THE LAST THRUST.

THEY took George Brendaw to the living room, his wrists clamped with handcuffs.

Lucille gasped when she saw that George was a prisoner. The girl had heard the story of Lenley's suicide. She thought that the responsibility for crime had been proven against the inventor.

When fresh facts were told, Lucille stared in disbelief. She couldn't convince herself that George was guilty. Even Aunt Augusta's persuasion failed to influence her.

"It couldn't have been George," sobbed Lucille. "I'll never testify that he was the man who tried to strangle me. I don't know who the murderer was-but he wasn't George!"

Lucille's distress produced little effect. Sheriff Cravlen was busy acc.u.mulating new evidence. He had found Lenley's counterfeiting room. From there, the discovery of the secret pa.s.sages had been a simple task.

Deputies were moving through the honeycombed walls of Five Towers, bringing back steady reports. When they reached the lookout room, they found the rifle and brought it to the sheriff. Cravlen turned it over to thecoroner.

"The game's up, Brendaw," announced Cravlen. "You might as well confess, and save yourself trouble."

George's face showed contempt.

"What does all that prove?" he demanded. "Why should the rifle be mine?"

"This is your house," retorted Cravlen. "You knew all about the secret pa.s.sages."

George shook his head.

"Curiously," he said, "I didn't. It was Lenley who had the house put in shape. I suppose he found the pa.s.sages, and wanted them for his own use.

Naturally, he didn't tell me anything about them."

"Lenley had no occasion to commit murder," challenged Cravlen. "We've learned that much, now that we've uncovered his racket. There was only one possible motive, Brendaw. That was vengeance, and you had it."

"What did I care about old Lionel?" retorted George. "I've told you that all along. If you think I murdered any one, go ahead and prove it!"

"We will," promised Cravlen. "Sooner than you think, Brendaw."

THE sheriff opened a box that he had brought in his car. He began to a.s.semble the exhibits. Halfway through the task, Cravlen paused to snap a surprise question at George.

"If you didn't kill Lenley," shot Cravlen, "who did?"

"Maybe t.i.tus did," returned George, coolly, raising his cuffed hands to point at the servant. "Ask him."

t.i.tus began a sincere protest. He knew that Lenley was engaged in crooked work, but what it was, t.i.tus had never been told. His job was to see that all was well at Five Towers, while Lenley was away.

After murder started, t.i.tus had suspected Lenley, but only for a short while. The bearded man had sworn that he was innocent.

"I believed Lenley," testified t.i.tus. "So why should I have killed him?

I knew nothing about those secret pa.s.sages. I did not come to Five Towers until later."

"We believe you," a.s.sured Cravlen. "All we want you for is a witness.

You couldn't have sent the telegrams, for one thing. You're safe enough, t.i.tus. Don't let Brendaw worry you."

t.i.tus looked relieved. George eyed him closely, then gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"I guess you're all right, t.i.tus," he declared. "Go and get the coffee.

We'll be needing it. The sheriff is going to have a long session, trying to prove me guilty."

"Not so long as you suppose," put in Cravlen. "We're going back to the beginning, Brendaw. The first thing I want is your fingerprints."

George raised his manacled hands and let the sheriff take the prints.

The prosecutor promptly produced an envelope and brought out photographs of other prints. Cravlen compared them with George's. The sheriff chuckled.

"They match!" he announced. "Compare them, prosecutor. Let the coroner see them." For the first time, George looked uneasy. Watching him, Allard saw the suspicious glint that came to the young man's eyes. Beside Allard stood Clyde Burke.

While all attention was on George and the sheriff, Clyde spoke in a low tone to Allard. The reporter slid a folded paper into Allard's hand. Fingers opened it; keen eyes noted the contents.

George, meanwhile, was becoming more restless. Craning his neck to look at the photographs, George demanded: "Where did those fingerprint pictures come from?"

"From here." The sheriff produced George's revolver. He held it near the muzzle, so that the engraved handle dangled. "I was careful to wrap this handle. The coroner and I found fingerprints on it. They were yours, Brendaw!"

GEORGE eased back in his chair. He raised his head and gave a longlaugh.

"Of course you'd find my fingerprints on my own gun," he retorted. "I was the only person who used it! I told you that myself."

"Then let me tell you something," said the sheriff. "If any one else-Lenley, for instance-had used that gun, his prints would have been on the handle, too."

"Not if he wiped them off-"

"But if he had, yours would have gone, too. And if he'd wrapped the handle and then grabbed it"-the sheriff made a clutching motion in the air-"your prints would have been smudged. I guess you'll admit, Brendaw, that you were the last person to use this revolver."

"Very well; I admit it."

George regretted that statement the moment that he saw the sheriff's reaction. A triumphant smile came to Cravlen's lips. Turning, the big man indicated Wright, the visitor who had said nothing since his arrival.

"Mr. Wright is from New York," announced Cravlen. "He is a ballistics expert. He made a study of the bullet that the coroner took from the body of Roderick Talroy. He also examined your gun, Brendaw. We shall hear what Mr.

Wright discovered, early this evening."

Wright nodded. He reached in the exhibit box, brought out a bullet and a microscope. Adjusting the latter on the table, he held up the bullet and remarked: "A bullet fired from Brendaw's revolver."

"That's right," agreed the sheriff. "We fired one cartridge to-night.

Produce the other bullet, coroner."

The coroner brought out a small box. He held up the bullet that he took from the box, remarking that it was the one that had killed Roderick. Wright put the death bullet beneath the microscope. He waved his hand in invitation.

"Any one is welcome to compare them," said the expert. "It is plain, even to an untrained observer, that the markings are identical. Of course, I can point out certain details that another might not notice. It is a certainty that the death bullet was fired from Brendaw's revolver."

THE statement seemed to daze George. He watched persons look through the microscope. He saw t.i.tus come into the room and begin to pour the coffee.

Lucille was very pale; she didn't want to look through the microscope, even though her Aunt Augusta urged her. t.i.tus asked the girl if she would like some tea. Lucille nodded weakly.

With others, Kent Allard looked through the microscope; then stepped away. He moved beside George's chair, but the prisoner did not realize that he was there. In a low, whispered tone, Allard spoke words that only George could hear.

The voice produced a strange effect. George stared more steadily than before; then came out of his daze with a jolt. He looked about, puzzled.

Allard had stepped away.

To George, it seemed that those words had come from nowhere-a thought s.n.a.t.c.hed from the void, so suddenly that it had sounded like an actual tone.

His eyes steadied, straight toward Lucille. His lips half opened, George waited.

The sheriff turned and saw George's stare. Cravlen mistook it for a vacant look. Roughly, he shook the prisoner's shoulder, and half shouted: "We had this evidence before we came here, Brendaw! The only question was whose fingerprints were on the gun. They might have been yours; they could have been Lenley's. That's why I said I'd give each of you an equal break. I wanted Lenley up here, so I could take his fingerprints along with yours.

"We knew that those prints would settle the question. They have. Maybe you used gloves when you handled the big mace and the monkey wrench. You must have wiped the rifle, because there are no prints on it. But you forgot with the revolver. You just put it back in the desk drawer and let it stay there.

"That's going to send you to the electric chair! Proof of one murder wasall we needed. Come along, Brendaw. We're going down to the courthouse."

CRAVLEN yanked George to his feet. The action, like the sheriff's words, seemed to have no effect. Like Cravlen, others thought that George's brain was numbed. There was one exception: Kent Allard.

His steady eyes were watching George; they also saw Lucille. George was looking straight at the girl. She was trying bravely to meet his gaze, but she couldn't. Even Lucille was overwhelmed by the latest evidence.

She turned her head away. With trembling hand, she picked up the cup of tea that t.i.tus had poured for her. Lucille raised the cup to her lips.

There was a move from Kent Allard. He was ready for a quick action, in case George Brendaw failed. But George did not falter. He wrenched away from Cravlen's grasp; gave a side shove with his arms that sent the big sheriff sprawling. With a leap, George covered the distance to Lucille.

The girl raised her head, startled. She saw George swing his handcuffed wrists straight toward her face.

George's fists did not reach that mark. Instead, they struck the teacup.

It went clattering from Lucille's hand, smashed by the weight of the handcuffs.

George stepped away, straight into the arms of two astonished deputies.

When Sheriff Cravlen came up from the floor, he saw that George was again a captive.

George was pointing to the tray where the teapot stood. Coolly, he explained the purpose of his action.

"I have saved you more trouble, sheriff," declared George. "There was about to be another death that would need investigation. That tea is poisoned; it was intended for Miss Merrith. Perhaps it will lead you to the real murderer!"

The gasp that Lucille gave was a grateful one; not only because her own life was saved, but because she felt that George had somehow vindicated himself.

A sudden recollection struck the girl. She remembered that Kent Allard had been standing beside George; that he had said something to the prisoner.

Lucille looked for Allard. She met his gaze; she saw a strange glow. The eyes of The Shadow told Lucille that all was well. In that one instant, Lucille Merrith gained new confidence. Her last doubt faded. George Brendaw was not the murderer.

Though vengeance was the motive behind the deaths at Five Towers, the desire had not come from George Brendaw. If it had, George would have allowed Lucille to die; for he already stood incriminated for the murder of Roderick Talroy.

That was why Allard had let George vindicate himself. The move was the first step in The Shadow's plan to enmesh the actual killer who had slain within these walls.

Twisted evidence would no longer stand, after The Shadow revealed the truth. Through his own clues, the master-sleuth intended to disclose facts that were not included in the law's case against George Brendaw.

Even the real murderer did not know that the snare was due. That was something that only The Shadow knew.

CHAPTER XX.

THE MAN OF VENGEANCE.

SHERIFF CRAVLEN'S first expression was one of doubt, regarding the poisoned tea. He denounced George's move as a trick to delay the law's action.

The coroner, however, was a man who thought more of evidence than he did of arrests.

He lifted the lid of the teapot and took a long sniff. His trained nose detected an aroma that resembled bitter almonds."Poisoned," announced the coroner, seriously. "No doubt about it! One swallow would have meant instant death! Who prepared this tea?"

A deputy dragged t.i.tus into the center of the room. The servant was quivering, as he pleaded his innocence. He swore that he had made the tea as always, using hot water and a tea ball. The sheriff ordered t.i.tus to bring the tea b.a.l.l.s. Deputies went along with the servant.

Every tea ball, when opened, gave a strong almond odor. The whole batch had been loaded with poison. As soon as that was known, George Brendaw gave an opinion.

"Only Lucille drank tea," he said. "The killer failed to strangle her last night, so he tried this method to murder her. He must have planted the poisoned tea b.a.l.l.s in place of the usual ones."

"That's obvious," snapped Cravlen, "but what does it prove? Nothing that we don't already know. You're the murderer, Brendaw! You knew, as well as any one else, that this was the best way to get rid of Miss Merrith."

"But I saved her life!"

"Sure! Because you were in a jam! You thought that you might get out of it by playing the hero. Instead, you put yourself in deeper. You shouted that the tea was poisoned. How did you know it?"

George looked weak. His own action had become new evidence against him.

The coroner and the prosecutor were nodding their approval of the sheriff's accusation. George made a last protest.

"Some one told me," he said. "Some one here. He spoke to me, just before Lucille picked up the teacup. He said the tea was poisoned. That was the first I knew about it."

"Another excuse," scoffed Cravlen. "All right. Who told you? Maybe we can ask him some questions."

Lucille saw that George could not answer. She wanted to name Allard, but was afraid that she might put him in trouble. While Lucille hesitated, Allard himself stepped forward.

"I told George," he declared. "I suspected that the tea was poisoned, because I happened to notice a difference in the tag that went with the tea ball. It was a different color than the one that I saw at the dinner table."

ALLARD'S statement was incorrect. His real discovery of the poisoned tea had been made in the kitchen, when he was there as The Shadow. He had noticed that the can had been slightly moved between the time when he had gone to the laboratory and returned. Through closer inspection, The Shadow had detected the odor of the poison.