The Shadow's Justice

CHAPTER XXII SHOTS OF DEATH

FARLAND TRACY indulged in an evil laugh as he showed himself to the trio at the end of the shaft. Backed by glimmering revolvers, the lawyer had nothing to fear from the men whom he and Hub Rowley had trapped.

There was no kindliness in the attorney’s features. His face, usually feigning sympathy and understanding, had become the gloating countenance of a fiend. The accustomed mask had lifted.

“So the cousins have joined forces,” sneered the lawyer, in a low, sarcastic tone. They’ve talked things over, maybe? Wondered why they didn’t understand each other fully? Well, they’ve found out, now.

“Easy money for Carter Boswick, eh? Letting Cousin Drew in on the wealth, perhaps. Well, it’s all off now, my boys. You and your helper made a lot of trouble; but we’ve got you where we want you — and we’ll leave you here!”

Another face appeared beside the lawyer’s. Hub Rowley was stepping forward to add his malicious approval. Drew Westling was the only one who recognized the big shot.

“Don’t blame Cousin Drew,” jeered Tracy, addressing Carter Boswick. “It was your father’s folly that brought you here — although Drew was partly responsible. I knew all about you father’s clever secret — all except where the hiding place could be found. It looked like you were never coming back; and Drew was kind enough to get himself into trouble — with this gentleman who stands beside me.

“A gambling debt. Money owed to Mr. Rowley. So I called on Mr. Rowley — with kindly intentions at first. But when I learned that Mr. Rowley deliberately intended to bleed Drew Westling, I decided it would be a good idea. I made a deal with Mr. Rowley, involving Houston Boswick’s hidden wealth.

“We decided to find it for ourselves. We knew that we could take care of little Drew Westling. When we couldn’t find it at the old mansion, we decided we would pump Drew after the legacy became his. The old man didn’t have so long to live.

“But when you popped up, Carter Boswick, we decided to put you nicely out of the way. I learned that you were coming from Montevideo. I called Mr. Rowley, and he sent a man to meet you. Somehow, you were fortunate enough to get home.”

Carter Boswick clenched his teeth. He thought of Havana — of the Southern Star. Then, again, he was listening to the sarcastic tones of Farland Tracy’s voice.

“We didn’t get you,” announced the lawyer, “but we did get the message that you found. We had a very able agent planted in your house. Step forward, Headley.”

Houston Boswick’s former servant stepped into the light. The malicious grin upon his face betrayed his treacherous nature. He, like Farland Tracy, had worn a mask in the past.

“You see,” purred the lawyer, “I had long had dealings with Mr. Rowley. He is a gentleman who delights in evading the law; hence he frequently calls on capable legal counsel. He has a way of dealing with people — and our friend Headley chanced to be one with whom he had dealt in the past.

“Headley was very useful. He took the message. He was watching when it was discovered. He signaled for a messenger, who was waiting patiently outside. Mr. Rowley and I went into conference that very evening.”

The lawyer’s cold tones ended.

HE needed to say no more. All was plain to Carter Boswick and Drew Westling. Harry Vincent understood also.

Big brains had formed an alliance. A crooked lawyer, thinking more of millions than the trust that was his to keep, had called in a supermind of crime to aid him in the purloining of vast wealth.

Now came a new statement — one that showed a reason for Farland Tracy’s restraining action. The lawyer had more than a merely malicious purpose in withholding death.

“It would be most unfortunate,” declared Tracy, “if you had managed, somehow, to remove the fortune that Houston Boswick deposited in this place. There is that possibility, however, since we have discovered you at the probable spot.

“So to mollify your previous endeavors, we shall investigate before we pay our final respects to you. Mr. Rowley and myself have agreed that such should be the best procedure. We may find it necessary to question you before you die. Previously, your instant death would have been preferable. Now we can afford to grant you a brief respite.”

With that, Farland Tracy advanced along the side of the shaft. Hub Rowley and Headley followed him. All three were armed, but their revolvers were lowered. The mobsmen in the shaft, Stacks Lodi in command, were the ones who covered Harry Vincent and his comrades.

The advance merely increased the hopelessness of the situation. It was bringing three deadly enemies to closer range. Harry Vincent was longing for a break. He and his companions were only a few yards from the corridor that ended in the treasure vault.

With a loaded automatic still in his pocket, with Carter Boswick similarly equipped, Harry knew that they could put up a short struggle if they could gain the pit. It would be better to die fighting in the face of odds, than be mercilessly butchered. But the threatening revolvers up ahead were held by men whose aim would surely be fatal, unless some unexpected surprise might intervene.

Somehow, these villains had kept watch. Harry realized that he and Carter had failed to use the proper precaution. The Shadow had given them their opportunity. The meeting with Drew Westling had added to their strength.

But in the meanwhile, the enemy had gained by strategy. Where mass attacks had failed, cunning had succeeded.

The position now was one that would tax The Shadow, even should he appear upon the scene.

Harry groaned inwardly as he realized his own stupidity had brought this finish. Had he and his companions remained at the end of the side corridor, they would have been in a stronghold. His foolish desire to investigate had brought himself and two others face to face with an overpowering force.

THESE thoughts swept through Harry’s brain with the rapidity of lightning. A man who faces grim death thinks of all neglected possibilities. Harry was no exception. His mind turned over the entire situation during the interval of a scant few seconds.

A break! If it would only come!

Anything — a stumble on the part of one of the three approaching men — an argument among the covering mobsters — anything that would grant the opportunity for a dive into the corridor where Harry and Carter had found Drew Westling!

Harry’s fists tightened.

Shots of death! Let them come! He would make the break himself and take the consequences. He felt no qualms at sacrificing his companions. They were surely doomed — the sooner the end came, the better.

Harry spoke; but his lips did not move in the effort. The undertone was heard only by Carter Boswick and Drew Westling, for Farland Tracy and Hub Rowley were still twenty feet away.

“When I say, Go!” — these were Harry’s words — “jump for the corridor. It’s our only chance. Ready—”

Before Harry could pronounce the next word, a terrific roar came through the sloping shaft. Some one had opened fire from the section beyond the spot where the side entrance converged within the mine. The heavy booming of automatics sounded like a cannonade.

One of the covering gangsters staggered. The others, with one, accord, dropped to the ground, and turned in the direction of the fire. Farland Tracy and Hub Rowley turned in alarm.

Amid the thundering echoes came Harry’s hoarse command:

“Go!”

The break had come — and the word was timed with it! With Carter Boswick and Drew Westling, Harry scrambled for the side corridor. Only one man sought to stop them.

Headley, alone, had not yielded to the momentary surprise that had gripped the others of the invading crew. He saw the doomed men escaping. He fired quick shots in their direction. Fortunately, his aim was hasty.

A bullet skimmed Drew Westling’s shoulder. Drew staggered head-foremost into the side corridor. Harry and Carter caught him as he fell and dragged him with them. A few moments later they were in the pit.

Suddenly a terrific tumult sounded through the mine shaft. Mobsters were firing up the slope toward their hidden foe. The roar of automatics was responding.

Harry Vincent knew the answer, as he grimly drew forth his automatic. The Shadow, alone, had brought this timely rescue. The master of darkness had opened fire upon the mob, to save the three whose doom had seemed so certain.

Bullets of death! The Shadow had loosed them. But The Shadow, like Harry Vincent and his comrades, was trapped by a merciless mob!