The Silent Death

CHAPTER XVII. THE LAST WORDS

HORROR had no effect upon The Shadow. The tragedy which had befallen Grewson did not deter the black-garbed observer from his single purpose. Grewson’s death was merely the test that proved the presence of insidious death designed by a fiend.

More than that, it told The Shadow a fact that he already suspected; that a mind much greater than Larry Ricordo’s lay in back of this subtle crime. The hand of Professor Folcroft Urlich had left its mark before; but never so graphically as upon this occasion.

Through Thomas Jocelyn, perhaps, could be found a clew to the potent murderer. Still breathing forth his fetid breath of doom, the financier lived on. The prolonged state of his agony was further proof of a scheming master mind.

The death potion had been devised to produce a long-lingering condition. Many minutes had passed since the dose was administered; more than time enough for an investigator to have come and died from Jocelyn’s exhalations.

The Shadow, however, was not deterred by thoughts of the fate which he had so narrowly escaped. His keen brain was devising a means whereby he could learn what Jocelyn had tried to say. One word was all that The Shadow sought: the name of the supercriminal who dealt in silent death.

Jocelyn could not utter it; that seemed plain now. It was impossible to avoid death if one leaned close to the dying financier.

The Shadow’s gloved hand, extended to Jocelyn’s face, felt the trembling lips and learned that they could not frame a motion which might be understood and interpreted.

There was still one opportunity. Jocelyn’s eyes were open and staring with a vivid glare. The man could hear. He would listen to any instructions that might enable him to throw his last effort against the fiend who had brought him to this horrible fate.

Slowly, in quiet, whispered tones, The Shadow spoke to the dying man. Jocelyn watched the form above him. The financier’s eyes glistened as his ears gained the significance of The Shadow’s plans.

“You must name the one who caused this,” declared The Shadow solemnly. “Letter by letter, I shall seek his name. Indicate, with all your strength, the letters that tell it.”

BREATHING in long heaves, Jocelyn watched and listened. The Shadow’s ominous voice droned the letters of the alphabet. One by one they came until the letter “U.”

At that point, a change occurred in Jocelyn’s expression. With all his might, the dying man did his best to prove that The Shadow had reached the important letter. The glow and barely visible motion that showed in the financier’s eyes caused The Shadow to stop.

Without hesitation, the black-cloaked watcher began another intonation of the alphabet. Jocelyn, stiff as a corpse, still heard and watched with glaring eyes. His effort, this time came upon the letter “R.”

The third recital by The Shadow ended with the letter “L.” Once again, The Shadow noted Thomas Jocelyn’s supreme effort to aid in the gaining of the name.

“A” — The Shadow’s whisper came slowly — “B — C—”

A noise sounded from the front door of the apartment. Some one was pounding there. The Shadow did not stir. His voice kept on its low drone:

“—D — E—F—”

Men were crashing at the barrier. The Shadow watched Jocelyn’s eyes with steady, focused gaze. His voice recited the letter “I.” The sign came from Jocelyn.

“A — B—C —” The Shadow stopped on the third letter. He had gained another signal. Pandemonium was breaking from without. The door was yielding to crashing blows. With total disregard for the attack, The Shadow began a new series of letters.

“H.” As The Shadow named that letter, Jocelyn’s eyes glimmered with dying frenzy. The Shadow stood with folded arms, oblivious to the fact that voices were sounding through the half-broken outer door.

“Urlich,” announced The Shadow.

Jocelyn’s intake of breath paused. The financier emitted a tremendous gasp. His eyes were fixed in a hypnotic stare. The man was at the verge of death; but the mention of that name gave him a last burst of strength.

“Urlich,” repeated The Shadow. “I know his name. I shall meet him soon!”

The outer door came down with a terrific, loud smash. Hoarse shouts resounded as men tumbled into the apartment. The commanding voice of Joe Cardona sounded above them.

“Hold it, men! Hold it! There may be some one in that inner room!”

The Shadow’s eyes were still upon Thomas Jocelyn. The dying financier no longer moved. His whole form was rigid, as though petrified by the final effort of hatred. A hissing sound sizzled through those drawn lips. The face now dead, was ghastly.

Thomas Jocelyn’s prolonged strain had brought a sudden end to his sighing death. No longer did he exhale fumes that menaced all who might approach. The venomous potion’s power was exhausted.

The Shadow’s cloak swished, and its spreading folds revealed a crimson lining. With swift stride The Shadow was turning toward a door at the end of the room. He reached it while the detectives were approaching from the outer room.

The door closed behind The Shadow’s departing form. Moving through the darkness of a smaller room, The Shadow gained a window that opened into a courtyard. A few moments later, a weird, phantom form was moving slowly down the wall of the building.

IN the meantime, a squad of men suddenly burst into the lighted room where the two dead bodies lay.

Detective Joe Cardona, his swarthy face grim and his sharp eyes moving quickly, surveyed the inert forms of Thomas Jocelyn and the pretended servant, Grewson. Cardona saw that they were dead.

“Try that door over there,” he ordered.

Two detectives followed the direction that The Shadow had taken. They reported that the next room was empty. Cardona ordered a thorough search.

While his men were busy, he studied the bodies more carefully. Swift, silent death had struck here tonight.

While Cardona was awaiting the arrival of the police surgeon, another officer suddenly appeared at the door of the room. It was Detective Sergeant Mayhew. Cardona saw that the man was bringing important news.

“Gawky Tyson has been killed!” announced Mayhew. “They ganged him down at Red Mike’s!”

“Yes?” questioned Cardona. “Why?”

“Some one passed the tip that he was a stool pigeon. That was the end of him. The killers made a get-away. Not much chance of trailing them. But listen, Joe — I found out something important. Larry Ricordo was there tonight.”

“At Red Mike’s?”

“Yes. Red Mike admitted it. Says that Ricordo talked over the telephone and—”

“That proves it!” interposed Cardona. “It proves my hunch, Mayhew. When word came down to headquarters that there was trouble here, I came up to this place myself. I figured Larry Ricordo might be in it.

“Gawky probably got the lay and was going to tip us off, like he did the other night, when he watched Slips Harbeck. Larry Ricordo is in back of this, Mayhew. It’s murder this time; double murder!”

Cardona picked up the telephone and called Inspector Timothy Klein. The detective was anxious to release all possible mechanisms that would aid the law in a widespread effort to capture Larry Ricordo.

Through radio patrol, the order would go out to arrest all suspects who might prove to be the wanted gang leader.

THE arrival of the police surgeon brought new food for thought. The appearance of the dead men was perplexing to the physician. He pointed to the bodies as he gave the detective a temporary explanation.

“This one” — the surgeon indicated Grewson — “appears to have succumbed quickly to the effects of some poison fumes. The other” — the doctor motioned toward Jocelyn — “was given poison in a liquid state. His death was prolonged. He must have been alive up to the time you entered.”

Joe Cardona stared at the pitiful form of Thomas Jocelyn. He noted the sealed lips thin and drawn in death.

What could those lips have said? What could Jocelyn have known?

Cardona regretted that he had not arrived in time to question the dying man. Little did the ace detective realize that had he been there to make such a quiz, it would have meant his own demise!

The glassy eyes of the dead financier were toward the ceiling. Their vacant stare was eloquent. They showed the traces of a fury that made Cardona continue to wish that he could have heard Jocelyn’s last words. That was impossible now. No one had heard them, Cardona decided.

The detective was correct in his assumption; but as he studied Jocelyn’s lips again, he forgot the dead man’s eyes. Cardona did not realize that where lips had been futile, eyes had managed. Cardona would have been amazed had he known that Jocelyn’s eyes had aided in the delivery of a final message.

Larry Ricordo! The gang leader was the man that Joe Cardona wanted. The detective’s thought did not go beyond; Cardona had not yet reached the stage of searching for a supermind higher than Ricordo.

Such consideration had been undertaken only by The Shadow. He was the one who had looked beyond Larry Ricordo. The Shadow, ignoring Jocelyn’s dying words, incoherently gasped amid exhalations of deadly fumes, had gained the name he sought.

The Shadow was gone, with no trace of his mysterious presence behind him. The Shadow had seen both Grewson and Jocelyn die. The Shadow had learned of Professor Folcroft Urlich, through the single name which he had gleaned from Thomas Jocelyn.

The master of darkness had departed, to wage combat with the master of silent death.

The Shadow knew!