That it held Rayne's cash h.o.a.rd was very likely, for there was nothing else in the safe that seemed of value. Bundles of old letters, business records, and the like made up the rest of the safe's contents.

The cash box was locked. Tilting it, Bert could feel the slight slide of something inside. He was tempted to close the safe and make off with the cash box. Then, on second thought, he turned to the desk and pulled open a top drawer.

Bert was in luck; the first thing he saw was a key of the right size for the cash box. He tried the key, and it worked.

When the lid of the box popped up, Bert's breath came eagerly. The lamplight wrought a new expression on his face. If Timothy had been there to see it, he might have doubted that Bert's sole desire was one of reparation for his uncle's wrongs. Still, Bert's att.i.tude was justified by what he saw. Few men could have curbed themselves at such a sight.

This was a cash box in the fullest sense of the term. It contained currency, in crisp new notes of high denomination. Bank notes among which hundred-dollar bills could be counted as small change. One sheaf, a thick one, was composed exclusively of thousand-dollar notes.

Transferring the bundles to his various pockets, Bert turned to the safe. From it, he took a stack of worthless contracts and put them in the box instead. His face was gloating, his chuckle audible, as he locked the box and put the key back in the drawer.

Bert Glendon was antic.i.p.ating the future when Jared Rayne would open the box to count his cash, and find, instead, the valueless relics that he had used to swindle men like Lionel Glendon of their wealth!

AS Bert turned to put the box back in the safe, his moves were noted by The Shadow.

Not that The Shadow observed Bert directly. The black-cloaked climber was still below the level of the window. What The Shadow saw was that looming blackness high on the wall. As it moved downward, he knew that Bert was crouching at the safe again.

It was plain to The Shadow that Bert's work was almost finished. This was the proper moment for The Shadow to appear, and forestall Bert's efforts in a career that was too much a course of crime.

There were other ways to deal with men like Horace Trelger and Jared Rayne-methods that would eventually bring the justice that Bert wanted as compensation for the ill done his uncle. Five minutes alone with Bert, and The Shadow would convince him on that point. To obtain that interview, The Shadow made a long reach for the window ledge and drew himself up to its level.

Even on the way, The Shadow saw a startling thing. Again, blackness was shuffling across the wall of the room, but it wasn't coming from the direction of the safe. It was coming from the door, and there was no chance to intercept it. Unless it represented Timothy, there would be complications for Bert before TheShadow could prevent them.

It wasn't Timothy.

The Shadow reached the window just as the two ma.s.ses of blackness merged. Bert had heard the man who entered and was swinging from the safe to meet him. Then the silhouetted pantomime became reality before The Shadow's gaze. From the window, The Shadow was looking right into the heart of Rayne's study.

The Shadow saw Jared Rayne, a hulking man with an underslung jaw, who had all the strength of active middle age. Rayne was lunging past the desk, and he had the advantage, for Bert wasn't quite on his feet.

Rayne's sheer bulk promised to be the deciding factor in the fray, no matter how ardently Bert might fight.

It was over almost as soon as The Shadow saw it. Receiving Rayne's impact, Bert tried to twist away and counter. He took the wrong direction-toward the open door of the safe. Rayne's hands found Bert's throat with a hard, driving clutch, and before Bert could make another twist, the end of the thick door came in the way.

Bert's head smacked the steel edge with jolting force. The blow at the back of the head seemed to carry through to the eyes above the masking handkerchief. Bert's eyes went shut as he slumped, limp and helpless, at Rayne's feet.

With a savage laugh, the big man stooped and pulled the mask below Bert's chin. Rayne remembered the whitish face he saw. He couldn't very well have forgotten it. Bert's features were too much like those of his deceased Uncle Lionel. As for Rayne's face, it betrayed no shred of pity. Rather, it a.s.sumed an ugly leer.

The evil that Rayne had visited upon an elder Glendon could be transferred to a younger; this time, legitimately. By his very countenance, Jared Rayne showed that he held no remorse in the matter of old Lionel.

If Rayne had worried over anything, it was the chance that his past swindle might have been uncovered.

He was sure, now, that it never could be, for he had trapped Bert in actual crime and could smugly turn him over to the law. Under such circ.u.mstances, whatever Bert might have to say would never be believed.

Jared Rayne was overlooking one thing and was ignorant of another. He overlooked the point that Bert was not yet in the hands of the law. He didn't know that there was a witness to this scene who understood the full circ.u.mstances behind Bert's visit.

That witness was The Shadow. Though he did not approve Bert's action, he condoned Rayne's even less. One thing was certain: Jared Rayne would never put Bert Glendon in the toils of the police. If Rayne wanted justice, he would receive it in full measure.

This was a case to be settled out of court-by The Shadow!

CHAPTER VIII. THRUSTS IN THE DARK.

NEVER could a conniver have played more squarely into The Shadow's hands than did Jared Rayne.

The swindler was confident he held a helpless victim. Therefore, Rayne took his time, in the matter of Bert Glendon. For a minute or more, he stared at the sprawled young man, hoping that Bert would stir. Rayne wanted the victim to listen to his own undoing.

When Bert didn't stir, Rayne produced a key ring and unlocked a bottom drawer of the desk. From it, he took a stub-nosed revolver and planked it on the desk. Momentarily, Rayne gazed at the key ring, and his eyes took on a suspicious trend. He was remembering that the key to the cash box wasn't on the ring.

Opening the proper drawer, Rayne found the key where Bert had replaced it. Glancing at the safe, he saw the cash box where it belonged. Rayne therewith took it for granted that he had forestalled a robbery by arriving in the study just after Bert had opened the safe. Without knowing it, he was falling for the very game that Bert had so neatly arranged as an afterthought.

All the while, The Shadow was working on the window. Between the portions of the sash he had inserted a thin wedge of metal and was prying open the catch. The Shadow's work was soundless; Rayne caught no token of it. Nor did the big man hear the lifting of the window when The Shadow exerted even pressure, to guard against any noise.

If Rayne had looked toward that window, he would have seen nothing but thick blackness that he would have mistaken for the solid night of the Long Island countryside. But that blackness was stirring invisibly.

With black-gloved hand, The Shadow was drawing an automatic from the folds of his inky cloak. Since Rayne regarded a gun as a good argument, The Shadow foresaw the need of a similar persuader. By having his ready first, The Shadow intended to dominate the coming conference.

Bert Glendon was moving, feebly. Hence, The Shadow waited to see what Rayne would do next. The big man had placed his hand upon the telephone, but he finally removed it. Apparently he preferred to talk to Bert a while, before calling the police. Then came an interruption that changed the whole scheme of things.

It was the jangle of the telephone bell.

Rayne answered. At first, his face showed marked surprise; then a sneering smile spread above his undershot jaw, and his tone took on the sarcasm which was his common mode of speech.

"So the police commissioner is calling," declared Rayne. "How perfect!... Yes, commissioner, I am glad to hear from you... Did I expect this call? Why, no... What's that? You think I may be in danger? Of what, commissioner?"

The Shadow could almost hear Weston fuming at the other end of the line. Rayne's tone was the sort that would be difficult to a.n.a.lyze without seeing the man when he spoke. Probably, Weston was supposing that Rayne was very dumb, whereas the man was remarkably crafty.

"Danger of robbery!" Rayne faked a horrified cluck. "You worry me, commissioner!... Perhaps of death, too? This grows worse and worse! Tell me, commissioner"-Rayne lowered his voice to a whispery quaver-"don't you think they might try to torture me, too?...

"I'll try to be brave, commissioner... My, my, I'm so relieved!" Rayne heaved a sigh at something Weston said. "To think you're sending a real police inspector out here to see me!"

THINGS were happening while Rayne talked. Things that he overlooked because he was finding sport in guying the police commissioner. For one thing, Bert was definitely aroused. Behind Rayne's back, the young man had reached his hands and knees. Purposely, Bert was staying low. He could see Rayne's silhouette against the wall across the room and knew that his would show there, too, if he came above the level of the desk.

So Bert was crawling forward, hidden by the desk, and his objective was the stubby revolver that Rayne had so carelessly laid aside. Keeping behind the desk was good policy, for if any of Rayne's servants arrived at the doorway, they wouldn't see Bert at all because of the desk.

The other thing that The Shadow noted was a creak from the hallway. It ended abruptly, and Bert caught it, too. He grinned, thinking of Timothy. Certainly, the butler must have guessed by this time that something had gone amiss upstairs. Bert's opinion was overjustified by his belief that Timothy had stayed outside, and therefore might have spotted some motion within the study.

At any moment, Bert expected a gun muzzle to poke through the doorway. It would be old Timothy's gun, covering Rayne. That was why Bert wanted the revolver on the desk-so Rayne wouldn't have it to fight off Timothy. Though, by Bert's own grim look, he'd be ready to use Rayne's gun himself, if occasion demanded.

Blackness was working inward from the window. Like a living specter, The Shadow was advancing toward the focal spot. One swift swoop, and he could scoop the glistening revolver from the desk, plucking it away before either Bert or Rayne could grab it. However, The Shadow was gauging that move in terms of the door, which he was watching across the level of the desk.

Another creak was an indication that a gun might thrust in at any moment, for the door was conveniently ajar, as Rayne had left it. Any sign of a gun would, of course, have sped The Shadow's process.

Meanwhile, rushing matters was not good policy. Rayne was talking on the phone again. His tone had changed.

"I'll be very glad to meet Inspector Cardona," announced Rayne sharply. "I may be able to prove to him that, as usual, he is too late."

Rayne paused for those words to sink home. Then: "No, I have not been robbed," he sneered. "I am standing here in front of my open safe, and everything is right where it belongs. I am here, commissioner, because I happen to know that an enemy is already in this house, and I am quite prepared to handle him without your a.s.sistance. If you would like to know his name-"

Rayne's words ended the slow-motion game. As he spoke, the big man was sliding his hand toward the gun on the desk, and Bert, suddenly responding, was about to lurch up and grab it first. Swifter than either was The Shadow, as he wheeled forward from the blackness of the window.

But there was something that moved even faster than The Shadow, for it had already started its action.

That thing was the hand from the doorway.

The hand didn't give itself away in the fashion that both The Shadow and Bert Glendon expected. Instead of shoving into sight at shoulder level, the hand snaked in along the floor. The intervening desk hid its action. Bert failed utterly to see it; from The Shadow's view, the hand had almost completed its work when he spied it.

Lacking a gun, the hand looked like a hairy spider clutching a desired prey. When The Shadow saw it, the hand had found the thing it wanted. The object was the floor plug, attached to the cord that furnished electricity to the big lamp that was the only light in the room! EVEN as The Shadow aimed, the hand whipped the plug from the socket, and the whole place was a ma.s.s of darkness. The sudden blackout brought such startling action from Rayne and Bert, that The Shadow was unable to fire in the direction of the door.

Rayne caught up the gun and wheeled about, squarely in The Shadow's path. Bert, on the pounce, clawed at Rayne's hand to grab the gun away.

Rayne couldn't have figured that Bert was actually in it. If he had, he wouldn't have done what he did.

The stubby gun spoke once, just once, under the pressure of Rayne's finger, and its shot went ceilingward. Then Bert knocked the gun away and it went clattering across the floor, with Bert after it.

Expecting Rayne to dive for the gun, too, The Shadow started for the door.

But Rayne, mistakenly, had identified the turning off of the lights with the attack that came his way. He thought that the attacker was from the door. Very probably, recollections of old Timothy flashed to Rayne's mind and gave him the further misguided thought that the man from the doorway would be returning there, in flight.

Whatever the case, Rayne was driving for the door, not after a fleeing man but straight into the hands of a lurker. His noisy, blundering drive was an absolute giveaway, not only threatening disaster to himself but to The Shadow, who was following the same path.

That was why The Shadow turned his own dash into a sideward dive. Grabbing Rayne, he tried to roll the big man to temporary safety just before they reached the door.

There was danger, even from old Timothy, should the faithful butler suppose that Rayne's wild shot had winged Bert.

Here to prevent death, not to further it, The Shadow exerted heroic measures in Rayne's behalf. He actually hoisted the human hulk from his feet and sent him into a sprawl near the door. But Rayne, to his own undoing, spoiled The Shadow's effort.

Only a freak of chance could have so offset The Shadow. The freak was Rayne's wild grab. Instead of clutching air, the big man caught the door edge.

As he sprawled, his hand gave the portal a terrific inward swing. The smashing barrier struck The Shadow's arm and drove it back across his head. It was The Shadow's head, therefore, that stopped the door, and the force reeled him across the floor.

Slumping in a corner, The Shadow heard a savage, triumphant snarl that he knew must come from Rayne. The big man was on his feet somewhere in the darkness, but The Shadow, dizzy from his crash, couldn't locate Rayne's position. The thing that pointed straight to Rayne was a stab of fire amid the blackness.

A roar accompanied the spurt. With that gunshot, Rayne's snarl faded to a moan. The Shadow heard the big man sprawl, come half to his feet, and founder. From the gasping sound that followed, The Shadow knew that Rayne had received a mortal wound.

Bert Glendon could have fired that fatal shot, with Rayne's own gun. So could Timothy, from the doorway, with his ancient weapon. Though uncertain of the hand which had delivered the mortal stab, The Shadow was sure that he could place the blame by corralling both fighters who had struggled with Rayne in the dark.

The problem was to find the doorway, and for once, The Shadow's sense of direction was at loss. To gethis bearings, he stumbled across the room and found the desk. He almost turned to the window by mistake, but a breeze from it informed him that the door was the other way. Swinging about, The Shadow wavered momentarily, then dropped.

Again a flash of flame split the darkness. A bullet whistled inches past The Shadow's slouch hat. A creak from the doorway had warned him that another shot was to be expected. As for the actual blast, it not only missed The Shadow, but it brought him back to usual form. Always, a gunshot was a tonic to The Shadow's prowess. He answered such challenges instinctively.

With a wide sweep, The Shadow lunged for the door, aiming his automatic ahead of him. Another shot cleaved the gloom, wide by at least three feet.

Since his adversary wanted to make it a matter of bullets, The Shadow decided to answer in kind. He aimed in the dark and pulled the trigger. By rights, a murderer should have learned by experience how deadly The Shadow's aim could be, even in the dark.

But a hand stayed that shot-a hand that came up from the floor and gabbed The Shadow's arm. Another hand followed, and the double clutch brought The Shadow to the floor. A scurrying sound told that an a.s.sa.s.sin was fleeing through the darkened hall, not wishing to risk another test of The Shadow's fire, which had missed only by inches.

As for The Shadow, he was struggling against a terrific grip, applied by the man who had intercepted him. A clutch that showed a superhuman strength, until it froze stiffly when its owner gave a gargly gasp.

Only then did The Shadow recognize his adversary.

The man who had stopped The Shadow was Jared Rayne. In so doing, the dying man had saved the life of his own murderer, the person for whom The Shadow's perfect shot was intended!

CHAPTER IX. MURDERER'S FLIGHT.

A MURDERER'S flight had begun.

There was no doubt that murder had been done, for Rayne's gasp was his last. The Shadow could tell, from the grasp of the stiffened hands, that Rayne was dead.

Wrenching free from that death clutch was no easy task, but The Shadow managed it, even though he had to bash Rayne's fingers with hard swings of the automatic. The Shadow was anxious to take up a killer's trail.

Reaching the hallway, The Shadow heard a clatter of footsteps going down the front stairs. He saw light filtering up from below, and he followed. He was at the top of the stairs, looking into a large hallway below, waiting for some other indication.

There were two possible routes: one, out through the front door; the other, by a sun porch on the opposite side of the house. A third route existed, but The Shadow rejected it, for it led through the kitchen, where the servants would be.

The Shadow heard neither a thud of the front door nor a clatter from the sun porch. Such sounds, if any, were drowned out by a loud surge of shouting servants, who came through from the kitchen into the front hall. They'd heard the shots, but hadn't managed to locate them, for they supposed that Rayne was in the front of the house, downstairs.

Hearing no answer from Rayne, the servants divided, some starting toward the front door, the others inthe direction of the porch. Quite sure that someone had fled from the house, they were actually choosing the right methods of pursuit, when a voice halted them.

A voice from the dead, that tone, for it belonged to none other than Jared Rayne!

It was calling from the kitchen that the servants had just left.

"Come, come!" The voice called testily. "This way! He went out through the rear kitchen, and off toward the back hedge. Find him, and report to me in my study!"

None of the servants knew that Rayne was dead; hence they took the voice for granted. To The Shadow, who had just slipped Rayne's death clutch, the ruse was obvious. It fitted with The Shadow's theory as to the duping of Trelger's office employees.

Old Timothy had duplicated Trelger's voice on that occasion, and it was Timothy who was speaking at present, for Jared Rayne. He didn't linger in the kitchen when the servants hurried that direction; instead, Timothy found refuge in the gloom of the back stairs, and waited there until the crowd had pa.s.sed.

The Shadow waited, too, to hear if Timothy came up the back stairs; but he didn't. So The Shadow decided to take the front way out. Again, it was a choice between the front door and sun porch. The front door being nearer, The Shadow used it, only to put himself into immediate trouble.

A searchlight was cleaving the darkness of the driveway, and its huge gleam spotted The Shadow before he could swing to cover. A local patrol car was on the ground, escorting Inspector Cardona to his meeting with Jared Rayne.

Already, the police had heard tumult outside the house, chiefly from in back. The men in the patrol car, like those The Shadow had encountered a few nights before, made the mistake of cla.s.sing the cloaked fighter as a marauder.

The car roared up to the house and jerked to a halt. Two patrolmen were out of it, blasting away, because The Shadow hadn't stopped when they ordered. Another car arrived and disgorged Joe Cardona, who promptly joined in the fray, because he couldn't see the man they were after and therefore didn't know that The Shadow was concerned. It was one of Cardona's policies never to hamper The Shadow.

As a matter of fact, The Shadow wasn't hampered-at least, not yet.