The Romanoff Jewels

CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW DECIDES

THE dungeon of doom had become a place of judgment. The weird scene formed an incredible fantasy.

Whatever the outcome of this meeting might be, it was apparent that The Shadow would demand a reckoning.

Like a being of retribution, he dominated these men of crime. His fearful automatic pointed as a threat; his brilliant eyes flashed beams of dreadful light. Bright as the sparkling gems within the treasure box, they shone with commanding power.

Silence pervaded that stone-walled room. Motkin was cowed. Noyes was cringing. Even Froman, the man who had threatened, drew away from the phantom in black.

With The Shadow’s presence, all had become unreal. Anything might happen, now. Hopes of security or triumph had vanished. Three men of evil awaited The Shadow’s judgment!

The Shadow spoke, and his tones were a sinister whisper that might have come from a limitless space beyond. Those eerie notes were the utterances of unseen lips.

“I have come to demand a reckoning” — The Shadow’s voice was spectral — “a reckoning from you who have killed! I have come to end the rule of bloodshed. No longer will these baubles” — his flashing eyes turned toward the chest of gems— “cause crime and destruction. That has been ended.”

The quailing men expected doom. The menace of The Shadow’s automatic — the one element of material reality in all this uncanny setting — was something that they could not ignore. But The Shadow’s next words brought gasps to trembling lips. They were gasps of amazement mingled with sudden hope.

“Men have striven,” said The Shadow, “in a vain effort to possess the contents of that box. You three have caused the death of scores of human beings. You are calloused murderers, and you deserve to die.

“But my aim is not to kill” — these were the surprising words that brought flickers of hope to three terror-stricken faces — “no matter how greatly you deserve the death that I could now impose. My purpose has been to end the reign of slaughter, into which many of those who died deliberately thrust themselves.

“It was my task to prevent much that has happened. A bloody trail has followed those stolen trifles. But for my presence here, that trail would continue. I have come to end it forever. I have come to pronounce an amnesty.

“Despicable though you three may be, it is not The Shadow’s province to add more death to a chain that has already stretched too far.”

Wondering, the three men of crime stood gaping. Not one of them had expected mercy from this avenging figure. Yet The Shadow’s words were spoken with an impressiveness that only truth could have.

“You ask how I shall end this trail of blood.” The Shadow’s words were a statement, not a question. “I shall tell you. By removing the cause of bloodshed, I shall prevent future deaths.

“These baubles that you value shall be mine” — the black-gloved left hand indicated the box on the rolling table — “and I shall place them where they can never be reclaimed.”

THE sharp eyes flashed as they stared from man to man. Froman was aghast; Motkin betrayed only anxiety. The Shadow saw the differing expressions. His weird laugh echoed through the dungeon.

“I seek no gain” — there was a strange, knowing note in The Shadow’s whisper — “and even those who seek it cannot find it through those glittering trifles. You who brought them here were gloating” — he looked toward Froman and Noyes — “because you believed you had vast wealth. Your millions are imaginary!”

With a quick motion of his left hand, The Shadow flung aside the glove that covered it. His hand dropped into the box and arose, to let a galaxy of sparkling objects fall in a dripping, gorgeous flow.

“The wealth of the Romanoffs” — The Shadow’s whisper was mockery — “millions upon millions. Deluded fools! These gems are false! They are worthless bits of sparkling glass!”

A gasp came from Frederick Froman. Parker Noyes echoed the astonished cry. Ivan Motkin’s face took on a sudden grimness. The Shadow laughed as he stepped back and placed his hand flat against the front of his flowing black cloak.

All eyes were upon that hand, where the luminous girasol shone in changing light. The blue and crimson of that fire opal told of an uncanny knowledge which its owner possessed.

“The gems of the Romanoffs!” declared The Shadow. “They have been scattered long ago. Some were saved by their former owners, who have kept the secret to themselves. Others are lost, in buried hiding places. Still more were sold secretly by those who captured them.

“The few that remain in Moscow are a trivial few that are personally held by the highest Red officials.

“You have sought the Romanoff gems. I have brought one here to show you. Gaze upon the stone that gleams from my finger. That priceless girasol was once owned by the Czars of Russia. It, alone, of all the baubles in this room, is genuine!

“You ask of the Romanoff gems. I have seen many of them, in many places. With my knowledge and my power, I could assemble huge collections of them, if I sought such useless possessions. This girasol was a gift, which I accepted as a memento of friendship from the man who owned it.”

The Shadow paused, and not a sound disturbed the stillness of that vaulted room. The gleaming eyes were focused upon Froman and Noyes. The plotters stared in return, their glances wavering from the unchanging eyes to the ever-changing jewel upon The Shadow’s long white hand.

“Two schemers” — The Shadow’s voice was cold and slow — “who sought to gain vast wealth by joining sincere though rabid men with their cause. The restoration of the Romanoff gems was your pretended ideal. In reality, you sought gain for yourselves. You killed, to gain nothing. Your ignorance was pitiable.

“And you” — The Shadow’s gaze turned to Motkin, who trembled before the glance — “are a man who knew the truth. Your knowledge was pitiable. You were placed in charge of a stronghold which contained pretended wealth. You took men there, to show them what they imagined to be priceless possessions.

“You were appointed by those above you to delude certain persons with a hoax; to create the impression that the Reds in Moscow still held the vast Romanoff wealth. You knew the truth; it was your work to maintain the pretense.

“You had the privilege of taking persons to the vault, that they might see the supposed wealth and tell the world that the jewels were still in Russia.

“You were overconfident. The false gems were stolen. Had they been the real jewels, you would have been executed. But your crime of failure was less, because of the existing facts.

“You were given an opportunity to redeem yourself; to reclaim the false gems before those who stole them had discovered that they were worthless imitations. To you, these bits of glass are worth further crime and destruction to regain.

“So I shall take them with me when I leave. You, like these others, shall taste bitter disappointment. The reign of blood shall end.”

STEPPING backward, The Shadow glided toward the door. He paused there with one hand upon the knob. Motkin and Noyes trembled.

Froman did not speak. He did not fear death. He hated the apparition in black. He hated Motkin. He was willing to die, if these two perished with him. Froman’s lips formed a triumphant smile. Let The Shadow die!

The man in black paused. A low laugh came from his concealed visage. His eyes turned toward Froman.

“I know your thoughts,” he said. “You are willing to die, if you could see me perish. I suspected your trap. I saw signs of it when I was here before — when I came to talk with Marcus Holtmann.”

A look of vague understanding flitted over Froman’s face.

“Then, the trap was not set,” resumed The Shadow. “Tonight it has been prepared. Only one who enters here can leave — so you believe. I shall show you that you are wrong.”

He tapped upon the door. The steel curtain began to rise. Two men stood in the outer passage. At a word from The Shadow, they entered, as the figure in black stepped aside.

Still covering his enemies with the automatic, The Shadow raised his free left hand and held the door open from beneath. Another word and the two men approached the box upon the table. They closed the lid and worked the table toward the door.

Two masked operatives had followed here at The Shadow’s bidding. They had been waiting for the signal. They had turned the safe outer knob. Now, they were removing the false jewels.

His agents gone, The Shadow waited, still holding the fatal curtain of steel. His last words were a command.

“You may make your peace,” he said. The figure in black stepped through the barrier. The steel door glided downward. The threatening automatic followed with it, moving just below the bottom edge. As the curtain neared the final stopping point, the three men in the dungeon could see only the muzzle of the automatic until the final spot was reached. The door clicked shut as the end of the weapon disappeared.

The Shadow’s judgment had been declared.

The figure in black was gone.