The Silver Scourge

CHAPTER XXII FIENDS AT BAY

FOULKROD KENDALL entered his private office. He turned on the light. Chuckles greeted his action. The millionaire stepped back in consternation, then grinned weakly. Seated in the office were Doctor Conrad Guyon and Silk Elverton.

“Thought you’d be here early,” said the smooth crook. “So we came ahead. Where’s Tim and the others?”

“In the experimental room,” returned Kendall.

“Let’s go in,” suggested Silk, “They won’t mind our coming early. They’ll be glad to see me. Say, Doc” — the crook turned to Guyon — “what about Harper?”

“Harper is all right,” returned Guyon firmly. “He, like ourselves, is a crook. We will discuss him when we talk tonight. It might be well to let him in our circle.”

“He’s outside in the car now,” explained Silk.

“Near here?” questioned Kendall anxiously.

“No,” answered Silk. “Not near enough to know what’s going on. He’s parked off at the side of the road. Lights out. A hundred yards away.”

The three men left the office, and went into the corridor that led to the silver rooms. Kendall was amazed at Silk Elverton’s complete recovery from his trip to the electric chair. Silk seemed more alert than ever.

The trio reached their destination. Behind the closed doors, Silk Elverton exchanged warm greeting with Tim Mecke and the two counterfeiters.

Barbier and Cumo were standing by the machine, ready to operate it. In bins throughout the room were stocks of counterfeited coins. The silver scourge was ready to be loosed — the accumulated funds of imitation money had reached huge proportions.

“Got your gun, Tim?”

It was Silk Elverton who put the question.

TIM MECKE grinned and tapped the holster at his side. The gangster, in his capacity as guardian of the armored car, always carried the weapon fully loaded.

“How about you fellows?”

Silk was questioning the counterfeiters. Barbier and Cumo shook their heads.

“Get them,” ordered Silk. “Say — you never know what’s liable to turn up in a place like this.”

Tony Cumo produced two revolvers from a drawer. He gave one to Cyrus Barbier.

“You’ve got a gun?” questioned Silk, turning to Foulkrod Kendall.

The millionaire nodded in reply.

“That’s good,” asserted Silk. “I made doc carry one tonight. He gave one to Harper, too; and I’m packing a pair of .38s. Lost my short revolver after I killed that fool detective, but I can use these if I need them. You never can tell what’s going to happen.”

The crooks engaged in friendly discussion which lasted for more than fifteen minutes. Then Cyrus Barbier went to the machine, and Tony Cumo prepared to feed the stamper. Tim Mecke started toward the door.

“Where you going?” demanded Silk.

“Out to the truck,” answered Tim. “I’ll be back.”

“Yeah?” queried Silk. “Well, when you go out of here, have that gat of yours ready. See? And you, Tony — show some brains. Walk away from the machine — cover up in back of him. You don’t know who’s liable to be outside. Go ahead, Barbier; start the works while I show these fellows how to use their heads.”

Kendall and Guyon exchanged knowing nods as they witnessed Silk Elverton’s precautions. Instinctively, both men placed a hand upon a revolver barrel.

SILK ELVERTON’S advice was more timely than even the smooth crook realized. As Silk was giving these orders, another man was giving instructions beyond the barriers that guarded these rooms. Vic Marquette and his band of men had entered. They were stationed along the sides of the corridor, covering the door through which Tim Mecke was about to come.

Vic’s low voice was audible to all. The leader of the secret-service squad was giving sound advice.

“Don’t ease up one minute,” said Vic. “Sooner or later, that door is going to open. When it does, we rush it.”

All eyes were toward the door. Vic noticed this and ordered one man to watch back along the corridor toward Kendall’s office. The man obeyed. He saw blackness, but he did not observe the form that stood therein. The Shadow was watching from the dark.

Suddenly, the door of the experimental room swung open. Tim Mecke, his revolver half drawn from its holster, stepped into the corridor. In a twinkling, the gangster caught the flash of revolvers. He drew his own gun as he leaped backward. Vic Marquette boomed the first signal of the attack. Tim staggered.

The secret-service operatives sprang forward before the wounded gangster could manage to close the door. Tim raised his gun to shoot as he tried to gain the safety of the inner door. Two shots from the raiders felled him. Vic Marquette smashed against the inner door. The portal flew open, striking Tony Cumo, who was just about to bolt it.

The raiders stopped just within the door. Silk Elverton, quick to see the situation, had his gun unlimbered. Foulkrod Kendall and Conrad Guyon were drawing their weapons, as they leaped for cover. Cyrus Barbier darted behind the running machine.

The secret-service men spread toward the enemy. It was their only course. The entire squad was in the room, all men firing. Tony Cumo went down with a bullet in his body. Foulkrod Kendall aimed at Vic Marquette.

Before the millionaire could fire, a shot rang from the doorway. The millionaire collapsed. No one realized whence the shot had come.

In the heat of battle, furious men were facing one another. They did not see the figure of The Shadow, in the blackness of the open doorway.

Vic Marquette clipped Cyrus Barbier through an open space of the machine. Other secret-service men were aiming at Doctor Guyon, who had reached the old counterfeiter’s side. One operative fell wounded. Silk Elverton, between the open door and a barricade of coin-filled bins, was the man who downed the secret-service man.

Guyon aimed to kill. He was safe, he thought, behind the machine which still pounded away, although no silver strips were sliding into its maw. Again, The Shadow’s automatic dispatched a leaden messenger. The desperate physician fell. The Shadow had picked a narrow opening, and his bullet had found its mark.

With that shot, all gunfire ended. Vic Marquette uttered a shout of triumph. His men were falling upon the wounded counterfeiters. Rogues at bay had been trapped in their lair! The evidence was here, in tremendous quantities.

VIC was dispatching operatives to the corridor. The Shadow’s tall form disappeared from the doorway. It glided along the corridor to a turn some distance from the outer door. There, The Shadow waited. He had divined well tonight. His timely aid had saved the lives of men who sided with the law.

But all the men of crime had not fallen within the lair. One still remained — a canny fighter who had stayed his fire because he, alone, had observed the spurts of flame that had issued from the doorway. Silk Elverton had realized that the way was blocked. He, alone, had scurried to a spot where The Shadow could not see him.

Shots had been fired in Silk’s direction. The Shadow knew where the smooth crook had gone. The cessation of fire, however, had caused The Shadow to retire. Silk Elverton, alone, could not conquer Vic Marquette’s capable squad. The Shadow knew.

Silk, however, realized his own incapability. He knew that his first shot would make him a target for half a dozen marksmen. The crook was waiting for another opportunity. It came. The doorways were momentarily unguarded. Leaping over the barrier of fraudulent coins, Silk dived for safety.

Shots broke out. The crook was ahead of them. Into the corridor he leaped. There, chance favored him. A target for The Shadow’s distant aim, Silk plumped squarely into the arms of a secret-service operative. They grappled and staggered along the corridor toward Kendall’s office, past a corner which put them out of The Shadow’s view.

Safe while grasping a man whom The Shadow would not shoot, Silk gained another break. His antagonist stumbled. Silk broke away and fled for safety. Shots pursued him. All but two of the secret-service squad were on his trail. Still Silk ran on. He gained the office unscathed.

The pursuers were on his trail as he dashed from the building. Flashlights glimmered. Silk was running for a parked car — the one in which he and Doctor Guyon had come here. Harper, standing by the automobile, opened fire on the approaching lights, while Silk leaped to the wheel.

An operative’s shot felled Harper. The man dropped dead with a gargling cry as Silk shot the car into gear.

Before the secret-service men could get to their own cars, Silk would be far away. Vic Marquette had parked the automobiles half a mile down a side road. A chase would be futile. The balked operatives hurried back to get instructions from their leader.

SILK ELVERTON was gloating as he rode along the highway. Doctor Guyon was dead; so was Harper. He had seen both men fall. Not one witness to his restoration from the grave now remained! Silk was sure that in the confusion of the fight, his face would not be remembered.

What if it was? Silk did not care. Through his mind were speeding the details of a daring game which he could play with surety — a game of perfect bluff. He knew that he had time to gain his objective — a goal which no one could possibly suspect!

In his final surmise, Silk was wrong. While the baffled operatives were back within the factory, a silent figure was stealing from the building. A phantom shape entered a hidden car. Far behind the fleeing crook, it started on the chase.

A futile effort? Not to the personage who drove that second automobile. The Shadow knew the identity of the man who had fled. His master brain divined the place where Silk, in need of immediate funds, would go.

The Shadow was on the trail of Silk Elverton — the murderer who had come from the dead to plot new deeds of crime!