The Road Of Crime

CHAPTER XXII THE SHADOW’S DEED

THE door of Harwin Dowser’s study closed completely. A tiny flashlight glimmered in the darkened room. A disk of illumination, no larger than a silver dollar, formed a spot upon the door of the old-fashioned safe that stood in the corner.

A black hand grasped the dial. Fingers, working a combination that was evidently known to the brain which guided them, completed the work. The door of the safe opened; The Shadow’s keen eyes perceived a long envelope which lay close at hand.

The envelope disappeared into the darkness. Several seconds elapsed before it was returned. A soft laugh was caught within the close-walled room. The light went out; The Shadow moved away.

The course of his stealthy tread took him through a side door of the study. From the rear of the hallway, The Shadow could glimpse the armed men in the archway at the opening of the living room.

Unseen, The Shadow turned through a narrow opening. His flashlight glimmered upon the knob of a door. Silently, The Shadow opened the barrier and descended a flight of stairs. His light was no longer at work, his steps were noiseless, even when they reached the stone flooring of the basement.

In a remote portion of the large cellar, The Shadow stopped as he reached an opening in the wall. Before him lay a stone compartment; beyond it was a sheet-metal door that bore a huge padlock. Two men were in view, seated upon overturned boxes. Both were roughly clad; both were watchful in the gloomy light that came from a single electric bulb.

One of the men arose. Strolling back and forth, he neared the fringe of darkness by the opening where The Shadow stood. The other man was not observing his companion.

A long streak of blackness crept along the floor. The standing man saw it; he turned toward the opening. Two long arms shot out and caught the fellow by the throat. Like a rat between a terrier’s teeth, the ruffian was whisked into darkness.

The seated man lighted a cigarette. Holding out the package, he looked for his companion. He wondered where the other had gone. Listening, he fancied that he heard a noise. He arose and drew forth a flashlight. As he neared the opening in the wall, he turned on the torch.

The glare revealed a tall approaching figure. Sparkling eyes reflected the flashlight’s glare. Before the startled man could realize what the phenomenon meant, a phantom shape shot forward and materialized itself into a dynamic fighting force. The second ruffian went down beneath The Shadow’s onslaught. He, too, was dragged into the darkness beyond.

The quickness of these events had been incredible. The Shadow reappeared and swept across the lighted compartment. A tiny instrument of steel appeared in his black-gloved hand. At the first attempt, The Shadow picked the padlock on the door.

The barrier swung wide. As the light flickered into the room beyond, The Shadow moved swiftly back by the path which had brought him here. Lost in the darkness beyond the opening in the wall, he paused to deliver a whispered utterance — a strange, uncanny summons that carried a note of command.

The black cloak swished as The Shadow retraced his steps toward the stairs that led upward. The two men whom he had overcome, now lying bound beside the cellar wall, heard the faint echoes of a mysterious whispered laugh.

IN the upstairs living room, Graham Wellerton was facing the sneering glares of Carma Urstead and Wolf Daggert. The woman had told her story. Wolf was corroborating the tale.

“Sure,” the yellow gangster was declaring. “this guy is phony. He worked for King Furzman — the big shot back in New York. His mob throwed him out — they were the bozos who were tryin’ to rob old Talboy when he butted in.”

“Hear him, sheriff,” suggested Graham. “This man is incriminating himself.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about myself,” snarled Wolf. “I’m talkin’ about this guy — Wellerton — the bank robber.”

“Let me explain the matter,” suggested Dowser, turning to Sheriff Taussig. “Shortly after Wellerton came into his uncle’s estate, this man Daggert appeared here at my home. He stated that Wellerton was a bank robber; that the men whom he killed at Ezra Talboy’s home were his old cronies.

“Daggert admitted that he had been connected with the group. He said that he had remained in hiding at a farmhouse several miles outside of Southwark — the old deserted place on the Surreyville road. It was through Daggert that I learned of Wellerton’s wife Carma, who was living in New York.

“In order to learn the truth, I sent for the woman. She has been in town for several days. She is here to accuse Graham Wellerton of having deserted her.”

Graham Wellerton stared. He knew now whom Carma had meant when she had said that a man in Southwark had sent for her. He knew now that she was in league with Wolf Daggert, and that the skulking gang leader expected a share of the spoils.

How had Wolf learned of Carma? Graham had never mentioned her name to Wolf.

“You are listening to a conspiracy,” declared Graham, turning to the sheriff. “No proof is offered — merely a concerted attempt to ruin my reputation. Mr. Dowser has been deluded by these scoundrels. These statements are given by persons who admit their own unreliability.”

“One moment,” asserted Dowser. “I take it, Wellerton, that you think there is no proof. I do not care for your opinion. It is Sheriff Taussig whom I intend to convince. Come this way — to my study. There you shall see evidence.”

The vigilantes followed, covering Graham with their revolvers. Dowser, Taussig, and Delkin drew Graham along with them into the study, where the lawyer turned on the lights. Carma and Wolf followed. The masked guardians grouped themselves within the door.

Harwin Dowser opened the safe. From it, he drew an envelope. He pulled back the flap and produced a folded paper. His sharp eyes were gleaming as he handed the document to Sheriff Taussig.

“There,” declared Dowser emphatically, “you will find the proof of the first statement made. That is the marriage license, dated March the third, 1928, which pronounces Carma Urstead to be the wife of Graham Wellerton. That is the document which caused me to accept the woman’s story. This will in my pocket” — Dowser handed the new paper to Taussig — “goes with it, naming the woman as heiress to Graham Wellerton’s entire estate.”

SHERIFF TAUSSIG opened the marriage license. He stared at it in perplexity. He raised his head and looked wonderingly about the group. His face became firm — and challenging.

Harwin Dowser looked over the sheriff’s shoulder; Graham Wellerton, on the other side, did the same. A cry of amazement came from Graham’s lips. In one brief instant, complete understanding of a long-continued plot came to his mind.

The marriage license which Sheriff Taussig was reading was not dated March 3, 1928. It was two years older than that, bearing the date of April 9, 1926. But that was not the astounding feature of the document. The names upon it were startling points.

Carma Urstead was named, but Graham Wellerton was not. The man whose name was given in the marriage license was Willis Daggert — Wolf Daggert!

With a cry of triumph, Graham Wellerton turned to throw his counter accusation against these two whose conspiring brains had thrust him into a life of crime.