The Silver Scourge

CHAPTER XVII THE PENALTY OF CRIME

TIME had passed in the city of New Avalon. A strange lull had followed the exciting episodes in which The Shadow had played the chief role. Foulkrod Kendall, seated in his living room, was anxiously studying an evening newspaper. Clayton Landow and Doctor Conrad Guyon were also present.

“Well,” remarked Clayton Landow, “that crook Elverton will get his tomorrow midnight. He deserves the chair if any one ever did.”

Foulkrod Kendall shifted uneasily.

“A strange case,” observed Doctor Guyon eying young Landow seriously. “The man will not talk. I have questioned him during my trips to the State prison.”

“Imagine his nerve,” said Landow, “Coming here and posing as an Englishman — a silverware representative. They found out he was a fake when they began to investigate. That secret-service operative — Marquette — started plenty rolling, didn’t he?”

“Elverton’s case puzzles me,” declared Kendall. “The man doesn’t look like a crook. He didn’t act like one.”

“He’s crooked just the same,” returned Landow. “He was the fellow who tried to hold up our armored car that night. It’s too bad they didn’t land his confederates.”

“Elverton has confessed nothing,” said Kendall thoughtfully. “That is one puzzling feature.”

“He didn’t have to confess,” said Landow. “They got him for murder — right in the hotel lobby. The whole thing is obvious. Elverton was down there to waylay the armored wagon. Cady had been in to see you that evening — he got mixed in the brawl. After Elverton crippled the truck, he was afraid to go through with it. He went after Cady instead.”

Foulkrod Kendall nodded as though in agreement. Inwardly, the millionaire was perplexed. He could not understand the presence of that second car — nor the firing of the shot that had crippled Silk Elverton.

“He must have had at least one pal,” went on Landow. “The fellow with him was sore because he went after Cady instead of getting the armored car. So his pal shot him from the back of the hotel lobby.”

“That is logical,” interposed Doctor Guyon quietly. “Nevertheless, I cannot understand why Elverton refuses to talk. If his confederate double-crossed him, why doesn’t Elverton name the man?”

“You can’t figure out crooks,” asserted Landow. “Cady said enough to Marquette to let him know that there had been a mix-up on the road. Say — it’s funny that Cady stopped up here.”

“Not at all,” said Kendall quickly. “Cady kept an eye on the settlement. He merely stopped in here to mention that he was on the job. That wasn’t the first night that he had called.”

The doorbell rang. A servant came in to announce that Tim Mecke was calling. Kendall fidgeted. He covered up his action and ordered the servant to bring the man in.

CLAYTON LANDOW waved a greeting when Mecke entered. Tim had covered himself with glory on the night when Elverton had murdered Cady. The camouflaged gangster had become a hero at the plant and around the theaters.

“What is it, Mecke?” questioned Kendall.

“I’d like to talk to you, sir,” returned Tim. “Just a few matters about the crew on the armored car. The superintendent thought you would like to hear my suggestions about rearranging the shift.”

“Come with me,” said Kendall, rising.

Behind the closed door of the little room, the relationship between this pair of rascals changed. Tim Mecke looked squarely at Foulkrod Kendall.

“You’ve got to do something about Silk Elverton,” declared the gangster, in a firm tone. “He can’t take the hot seat.”

“Be reasonable, Mecke,” replied Kendall, in a low voice. “Don’t you understand that any move on our part will incriminate us all? I’m keeping Barbier and Cumo under cover in the plant. This man Marquette is after them—”

“You’ve told me that,” growled Tim. “They’ve stood by. Making the phony coin and piling it up until it will be safe to unload it heavy. But that doesn’t change things with Silk.”

“Elverton should not have attempted so bold a murder.”

“He did it to help you out.”

“I didn’t tell him to do so. If you had played your part—”

“Forget that. Let’s talk about Silk. He’s in a jam. You’re the only one can help him.”

“Impossible.”

“Is that so?” Tim’s tone was challenging. “Well, it’ll be too bad if you don’t fix things. I’ll blow and so will Barbier and Cumo. They’re friends of Silk. When we blow, you’ll hear from us afterward. We’ll give away the whole works.”

“And get yourselves in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Tim was contemptuous. “The three of us are used to it. But you aren’t. Be reasonable. We’re only asking you to help a pal. I don’t blame you for being worried. If you come through with this, we’ll be with you for life. If you don’t—”

Tim paused to look steadily at the millionaire. Kendall realized that the man meant business.

For a full minute, both were silent. Neither glanced toward the window. The shade was drawn tonight; but its lower edge did not touch the sill. Keen eyes were peering through that space.

Once again, The Shadow was the silent observer of what was passing in this room!

Millionaire and uniformed employee; only The Shadow knew that they were companions in crime — murderers, by design, as much as Silk Elverton, who now awaited the electric chair. The keen eyes watched as Foulkrod Kendall went to his desk. The manufacturer began to ponder.

“I’ll do it!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Mecke — I’ve got a way to work it! Tell Barbier and Cumo that I’ll start tonight. I hadn’t thought of this plan before — at least, I had been unable to see the sure way of putting it into action. Stupid of me! Stupid!”

“I’d like to be sure,” began Mecke. “Barbier and Cumo are pretty well steamed up—”

“Rely upon me, Mecke.”

“Yeah? Show me a reason.”

Kendall began to open his mouth; then stopped. He gave a few moments to careful consideration.

“I’ll show you,” he declared. “Young Landow is going in a few minutes. You remain while I talk with Doctor Guyon. Take this paper and pencil; appear to be making a schedule so you have an excuse for staying. When you’re satisfied that I’m on the level, bring me your schedule of shifts, and leave.”

“All right,” agreed Mecke.

The two men walked from the little room. Kendall left the door ajar.

HARDLY had the two departed before the shade rose at the window. The tall form of The Shadow swung noiselessly over the sill. Gloved hands lowered the sash, then the shade. Gliding to the partly opened door, The Shadow stood in darkness. His brilliant eyes could see all that happened in the living room.

“I’ll have to see that on paper, Mecke,” Kendall was saying. “Sit over there by that table, and work it out for me. Then I shall be able to give you my decision.”

The millionaire resumed his reading. Landow and Guyon talked for a while, then the former announced that he was leaving. Good nights were exchanged. Kendall and Guyon were alone — except for Tim Mecke, who seemed oblivious of all about him.

“Conrad,” said Kendall thoughtfully, “you said tonight that this man Elverton appears to be an exceptional case among condemned murderers.”

“He is,” declared Guyon.

“Do you think,” continued Kendall, “that temporary insanity could be pleaded in his behalf?”

“It did not work at the trial, Foulkrod.”

“I know that. Nevertheless, I am disturbed. I cannot class the man as a murderer. I know that his record is shady; nevertheless, he might have been under the strain of an exceptional mental condition.”

“Possibly.”

“Suppose,” suggested Kendall, “that he had feared himself implicated in a minor crime which he did not commit. He was in the lobby of the New Avalon Hotel. He saw Cady, and the detective saw him. Cady was drawing a revolver. Self-protection might have been Elverton’s impulse.”

“You are stating something,” declared Guyon. “which may possibly be fact.”

“Could Elverton’s silence be due to resignation — the belief that the law is against him—”

“The man does behave sullenly.”

“I believe,” said Kendall, in a convinced tone, “that Elverton deserves a pardon. What is your opinion?”

“I am opposed to capital punishment,” returned Guyon. “That is a private opinion which I do not voice for print. I have seen too much of the death penalty. Hanging was an abomination. The electric chair — so recently installed in this State — is mishandled. Repeated shocks are necessary to kill effectively.

“It is my duty, Kendall, to be present at electrocutions. It is also my task to supervise the autopsy of the bodies of executed criminals. I would do anything in my power to eliminate capital punishment in this State.”

“Apply your opinion,” remarked Kendall, “to Elverton’s case alone. Tell me; would you be willing to sponsor an appeal for a pardon?”

Doctor Guyon paused before replying. He studied Kendall’s face. The millionaire was impassive. Tim Mecke, forgotten, apparently, was watching from the corner of his eye.

“I could prepare a plea,” decided Guyon, “that would apply specifically to Elverton’s case. It would contain definite reasons why the man should be pardoned. I cannot promise, however, that it would be accepted by the governor.”

“Prepare it,” ordered Kendall, in a decisive tone. “I shall take it to the governor. Conrad, this chap Elverton impressed me favorably. I want him to be released.”

“All right, Foulkrod,” said the physician. “I shall do as you request. It will be a laborious task; I must work quickly. Elverton is doomed to die tomorrow night.”

“If you have it by noon,” said Kendall, “I can reach the state capital in ample time to take up the matter with the governor.”

“Very well,” said Guyon.

FOULKROD KENDALL suddenly appeared to become aware that Tim Mecke was still in the room. Just as the millionaire looked in the man’s direction, Tim approached carrying his schedule sheet. He started toward the little room. Kendall overtook and stopped him.

“I shall go over this, Mecke,” the millionaire promised.

“All right, sir,” returned the gangster.

Mecke lowered his tone a moment later, as he pretended to point out features of the schedule.

“I’ll slip the word along,” he whispered. “We’ll count on you putting the job through. But if it don’t go — well, the works are gummed, that’s all.”

“Trust me,” returned Kendall.

“Silk’s trusting you,” added Mecke. “He won’t squeal, no matter what happens. That’s why his pals are sticking with him. If he gets the hot seat — well, you know what to expect.”

As Tim Mecke left, Doctor Guyon arose and announced that he, too, was departing. He remarked that he would have to start at once on his appeal in behalf of Silk Elverton.

Foulkrod Kendall remained alone in his living room. The bluff-faced millionaire paced back and forth. His face displayed a variety of emotions. Resentment toward Tim Mecke was evident, but it was counteracted by a cunning look which dominated Kendall’s countenance. At last, with a gruff laugh, the millionaire walked from his living room and went upstairs.

Then came another laugh. No more than a whispered shudder, it raised uncanny reverberations behind the door of the little room. The door opened, and The Shadow stepped into the living room. His tall form was visible in the lights which Kendall had left for a servant to extinguish.

The Shadow had heard all; even the final, undertoned conversation between Kendall and Mecke, near the door of the little room. Creepy echoes of The Shadow’s soft mirth seemed to join with the foreboding mockery that had come from bidden lips.

The Shadow knew. He understood the thoughts which had gone through Kendall’s mind. He had gained an insight into well-masked phases of subtle crime.

The echoes died away. The tall form glided across the floor and merged with the gloom of the hall. When the servant entered to put out the lights, The Shadow had departed.

Tomorrow held a new quest for the master who fought against insidious crime.