repulsed.

The Shadow!

Somehow, that master of crime detection had learned Graham’s schemes. He had arrived in Grand Rapids ahead of the raiders. Had Graham still been in command of his men, he would have gone down with his mobsters.

Graham chuckled in sarcastic fashion. He realized now that Wolf Daggert had done him a good turn. By usurping the leadership, Wolf had put himself in a mess. The evil-faced gang leader had walked into the trap intended for Graham.

Seven men in the gang. Graham made a mental calculation. His own men had numbered nine. Wolf, with Garry, made two more — a total of eleven. That left four at large. Graham growled his contempt of the situation.

He was glad that three of the four had escaped; but he was positive that he knew the identity of the fourth man — Wolf Daggert himself. The cowardly gang leader had played his old trick of staying back with a few reserves while the main mob attacked.

“Around the corner,” muttered Graham. “That’s where he was — the yellow cur.”

As Graham marveled at The Shadow’s skillful cunning, he realized that Wolf had been in luck. The Shadow had been expecting a mob headed by Graham Wellerton — a leader who went with the advance. The Shadow had arranged to break up such an attack.

Instead of Graham, Wolf had appeared as leader — if he rightfully deserved such a title. Wolf’s idea of leadership was to lurk until the flight began; then to lead the way. That was why Wolf had escaped The Shadow.

Nevertheless, Wolf had failed; his present predicament was as bad a one as Graham’s.

Swinging his pick automatically, Graham Wellerton considered all angles of the case. He realized that when he finished his thirty-day term, he would have to choose a new course of action. A fresh start in crime — that seemed the only possibility. As he labored, Graham found himself in a dilemma.

Crime, now that he was temporarily away from it, seemed a sordid, futile existence. On the contrary, any course that would fit in with recognized ways of society were just as distasteful.

Why should he, Graham Wellerton, attempt to live a law-abiding life? Justice — as the world saw it — was not to his liking. The young man thought of his uncle, Ezra Talboy.

There, he decided, was a man as crooked as they made them — a swindler, a thief, a heartless wretch. Yet Ezra Talboy, by staying within the rules set by law, had gained full title to the wealth and prestige which he had actually stolen from Graham’s father.

GRAHAM’S own plight soured him further. Here, with the road gang, he was paying a penalty demanded by so-called justice. He was serving a short term for vagrancy — his only crime having been the instinct of self-preservation.

He had come to Southwark in a dazed condition, a fit subject for human kindness. He had been seized by an officer anxious to make an arrest. He had been committed to jail in a cold-hearted fashion.

“Hey, there, Gruger!”

The repeated call from one of the guards caused Graham to suddenly realize that the shout was for him. He stopped his work and turned around.

“Don’t you know your own name?” questioned the guard.

“I’d sort of forgotten it,” responded Graham with a sheepish smile.

“Fall out with the rest of the gang,” ordered the guard.

Graham saw that the prisoners had quit their work and were enjoying temporary respite as they sat along a grassy embankment beside the road. Graham joined his companions. While two guards, rifles ready, were on watch, the third was talking with a stranger who had alighted from an automobile.

“That’s Ralph Delkin,” one of the prisoners was saying, in a low tone. “Big manufacturer down in Southwark.”

“What’s he doin’ here?” asked another prisoner.

“He’s on some county committee,” came the explanation. “Supposed to check up on the road gangs.”

“To see that we keep grindin’, huh?”

“No. They say Delkin’s a good egg. Won’t stand for no rough stuff. You notice they gave us a lay off when he showed up? That guy won’t stand for no meanness.”

“Say — who’s the Jane with him — the kid comin’ over from the car?”

“His daughter, I guess.”

Graham Wellerton was looking in the direction indicated. He remembered Ralph Delkin from years ago. He noted that time had not greatly changed the man.

In appearance, Delkin was stern and square-jawed; in action, brusque and businesslike. There was an air about him that symbolized the real type of man.

Delkin, Graham estimated, must now be about forty-five years of age. The girl who was approaching him was certainly his daughter. Graham remembered her as a child — Eunice Delkin. She was now in her early twenties and Graham, as he watched her, was impressed with her beauty.

Ralph Delkin was looking along the row of prisoners. His practiced eye was studying each face. His purpose was apparent; he was here to pick out any who might have cause for protest at harsh treatment which had been received.

GRAHAM noticed that Eunice followed her father’s gaze. There was a frankness in her expression that made each toughened prisoner feel sheepish. Until she came to Graham, Eunice met only wavering glances; but as she looked at the former gentleman of crime, something in Graham’s cold stare caused her to steadily return the gaze.

Graham Wellerton smiled disdainfully. Eunice Delkin was beautiful; her light hair, her frank eyes — these were the features which most impressed him. But Graham could not help but compare her lot with his own.

His father — like hers — had been a prominent citizen of Southwark. But he, Graham Wellerton was an outcast, sentenced to the road gang by so-called justice, while she, protected by her father’s high standing in the community, had never been forced to experience the harsher side of life.

Ralph Delkin was turning away. He spoke to his daughter. Still glancing at Graham Wellerton, Eunice plucked her father’s sleeve and spoke. Delkin turned and looked at Graham. His eyes became puzzled. He spoke to the guard. The man replied; then looked toward Graham and beckoned.

Rising, Graham slouched forward, still wearing his challenging smile. As he neared the little group, Delkin advanced and spoke to him in a low tone.

“You’re Graham Wellerton, aren’t you?” asked Delkin.

“My name is Gruger,” retorted Graham, loud enough for Eunice and the guard to hear. “George Gruger.”

Ralph Delkin looked at this daughter as though there must be some mistake.

The girt shook her head emphatically. She looked squarely at Graham.

“He didn’t know his name was Gruger a few minutes ago,” said the guard.

“I had to holler at him three times.”

“This man,” said Eunice quietly, “is Graham Wellerton. There is no question about it. I remember him.”

The even modulation of the girl’s tone was convincing. Her voice was kindly; her attitude was friendly. Graham was forced to assume a gruff indifference in order to meet this positive statement of his identity.

“What of it?” he questioned. “Suppose I am Graham Wellerton? What’s that to anyone around here?”

Ralph Delkin extended his hand. Graham turned quickly to pretend that he did not see the gesture. His eyes were toward the other prisoners as he heard Ralph Delkin speak.

“Your father,” said Delkin, “was my friend. I am your friend, Graham.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Graham stalked away toward the other prisoners. He did not want Delkin’s friendship. Nevertheless, he could not stand and face a man who offered him a handshake; nor could he look into the frank eyes of a girl who had picked him out as his father’s son from among two dozen criminals.

When Graham Wellerton reached the embankment and finally turned about, Ralph Delkin and his daughter were walking back to the automobile. Graham laughed roughly. He felt that he had forestalled this one advance of friendship.

At the noon hour, however, when a car arrived with lunch for the prisoners, Graham was informed that he was to go back to Southwark. Figuring that his term on the road gang was ended, he boarded the automobile and sat in the back seat with a hard-faced man who never said a word.

Graham knew this fellow. Ellis Taussig was his name; he had been county sheriff ever since Graham’s boyhood. Southwark was the county seat; and Taussig had evidently come up from there.

The car reached the town and pulled up beside the courthouse. Taussig ordered Graham to alight.

Instead of leading the young man toward the jail, he took him into the courthouse. They walked through a corridor and reached a small room. As Graham entered, he was quick to recognize the people there.

JUSTICE SCHUBLE — Harwin Dowser, the lawyer — these were the first two whom Graham Wellerton noticed. Then he saw another pair: Ralph Delkin and his daughter, Eunice. Graham hesitated; Sheriff Taussig pushed him forward.

Justice Schuble spoke. His tone was an inquiry as he looked at the young man before him.

“You are Graham Wellerton?” he questioned.

“Yes,” admitted Graham, with a defiant glance.

“Since I have been informed correctly,” declared Schuble, “I shall immediately arrange your release. I sentenced you for vagrancy purely because you refused to give a reason for your presence in the town of Southwark. As a former member of this community, you are entitled to your freedom here.”

“You are making a mistake,” retorted Graham coldly. “I have no business in Southwark. Much though I detest the town, I was unjustly forced to be its guest for a period of thirty days. I have no money; I have nowhere to live. Therefore you will be forced to arrest me again for vagrancy.

“After the thirty days — or as many more as you choose to give me — have ended, I intend to leave this contemptible district where thieves are honored and rogues hold office—”

Graham broke into a sneering laugh as he saw the furious expression on Justice Schuble’s face. Harwin Dowser, evidently here in Graham’s behalf, sprang forward to make a plea that the young man’s contempt be overlooked. Sheriff Taussig and Ralph Delkin did not know what to say. It was Eunice who solved the problem.

Stepping forward, the girl looked squarely into Graham’s eyes. Her expression of disapproval was one that caused Graham to end his condemning statements. Then, turning to the justice, Eunice made the winning plea.

“Please forget this outburst,” the girl said. “Graham does not realize what he is saying. He will not be a vagrant while he is here in Southwark. My father and I are inviting him to live at our home. He should have been informed of that before his release was mentioned.”

“Very well,” decided Schuble. “I shall overlook the contempt which has been expressed. I am releasing Graham Wellerton in the custody of Ralph Delkin.”

It was Eunice, again, who ended all objections. Before her father could step forward, she had extended her hand to Graham. The young man was too stupefied to exhibit the discourtesy which he had shown to Ralph Delkin that morning. Mechanically, he shook hands with Eunice; then received the clasp which Ralph Delkin extended.

THE Delkins took Graham in their automobile. When they arrived at the house, Delkin remarked that he would make arrangements for new apparel and whatever else Graham might require. He added that there would be a job for Graham in the plant. It was then that Graham regained his challenging air.

“You’re going to a lot of useless trouble, both of you,” he asserted. “I don’t want your friendship. I hate Southwark, and I have no regard for anyone who lives here. If you think that you are doing me a kind turn, you are wrong. If you insist upon my remaining here, I can tell you in advance that you will be sorry.”

“Don’t talk that way, Graham,” responded Delkin, in a kindly tone. “My friendship toward you is a real one—”

“Graham will learn that, father,” interposed Eunice. “He will appreciate our sentiment. He will learn to like it here.”

Graham Wellerton made no remark. He was prepared to resist any display of friendship that came from Ralph Delkin, but he could not force himself into an argument with the girl who had persuaded her father to do him this kind turn.

Graham’s silence indicated that he was willing to remain. Without further discussion, Ralph Delkin conducted his resentful guest to the room which had been provided for him. Thus did Graham Wellerton begin a new term of residence in the town where he had spent his boyhood.

Ralph Delkin, at Eunice’s behest, had played the part of good Samaritan. He had accepted Graham Wellerton in memory of the young man’s father. Little did he suspect that he was sheltering a man who had but recently been the leader of a band of desperate crooks.

To Graham Wellerton, a short stay at Delkin’s home would prove acceptable purely as a period of recuperation. In his heart, the man who had returned to Southwark was planning a new career of crime.

For the present, only, he was accepting the conditions imposed upon him. In his heart, he carried no thanks toward the people who had shown him friendship.

Soon he would go his way again. With a new start, he would take up crime with a spirit of vindictiveness. Alone, Graham Wellerton smiled grimly as he thought of the past. Wolf Daggert would be out of his life; Carma would never find him.

There was only one person whom Graham Wellerton considered as a menace. That one was the strange, unknown being called The Shadow.

What did The Shadow matter? Graham was sure that he could travel beyond the reach of the master of crime.

In that surmise, Graham Wellerton was wrong. The Shadow, weird and mysterious, was to play an unexpected part in events which were already shaping Graham Wellerton’s destiny.