"Not yet, Timothy," he said. "The police might trace some of the stuff. Even small bonds can be listed, you know. Being small-minded, Wight might have kept the numbers on those fresh new bank notes, too."

Doubt played on Timothy's usually expressionless face. It might have meant that Timothy was dubious of Bert's sincerity. On the other hand, the butler could have been influenced by secret purposes of his own.

Though mutually pledged to a campaign of retribution, nothing more, either Bert or Timothy could have succ.u.mbed to the l.u.s.t for wealth. Often, men impelled by honor could give way to baser things, after resorting to questionable methods of achievement.

Bert and Timothy were operating on the theory that the end justified the means. A dangerous basis, thathad caused many persons trying it to fall by the wayside. Naturally, it took a third person to make such an observation, and such a person was present.

The observer was The Shadow.

As Cardona had hoped, The Shadow was on the trail; more than that, he had carried it all the way. Soon after Bert and Timothy reached the apartment, The Shadow had become a visible factor in the scene.

Visible, though neither Bert nor Timothy saw him. First, a shroud of creeping blackness had dyed the lowered blind of a window in the corner of the room. Next, it faded mysteriously, off to a side angle that led to a hall outside the little living room. There, The Shadow had found another window and pried it open, silently.

From the hallway, his silhouette was inching in along the floor of the lighted room, a strange, unnoticed token of the figure that stood without. It was fortunate for Bert and Timothy that neither saw the blackness that streaked the floor. Had they tried to challenge The Shadow, he would have overwhelmed them in a trice.

It happened that The Shadow preferred to wait. Two men were off guard, and therefore likely to indulge in private opinions that would enable The Shadow to determine how each one stood.

Though he disapproved of their combined policy, The Shadow still regarded Bert and Timothy as individuals. His interests were those of justice, and to serve such interests it was essential that he should check upon the motives of the men involved.

If either Bert or Timothy showed signs of deviating from their agreed course, The Shadow would put the burden of responsibility upon the man in question. Until then, he was weighing this pair according to his own standards, and would declare a common verdict regarding both.

IT was Bert who spoke first, in a fashion that promised to swing the balance. Bert was turning to a radio cabinet in the corner.

"I think I'll tune in on the news," said Bert. "We may hear something about the Wight case. I hope Wight will give his version of the robbery. He'll have a lot to say."

"He will indeed, sir," acknowledged Timothy. "I presume that he will cla.s.s us both as public enemies."

"Even though he won't guess who we are," added Bert. "Speaking of guessing, we outguessed Wight; that, was all. Rather, you outguessed him, Timothy."

"I am merely acquainted with Wight's peculiarities," stated Timothy modestly. "I know him for a man who would refuse to face an issue. That is why I was quite sure that he would attempt to leave town, taking all his wealth."

If that conversation had been rehea.r.s.ed, it could not have been handled better. With The Shadow as a listener, neither Bert nor Timothy had given the slightest inkling that they knew of Wight's death. Since The Shadow, himself, was as yet unacquainted with the fact, the comments pa.s.sed as a mere preliminary.

Things changed when Bert picked up the news reports. A flash came on the air, but it spoke of the Wight case as murder, not as robbery. The Shadow saw Bert and Timothy exchange astonished glances.

"Why, you weren't shooting after Wight's car!" Bert told Timothy. "All you did was fire in the air, to scare that patrol car off the street." "You are stating your own case, Mr. Bert," avowed Timothy politely. "I was watching you, and I should know. I'd swear in any court-"

"Don't mention courts, Timothy!"

"I'd merely swear, then, that you were purposely firing wide; that your shots could not possibly have reached Wight's car."

Bert gave a satisfied smile at Timothy's testimony, and the butler's face wrinkled blandly. Their teamwork was running true to form, and they liked it.

"Of course, Timothy," spoke Bert, in a sincere tone, "I'd take the blame for Wight's death, as well as Rayne's, if your safety was at stake."

"I'd do the same for you, sir," a.s.sured Timothy solemnly. "Indeed, I should like to put it in writing, as I did before."

"I must have the same privilege."

"Very well, Mr. Bert."

Therewith, The Shadow became witness to a ceremony that had taken place before-that of Bert and Timothy each writing a murder confession and handing it to the other. They finished with a warm handshake. The Shadow could tell that the bond between those two was growing stronger. The more difficult their cause became, the more they would depend upon each other.

The Shadow antic.i.p.ated something more as a result of such harmony. It came, quite promptly.

"There was another person in the case tonight," reminded Bert. "Exactly as at Rayne's."

"The creature in black," nodded Timothy. "A very dangerous character, I should define him."

"Dangerous enough to commit murder-"

"With Wight as the victim. You took my very words, Mr. Bert!"

The pair shook hands on it, quite unaware that the object of their accusation was a silent spectator to their conference.

But when Bert was turning away, his eyes caught something that made him suddenly alert. Shoving his hand to his pocket, he pulled out the stubby revolver, at the same time thrusting Timothy aside.

In alarm, the butler yanked his own gun, only to see Bert subside back in his chair. Timothy asked anxiously: "What was it, Mr. Bert?"

"That blackness on the floor," replied Bert, gesturing loosely with his gun. "I thought I saw it move."

THE blackness had moved at the very time Bert spied it. Receding into the gloom of the hall, it was gone when Bert looked again.

Eyes fixed in a hard stare, Bert studied the hallway and saw nothing, for The Shadow had shifted around the corner of the doorway. The only token of his presence was a gun muzzle at the door edge, the snout of a black automatic, that Bert did not notice because of the angle. If Bert had taken a single forward step, he would have come right into the path of that looming threat, clutched in the gloved fist of The Shadow. Beating The Shadow to the shot would have proven impossible for Bert Glendon.

Even if Bert's gun had happened to be loaded, which it wasn't! That fact came out, a few moments later.

"It was just my imagination," began Ben. "I'm afraid it's working overtime, Timothy."

"I fear so, too, sir," chided Timothy. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have been so daring with an empty gun."

Looking hard at the gun, Bert grunted. He rummaged on the desk, then turned to Timothy.

"Where are those cartridges we bought today?" questioned Bert. "Did I give them to you, Timothy?"

"I took them, sir," replied the butler, "along with my own. I thought we might have occasion to reload."

"Small chance of that!" snorted Bert. "This business of running from the police gets on my nerves! We must handle our next case more tactfully."

"I believe we can do so," declared Timothy. "If I am right in my conjecture, we should have very little trouble with Simon March.e.l.l."

Immediately, Bert became agog. In his interest, he forgot the hallway door entirely. Blackness was reappearing there, in solid form, yet it would have taken a remarkably close scrutiny to detect the change.

The Shadow had good reason to risk this new approach. He was about to learn some very vital facts.

It wasn't that Mann's investigation had bogged down. Events were simply happening too fast for the research to keep up with them. Trelger, Rayne, and Wight-beyond those three, the scene was hazy.

Mann had mentioned the name of Simon March.e.l.l, along with other friends of Lionel Glendon, but there had been no definite proof that March.e.l.l would be Number Four.

The Shadow was getting that proof from the lips of Timothy, the man who was guiding Bert Glendon along the path of vengeance!

"I thought March.e.l.l was out of town," remarked Bert. "How are we going to reach him, if he is?"

"He may have returned," declared Timothy. "If he has not, I am quite certain that he will when he hears of Wight's death. March.e.l.l is a very nervous man."

WITH those words, Timothy gave an imitation of March.e.l.l. Darting looks one way, then another, the butler blinked his eyes and twitched his lips. Finally, he plucked a match pack from the table and began to dawdle it between his fingers. Bert voiced a hard laugh.

"I remember March.e.l.l all right," he said. "But if the fellow is so nervous, why will he come home?"

"He won't come home," stated Timothy. "He will go to that empty house that he took from your uncle, along with so much other property, when March.e.l.l worked the real-estate swindle."

"You mean he's using it as a hideout?"

"I am sure of it, Mr. Bert! You see, March.e.l.l had the house remodeled, but he never sold it, nor did he dispose of the furniture. He had ways of being out of town, then in again, that were very surprising, but only after he bought-or I should say, stole-the little house on Gotham Place."

Bert stroked his chin, then shook his head. The invasion of March.e.l.l's hide-away struck him as difficult. "How will we get in there, Timothy?"

"I can pose as Trelger," returned Timothy, with a chuckle. He changed his tone to a wheeze: "I am sure March.e.l.l would be pleased by a visit from a companion in misfortune."

"But faking Trelger's voice won't be enough."

In answer to Bert's objection, Timothy drew his face into a tightened expression, much resembling Trelger's. From his pocket the butler produced tortoise-sh.e.l.l gla.s.ses which he put on. He talked again as Trelger, even imitating a lip twitch that was characteristic. Bert's eyes showed an approving gleam.

"Say, Timothy!" Bert exclaimed. "You can do a good Trelger. Better than I thought!"

"He is the only one I can fully impersonate," explained Timothy. "I was afraid to be seen at his office, where persons observed him so often. But with March.e.l.l"-Timothy stepped to a corner of the room, where the light was quite dim-"how is this, Mr. Bert?"

"Good enough," returned Bert. "Stay clear of too much light and you can get away with it, Timothy. You pave the way and leave the rest to me. We'll talk March.e.l.l into handing over everything he has."

From then on, the partners in vengeance formed their scheme quite rapidly, and The Shadow did not miss a detail. They set the next night as the proper time for the March.e.l.l excursion, and left the details flexible enough to allow for any changes.

However, The Shadow doubted that changes would be made. Simplicity was the keynote of the scheme, and therefore embellishments would be superfluous.

In fact, Bert and Timothy were still mulling over the thing when The Shadow withdrew entirely. Empty blackness predominated in the hallway when Bert again glanced that direction.

Outside the little apartment house, other blackness-the solid type-was gliding off into the night. Only a very sharp eye could have spied the cloaked shape of The Shadow as it made that departure. Similarly, only an acute ear could have caught the whispered mirth that came from invisible lips.

Well might The Shadow laugh. Tomorrow night, he would arrive ahead of crime. Bert and Timothy might begin by talking to March.e.l.l, the hunted man.

They would finish by listening-to The Shadow!

CHAPTER XIV. THE HUNTED MAN.

IT was evening again, and Commissioner Weston was at the Cobalt Club in conference with Horace Trelger. Lamont Cranston was also present, for he had spent but little time in discussing investments with his broker, Rutledge Mann, whose visits to the club had been so frequent of late.

Weston, Trelger, Cranston, all three, were listening to Cardona's report, which completely exonerated Perry, the chauffeur, from any part in Wight's death.

Henry, the valet, had testified solidly in behalf of Perry, proving that the chauffeur had acted entirely at Wight's order, and that the gun found on Perry was one that Wight himself had taken with him from his hotel suite.

This backed Perry's testimony that Wight had thrust the gun upon him. Furthermore, the bullet found in Wight, though too misshapen to properly identify, was definitely of a caliber larger than Wight's gun. Therefore, as a preliminary to solving murder, the question resolved itself to this: Who had taken Wight's wealth-filled suitcase?

On that, opinion was divided. Two men had fled together in a car, as from Rayne's. But there was also mention of a third man, a mystery figure, who had followed Wight down the fire tower.

Of course, Cardona could have answered that one, by claiming that the unknown interloper was The Shadow. But Joe, for reasons of his own, preferred to abide by Weston's former ruling that The Shadow should not be introduced to cloud the issue. This was good enough, to Joe's way of thinking. He was counting on The Shadow to clear things, not to cloud them.

Commissioner Weston summed it up in this wise: "Your funds were stolen, Trelger," declared Weston. "So were Rayne's, and Wight's, but they were murdered, too. Seeing that no one has tried to harm you since your own experience, we can a.s.sume, Trelger, that in all cases robbery was the basic motive."

Trelger gave wheezy a.s.sent.

"Rayne and Wight fought to retain their wealth," added Weston. "That fact may explain their deaths. But there is also the possibility that one or the other-perhaps both-recognized the criminal and suffered death on that account."

There was a nod from Trelger.

"It puts us right back on the same track," stated Weston tersely. "We must find out who else is threatened, and be prepared to warn him. Can you help us, Trelger?"

Trelger thought it over.

"I dislike to mention names too previously," he declared, "but I do feel that the next victim might be Simon March.e.l.l, the real-estate promoter. The question is: how can the murderer, an enemy of March.e.l.l, find him, while I, one of March.e.l.l's friends, am unable to do so?"

"You mean that March.e.l.l is out of town?"

"I thought he was," replied Trelger, "but I am no longer sure. He goes many places to develop real estate, but I have wired to them all, with no response."

"Perhaps March.e.l.l simply doesn't want to answer telegrams."

"I shall have another try," declared Trelger. "I shall go through all my correspondence, to learn if there is any place else where March.e.l.l might be. Should I find anything, I shall inform you, commissioner."

IMMEDIATELY after Trelger's departure, Cranston remembered an appointment that prevented him from dining with his friend Weston. The commissioner gave a knowing smile when Cranston left. He had an idea that Cranston was going the rounds of the night clubs with his girl friend, Margo Lane.

But this was no time for either wine or women. Both were of value in solving certain cases, particularly when members of cafe society were involved. However, Simon March.e.l.l wouldn't be found around a night club, any more than Horace Trelger would.

Tonight, The Shadow did need a.s.sistance, but it would have to be of the hard-fisted variety. Leaving in his limousine as Cranston, he became The Shadow, and later transferred to Moe Shrevnitz's cab, wheretwo men awaited him.

One was Harry Vincent; the other, Cliff Marsland. Seated on either side of their cloaked chief, they formed as distinct a contrast as any two men could.

Harry had all the outward appearances of a gentleman, whereas Cliff looked as tough as they made them. This was because Harry's special work took him among people of refinement, while Cliff served The Shadow by moving in the toughest circles of crimedom.

Actually, the two were very much alike. Harry could deliver a punch and handle a gun in. a style quite comparable to Cliff. In his turn, Cliff could display finesse the equal of Harry's, when rare occasion demanded it.

The Shadow intended to take full command of matters at March.e.l.l's, and wanted no objectors. Any who did object would have to be handled. According to whether the approach should be smooth or rough, he could call in Harry or Cliff, respectively. In either case, the one who did appear would be stoutly backed by the other.

The cab swung through Gotham Place and The Shadow promptly spotted Bert Glendon, posted across from a house that looked quite empty. A whispered word to Moe and the cab slackened as it swung the corner. The door opened and blackness swept through it, vanishing so surprisingly that the door seemed to close before it was fully gone.