The Silver Scourge

CHAPTER XXIII THE LAW OF THE SHADOW

CLAYTON LANDOW was seated in his office. This was an important night at the Kendall Theater. The general manager of the theater circuit was making entries in his large book when he looked up in surprise to see a man watching him.

Clayton’s expression of astonishment changed to a gasp of incredulity. It was not the fact that the visitor held a revolver; it was the face of the man before him that was so amazing. Clayton Landow was looking at Silk Elverton, the murderer who had died in the electric chair!

Young Landow remembered Elverton from that night at Foulkrod Kendall’s home. He seldom forgot a face. His lips now framed the name of the man who stood before him:

“Elverton!”

“I thought you would remember me,” said Silk suavely.

“You’re dead!” gasped Clayton.

“So they say,” said Silk, with a grin.

The governor’s son was at a loss. He could not imagine what course should be followed, even when he saw Silk Elverton pocket his revolver. Silk, noting Clayton’s expression, supplied answer.

“There is nothing you can do, Landow,” he said. “I have paid the penalty. I am dead. If a thousand people recognize me, It means nothing. I can declare myself as some one else. I am talking to you because you are alone. Your testimony can mean nothing. I can shout from the housetops that I am Ronald Elverton. It does not matter. I am dead — executed for murder. I am above the law!”

“What do you want here?” gasped Clayton Landow.

“Money,” said Elverton calmly.

“You will not get it!” retorted Clayton. “If you threaten me with a gun, you can be arrested, under your new identity. If you kill me — you will be a new murderer.”

“I need no gun,” returned Silk, with a knowing smile. “I have put my revolver away. You will give me the money that I require.”

“You are wrong.”

“I am right. Landow, your own books prove you guilty of embezzlement. Look!”

With a strange familiarity, Silk walked to the desk and dug up an old record book from one of the chain theaters. He opened it, found a page, and laid the volume in front of Clayton Landow.

“Look at this column. Add the receipts.”

Wondering, the governor’s son obeyed. He noted, to his surprise, that the figures totaled more than the amount listed at the bottom of the page.

“Where is the balance?” questioned Silk, with a laugh. “In your pocket, Landow — that, at least, is what the world will say. Other records show the same falsity.”

Clayton Landow sank back in his chair.

“I forged these records,” resumed Silk calmly. “As Ronald Elverton, you understand. Now, as a new identity, I can accuse you openly. I can take this matter up with Foulkrod Kendall.”

“No one will believe you—”

“They will believe the books. They would not believe Elverton — but Elverton is dead.”

Noting young Landow’s bewilderment, Silk played his bluff to its climax.

“You know what this will mean,” he said. “It will mean the end of your father’s political career. Clayton Landow — the governor’s son — a crook!”

CLAYTON LANDOW was dazed. He realized he was the victim of a plot so insidious that there could be no way out unless he accepted the terms that Silk Elverton intended to propose.

“I made the totals look phony,” remarked Silk, as a last reminder of the hopeless situation, “so that you could be blamed for it. You see the mess you’re in, Landow—”

Clayton Landow saw. His own records depended upon these books. The upper figures appeared legitimate — they were the ones which Silk had raised. The totals, actually genuine, now appeared false. They were short. To destroy these books now would be a confession of guilt. Foulkrod Kendall had ordered Clayton to keep them.

“How much money is there in the box office?” questioned Silk, while Clayton Landow pondered.

“More than three thousand dollars,” replied Clayton weakly.

“Chicken feed,” growled Silk, “but I want it. Come down with me. Go to the box office. Get the three thousand. Let people see you give it to me openly.”

“But how will I explain—”

“Easily enough. Say that I am a new manager of a house in another town. Raise the three thousand yourself, and replace it.”

Clayton Landow nodded. This was the best way out. Silk Elverton was above the law. He wanted money to go away. He would not return. Those falsified books — probably they would never be opened by any one. The young man thought of his father.

“Come along,” growled Silk.

In a daze, Clayton Landow arose. He left the office with Silk Elverton. They reached the street. They went to the box office.

“Call me Saunders,” whispered Silk.

“Three thousand dollars,” ordered young Landow. “I want it for Mr. Saunders here. One of our new managers — from Newbury.”

The cashier counted out the money. He saw Clayton Landow pass the cash to Silk Elverton. The doorman also saw the transaction.

“Walk with me,” whispered Silk.

Chatting, the two men walked toward the street. Silk shook hands with Clayton Landow at the curb. He thrust the money in his pockets. His hand encountered the butt of the revolver. Silk, as he listened to Clayton Landow’s idle words, eyed Doctor Guyon’s car. Silk had left the motor running.

A feeling of hatred surged through Silk’s evil brain. He noted that the car was clear. A coupe had pulled in back of it; nothing was ahead. Silk looked at Clayton Landow. He realized that this man’s father was the governor whose pardon had failed to save Silk from the terrible ordeal of the electric chair.

“Come over to my car,” said Silk softly.

Clayton Landow complied. Silk placed one foot on the step. He gripped his revolver. He spoke suave words.

“I was a murderer,” he said. “Now I am above the law. Perhaps it would be well to be a murderer again. I would like to kill you, Landow!”

The governor’s son saw the look of venom on Silk’s face. He started to move away. Silk gripped him by the arm.

“Stay where you are,” growled the crook.

Silk drew his revolver. He stared at Clayton Landow, then let his eyes turn quickly to see that no one was observing.

In that brief instant, Silk saw another pair of eyes. Burning orbs were gazing steadily from the open window of the coupe — less than six feet away!

MURDER?

Silk looked at Landow. Yes, he would murder Landow; but this other enemy — for so he felt the owner of those eyes to be — would die first! Again Silk met that burning gaze. His revolver was out of sight of those eyes, due to the position of Silk’s body.

Then, in a flash, Silk realized that he was facing some being of darkness. The unexplainable was explained. The factors that had ruined the progress of the silver scourge were plain. All Silk’s recollections of weird events in gangdom shot through the smooth crook’s mind.

The Shadow!

He was the being who had battled crime in New Avalon! His power had sent Silk Elverton to the electric chair, had stopped the pardon, had led raiders to the counterfeiting lair!

The Shadow!

Staring squarely toward those eyes, Silk Elverton edged his gun up beside Clayton Landow’s body so cleverly that there was not a move in the coupe to show that The Shadow saw.

With a sudden yank of his left hand, Silk pulled Clayton Landow squarely in front of him. At the same instant, the crook raised his right arm over Clayton’s shoulder and aimed pointblank toward the eyes that shone from the coupe.

A terrific rear broke through the night air. It came from the open window of the parked car. The muzzle of The Shadow’s .45, one inch below the sill of the car window, had come up to the edge before Silk Elverton could fire.

The bullet clipped the crook’s shoulder — a glancing wound upon a difficult target. Silk staggered back, still under partial cover; then, snarling disdainfully, he raised his gun again, totally oblivious of his wound.

Clayton Landow dropped away from the crook’s grasp. Silk Elverton thought no more of the governor’s son. Landow later — The Shadow now. Quick as he had been that night when he had slain Duffy Bagland — prompt as he had been when he had murdered Donald Cady — Silk Elverton was every bit as rapid now. His finger on the trigger, he was about to loose the shot with surety of success.

Once again, The Shadow intervened. The automatic had recoiled; it had come up again, with new and perfect aim. It roared its message through the night. Its target, this time, was Silk Elverton’s heart.

The crook sprawled headlong on the pavement. His forehead crashed with a terrific smash, which Silk Elverton never felt. The man was dead before his body had reached the end of its twisting fall.

CLAYTON LANDOW stared at the crumpled form. He seized the revolver that had clattered to the sidewalk. Witnesses were staring — their eyes went to the coupe — its interior was a mass of blackness.

A man moved forward cautiously and hesitated at the door of the car. Clayton Landow saw him. The governor’s son nodded his approval.

“It’s all right,” he said. “This man” — he pointed to Elverton’s body — “was the crook. See who it was that got him.”

The witness yanked open the door of the coupe. The light from the theater marquee showed the single seat.

The car was empty!

Clayton Landow and the witness stared at each other in amazement. They looked across the street — they saw no one. It seemed as though the echoes of the automatic were still reverberating; actually, long seconds had intervened since the shots were fired. In those lingering moments, The Shadow had departed!

A crowd gathered about Silk Elverton’s body; policemen were in charge. A car shot up to the curb. Out jumped Vic Marquette. Racing into the city, he had seen this throng. He flashed his badge — an officer nodded.

“This was one of them,” asserted Vic. “The last of Foulkrod Kendall’s gang. We got them all. Kendall is dead.”

Amazed exclamations sounded in the crowd. Clayton Landow gained strange realization. He knew why Silk Elverton had falsified the books. He realized dully that he was safe from unjust accusations.

FROM the blackened window of an upstairs room in the New Avalon Hotel, two burning eyes were staring toward the scene below. They were the eyes which Silk Elverton had seen — the blazing optics which had guided the aim of the deadly automatic.

The silver scourge was ended. Evil plotters were dead, their gigantic scheme for tainted wealth was uncovered. To The Shadow belonged the credit.

Yet the final triumph had been still greater. Working upon an intuitive clew, The Shadow had trailed Silk Elverton, in time to end the crook’s career before the murderer could strike down a new victim.

A creepy laugh floated from the window. Its strident mockery came to the ears of those below. Men stared at one another; shivering at the sardonic tones of that mirth which seemed to come from an invisible source.

The laugh of The Shadow! It stood for the triumph of justice over wrong. It was the aftermath of The Shadow’s final stroke against the villains who had planned the silver scourge — the mammoth crime that The Shadow had doomed to failure.

There was one who did not hear the echoes of that taunting laugh. The body of Silk Elverton lay silent by the curb. The man who had come from the dead had returned to those with whom he belonged. The man who had boasted that he stood above the law — the man who legally was free — would never again plot crime.

The law of The Shadow had pronounced him dead! The hand of The Shadow had fulfilled the judgment of The Shadow’s law! Dead in name, Silk Elverton was dead in fact!