Tower of Death

CHAPTER XX THE SHOWDOWN

“WHAT are you doing here?” rasped Jarvis Raleigh, as he caught Stokes Corvin’s stare. “Why are you interfering when I come to meet a guest?”

“What guest?” questioned Corvin, firmly. “I see no one in the turret.”

Clenching his fists against his chest, Jarvis Raleigh stalked into the turret. Stokes Corvin followed him. He watched Raleigh stare about the circular room. Quarley stood in the inner doorway, his cadaverous face unflinching.

“Well?” questioned Corvin. “What are you looking for — a ghost?”

“I am looking for my visitor,” snarled Raleigh. “I am looking for Lamont Cranston. Did you admit him, Quarley?”

“Yes, sir,” declared the old servant.

“Strange,” commented Corvin, in an ironical tone, “that you should seek this one man. You did not appear disturbed, Jarvis, when others vanished from this turret.”

“I did not care about them,” retorted Raleigh. “Two were unwelcome; the third was a meddler. I make no inquiries for those who do not concern me.”

“Perhaps,” stated Corvin, dryly, “they violated the order that is inscribed upon the floor. The Egyptian hieroglyphics bear a sinister message, Jarvis.”

“That wording was my father’s work,” snarled the master of Montgard. “I know that he dealt harshly with those who refused to obey his wishes. I leave my enemies to their own fate.”

“Yet you,” asserted Corvin, grimly, “may be held responsible for those who have vanished within this turret.”

Jarvis Raleigh stared sullenly. The full meaning of Stokes Corvin’s statement fell upon him. For a moment, he was tense. Then, tilting back his head, he delivered a cackling laugh.

“You are accusing me of murder?” he questioned. “You are as great a fool as Sidney Richland. He thought, I suppose, that I had done away with Reeves Lockwood and Merton Helmsford. He prattled of the secret that lay here in Montgard — a secret of which I know nothing.”

“Nothing?” questioned Corvin, narrowly.

“Nothing,” repeated Raleigh. “You, perhaps, agreed with Sidney Richland. Perhaps” — Raleigh was speaking cunningly — “you believed that I was responsible for Sidney’s disappearance. Whatever your theory, it must be shattered now. Lamont Cranston was my friend. He was a man upon whose aid I counted to commercialize my great invention. Why should I have sought to do away with Cranston?”

Jarvis Raleigh’s eyes were glaring with their challenge. Stokes Corvin stepped forward. Near the outer door, he stood to face the master of Montgard.

“Answer me!” stormed Jarvis Raleigh. “Why should I have been ill-disposed toward Cranston? This time, Stokes, we are agreed. Where is the man who stood within this turret? Where, I ask you?”

STOKES CORVIN, his jaw firm, was staring past Jarvis Raleigh, toward the inner doorway. His eyes were steady as they gazed at Quarley. Jarvis Raleigh wheeled. He, too, faced the old servant.

“Perhaps,” said Corvin, grimly, “you can tell us something, Quarley. You lived here during Windrop Raleigh’s lifetime. What do you know about the secret of Montgard?”

“Nothing.” Quarley spat the word as he stepped into the turret. His mild manner was ended. “I came after the time when men had disappeared from this house. You are an intruder in my master’s home!”

Stokes Corvin wore a firm smile. He had raised his left hand. He drew back the bolts of the outer door, one by one. He laid his hand upon the knob and turned it.

“Move from that door!” spat Quarley, viciously. “It is not to be opened save at my master’s bidding. Move away, I tell you!”

Quarley sprang forward. Corvin leaped to meet him. Eluding the servant’s grasp, the younger man delivered a punch to Quarley’s body that sent the old servant sprawling on the tiled floor. Stepping back to the outer door, Corvin yanked the barrier inward. Framed in the open doorway, he faced Jarvis Raleigh, who was standing with fists clenched against his bosom.

“There has been enough of treachery,” declared Corvin. “My suspicions have rested upon both you and Quarley. One of you, at least, is responsible for crime. I ask you first. What is your answer?”

Before Jarvis Raleigh could reply, Quarley raised himself upon his hands and knees. Groping in his pocket, the old servant yanked out his revolver. He faltered as he sought to raise it to aim at Stokes Corvin.

Quickly, the man at the door thrust his own right hand into his pocket. A revolver gleamed as he brought it into view. Late on the draw, Corvin was trying to beat Quarley to the shot.

Then came the interruption. From high above, a sinister laugh broke shuddering through the turret. All eyes went upward, their owners startled by that unexpected burst of mockery.

CLINGING to the crossbeams of the turret was the black-garbed form of The Shadow. Like a materialized ghost, this listening master had thrust his hand into the play.

While Stokes Corvin stood with leveled gun; while Quarley’s weapon pointed from his steadying hand; while Jarvis Raleigh was standing spectator to the duel, The Shadow, by his sinister, echoing taunt, had brought a sudden interlude before the coming climax.

Blazing eyes shone from above. They were the eyes of the being who knew; they were eyes that had seen the ways of crime. The eyes of The Shadow. No man of evil could face The Shadow without realizing the menace of that black-clad avenger.

A fierce cry came from Stokes Corvin’s lips as the man at the door swung his hand upward. With the eyes of The Shadow as his targets, Corvin pressed finger to trigger to deliver a shot that never came.

A roar from the turret. Aiming downward The Shadow balked Corvin’s shot with a bullet from his automatic. Stokes Corvin staggered as the shot shattered his wrist. Dropping his revolver, he backed, screaming, toward the outer door.

A fierce cry came from Quarley. Belated in his effort to beat Stokes Corvin’s aim, the servant acted now. Furiously, he fired at the backing form. Stokes Corvin staggered, swayed dizzily and sprawled face foremost upon the floor of the turret entry.

A hollow laugh came from high above. The Shadow’s weird mockery reverberated with ghoulish echoes. The Shadow’s taunt was one that marked the delivery of deserved vengeance.

Glowing eyes surveyed the body of Stokes Corvin sprawled upon the floor. The Shadow, through his timely intervention, had marked the man of crime who dwelt within Montgard. His bullet had laid Stokes Corvin open for Quarley’s frenzied shots.

Stokes Corvin, the man who had made a pretense of ferreting for crime, was actually the murderer who had sent three helpless men to their doom.

The Shadow, through his keen intuition, had gained the clews to Corvin’s evil game. He had come here to climax inside crime with vengeance.

The dying throbs of The Shadow’s laugh were tokens of retaliation. They also carried an ominous note of readiness for events that were to come.

Though Stokes Corvin, murderer, was dead, the finish to his game had not yet arrived. Jarvis Raleigh and Quarley, staring upward, saw to their amazement that The Shadow had disappeared.

Solid wall — solid turret above — where had The Shadow gone? They did not realize that the vanished fighter had chosen a strange, unknown path.

The Shadow was on his way to meet the next thrust of crime. The Shadow had learned another secret of Montgard. He expected danger from without as aftermath to that which he had ended from within.

The Shadow knew!