The Shadow - The Sledge Hammer Crimes Part 15

Oddly, the burden had s.h.i.+fted suddenly from Lettigue to Petersham; then had become equalized.

Petersham's demand for a weighed judgment had made all listeners think deeply. A grim quandary had gripped Commissioner Weston. In his period of doubt, the commissioner turned to the one who had brought the dilemma. He looked to The Shadow.

"I am baffled, Cranston," admitted Weston, frankly. "Obviously, we need some outside clue. Something so valid that it could not have been planted."

"Something," suggested The Shadow, "that concerns Clinton Jorn?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Weston. "That might solve it, Cranston! I have the murderer here before me, have I not?"

"You have," returned The Shadow, calmly.

His eyes were steady as he spoke. They seemed to drill all who met them. Nothing in the gaze of Lamont Cranston showed direct accusation against either Lettigue or Petersham. Both waited, listening as The Shadow spoke.

"IN Jorn's office," came the deliberate words, "you found an appointment book. Jorn had an appointment with the murderer at six o'clock. From it, you may learn the murderer's name."

Weston had yanked forth the appointment book. He was pointing to the page that represented the current day. "This page is blank," he claimed. "It cannot help us, Cranston. It is totally blank!"

"Not quite, commissioner," observed The Shadow. "But I must leave you, commissioner. My briefcase is in your car. Could I rely upon your chauffeur to drive me to the station?"

"Certainly, Cranston." Weston was nodding as he looked at the book. "Tell him to take you to the station. But about this appointment book. You say that it can hold a clue -"

Weston looked up. He saw the figure of Cranston strolling through the doorway. Again, the commissioner's eyes sought the right page of the book. This time, Weston's gaze narrowed. A tiny mark took his attention.

The Shadow had gone; but he had left the solution to the riddle. It lay in the commissioner's own hands.

CHAPTER XIX. THE MURDERER SPEAKS.

"NOT quite blank."

Joe Cardona came over beside the commissioner, as Weston muttered the words. Joe saw his chief point to the s.p.a.ce to the right of six o'clock.

"See, Cardona?" queried Weston. "There is a long dot. An indentation made by a pencil point."

"As if Jorn was going to write a name," remarked Cardona. "Yes, that would be it. But which name would it be? Lettigue or Petersham?"

Both named were edging closer. Weston motioned them back. Greel watched the two; the inventor seemed to be itching for a spring upon whichever man should be denounced as the rogue.

"Consider the page at the left," suggested Weston, when Cardona had no reply. "Notice how the names are written for yesterday's appointments. All in the same hand."

"Carefully written," added Cardona, "in old-style letters."

"Some have first names at the beginning," remarked Weston, "while others do not. Wait, Cardona! Look at this dot that Cranston mentioned! It is at the extreme left of the s.p.a.ce and -"

"In the lower left corner. The very beginning of the line."

A pause. Then Weston mused, "Lettigue. It won't do, Cardona. Jorn would have begun an L higher up and to the right."

"And the same with Elvin," added Cardona. "An E would have started from the same spot as an L."

A satisfied smile showed beneath Lettigue's heavy mustache. The millionaire glanced toward Prentiss Petersham. The lawyer stared at Weston.

"Petersham. P for the first letter." Weston pondered as he spoke. "That would start at the extreme left, Cardona."

"But higher up," reminded Joe. "What's more, Prentiss begins with the same letter."

"Then Petersham is cleared. Unless our theory is wrong."

"We can't get around that dot, commissioner. It's the beginning of a word. Mr. Cranston gave us the right start." "He agreed that the murderer must be here with us."

"And yet -"

Petersham had duplicated Lettigue's smile. Perhaps, in that mutual relief, both found new inspiration.

Cleared temporarily, they were stepping forward. A hoa.r.s.e cluck came from Sanbrook Greel.

"Stand back!" ordered the inventor. "You heard the commissioner's warning!"

An exclamation came from Petersham, as the lawyer saw the fierce look that had come upon Greel's face. Lettigue echoed Petersham's cry. Weston looked up; so did Cardona. The latter grabbed the appointment book.

"Sanbrook Greel!" Cardona pointed as he gave the name. "At the left; at the bottom! Letter S-or letter G-either fits -"

A SHARP warning from Weston stopped Cardona. Joe stared; the appointment book slipped from his hand and thudded the floor. Greel had made an agile spring to the corner of the room.

From his pocket, the inventor had whipped a stubby revolver.

Greel's face was livid. His hand quivered, but not with nervousness. He was ready to drill the first attacker who might turn in his direction. Hands moved upward. Greel mouthed jeering words; his tone was evil.

"Fools!" clucked the inventor. "My game was plain; yet you blundered! Only chance gave you the final answer. Even that came through a man who missed his opportunities. Cranston himself was deceived.

"He walked out because he did not even know the value of his own suggestion. He probably believed that you are still disputing over Lettigue and Petersham. One, a millionaire who had urge for wealth; the other, a lawyer who could deal in crafty procedure.

"Not an old inventor." Greel's tone was filled with sarcasm. "You did not credit me with l.u.s.t for gain or ingenuity in crime. That is what I expected; that is why I allowed myself to become conspicuous."

Greel paused. He was close beside a large window, in the deepest corner of the room. He used his free hand to hoist the window sash; but not for an instant did he let his revolver uncover the men before him.

"I had money," chuckled Greel. "Enough to finance crime. I had an aid- Jerry Quimble-who did his work here; then left the country. He gained control of the small concern I needed, the Century Burglary Alarm Co. He put Lowring, a know-nothing, in charge.

"Quimble formed the Industrial Mining Corporation. He inserted Brindell there, as another dummy figure.

I held the stocks; other doc.u.ments, transferring rights in my invention. I was ready, then, for crime!"

Glee gripped Greel. He continued: "I needed crooks to aid me. Sledge Ringo served, with Shooter Hoyle as a reserve. Sledge had his band.

Those workers were gained through Clinton Jorn. Yes, Jorn was deep in crime, when it was ready. I withheld action until the proper time.

"My electro-vibrators were buried in the walls of the Mayan Museum and the Channing National Bank.

We placed one outside of Clayborne's strong room. Two million dollars awaited us! Awaited me"-a chuckle- "for I shall share it alone." GREEL stared at Lettigue; then Petersham. His gaze showed contempt.

"I needed a dupe," he stated. "Lettigue served that purpose. Because he had wide acquaintance, but knew few persons closely. I knew Lettigue by sight. I had seen the cane which he always carried. I knew that he frequently remained at home.

"Jorn helped me in picking Lettigue. All we needed then was some one to serve as a crusader. Some one who would steer the law along the path we wanted. That is why Jorn sought Petersham. We had picked Petersham as our proper man. The one to provide Lettigue's undoing.

"There were murders. I chose those deeds for myself. To-day"-a harsh chuckle-"to-day, there was call for two more. Jorn and d.y.k.el. They knew too much. They wanted more money. Jorn waited for a five o'clock telephone call from me.

"I called him at five-fifteen, when I made an excuse for leaving Cranston, who was in my laboratory. I told Jorn that I would see him at six; for I expected Cranston to go before then. He did. I departed also.

I murdered Jorn; then went to d.y.k.el's hotel and killed that trouble-maker also."

Greel seemed happy as he gave the details.

"I killed them," he added, coldly, "as I killed Lemand and Moreland. By using instruments that were at hand. I wore gloves; I delivered sure, swift strokes to eliminate the men who might have let out facts too soon. I knew that they might have heard clicks; that they knew that equipment had been bought from the Century Burglary Alarm Co. I did not want investigations to be pushed too rapidly.

"You knew too much, Petersham. But Jorn was taking care of you. So I held the swag, hidden in an old house on Seventieth Street. The keys, the exact address-all are in the drawer of a laboratory table at my apartment. But you will never find them.

"Why? Because I designed another trap; one that is here, in this very room. The carpenters who added this study to the house installed my electrical machines with it. They have been working for many months.

No clicks to warn you, Lettigue, for this was a special job.

"The electro-vibrators have ceased their operation. But when I press this switch, terrific current will shoot through them. You will see the effect of my invention. All of you will see it. But none will live to talk of it.

Destruction will be complete!

"This was an emergency precaution, Lettigue. To bury you alive, that your death would look like suicide, in case occasion demanded. To prove, by your death, that you were the man who schemed for riches.

You-not I! That is what the world will think. The belief will be that you took others to your own destruction!"

WITH his free hand, Greel swept away a molding from the window frame. A hidden switch showed bare. The inventor's twitchy fingers gripped it. His other fist held its ready revolver. Back to the window ledge, Greel was ready to spring from the window as he pulled the switch.

"Death!" Greel's cluck was gloating. "Death to all of you! Death to every one who shall ever block my schemes!"

His fingers drew, then stopped. A sound from the blackened doorway of the room caused every eye to stare in that direction. Greel saw a shrouded shape upon the threshold. Burning eyes peered from beneath a hat brim. A leveled automatic bulged from a black-gloved fist.

With a maddened cry, Sanbrook Greel aimed his stubby revolver. He gained no chance to press thetrigger. The automatic thundered its echoes through the low-built room. Like a stabbing arrow, flame spat toward Greel's stooped body.

A sighed snarl slipped from the murderer's lips, as Sanbrook Greel lost his clutch upon the switch and rolled, curling, to the floor.

The Shadow had returned. With one bullet he had stopped the stroke of doom.

CHAPTER XX. THE MURDERER'S TOMB.

RIGID men stared toward their rescuer. Weston and Cardona, Lettigue and Petersham-all stood bewildered by their own delivery. With them gaped Markham and Daniel, two figures who had been inconspicuous and helpless throughout the progress of events.

All watched The Shadow's eyes. The burning gaze turned toward the spot where Sanbrook Greel sagged wounded, against the wall. They saw why the murderer still lived. The Shadow had clipped his shoulder, above the hand that had sought to tug the wall switch.

Deliberately, The Shadow had aimed to cripple the murderer and render him incapable of his threatened action. In his collapse, Greel had lost his revolver. The Shadow had not needed a second shot.

Words issued from The Shadow's hidden lips. They were intoned in sinister fas.h.i.+on. Those words refuted Greel's claim that his game had been unknown.

"Your game was plain," affirmed The Shadow. "Plain from the day when it began, so far as it concerned Elvin Lettigue. He had the position of a dupe; not of a murderer. His visit to the museum would have been folly for a slayer."

Greel rallied as The Shadow paused. The murderer was trying to rise.

"I was at the museum," panted Greel. "Planning-planning to follow - Rome. I saw Lettigue enter. It-it fitted well."

"It served your schemes," hissed The Shadow. "Served them well, that chance visit. But it cleared Lettigue in my eyes. It s.h.i.+fted suspicion to Petersham."

Greel's eyes were bulging, almost with a question.

"To Petersham," repeated The Shadow, "until he cleared himself at Clayborne's when he sc.r.a.ped away all vestiges of powdered edges at the entrance through the wall. Had Petersham been the criminal, he would have no longer needed a man to be on watch.

"Yet Shooter Hoyle was there that night, when I paid a visit. Shooter was unnecessary. His presence drew suspicion from Petersham. Only a slight doubt that remained. One that cleared when I learned of you, Sanbrook Greel."

A light glimmered in the inventor's eyes. Greel, alone, realized the part that The Shadow had played. The visit of Lamont Cranston popped suddenly to his memory.

"YOUR workers were eliminated," added The Shadow. "Partly by my hand. You had no way to continue with your crimes. Lately, you had a visitor. One whom you whisked away from your machine when it crackled. You showed then that you were possessed of latent strength.

"To-day, you smashed a tile with a hammer. A straight, powerful blow-so like the death strokes that the resemblance could not pa.s.s unnoticed. Your game was ended, Greel. It remained only to implicate thelast of the underlings who served you."

"Jorn was one," gurgled Greel. "d.y.k.el, the other. But I slew them. You did not stop me."

"I arranged to meet with you and Jorn," intoned The Shadow. "Chance delayed me. But it gave me the opportunity to dispose of your murderous understudy."

"Shooter Hoyle!" gasped Greel. "He should have killed you -"

"But Shooter failed. Failed as he had before. You gained Jorn as a victim; then d.y.k.el. Only because I had not learned that you might wish to slay them. I gained that inkling after I had left you free to act."

Greel was still rising. His good hand was clutching at the window frame. The Shadow made a final statement: "One planted clue: a broken sledge hammer. Its crudity was as bad as your other false trails, Greel. The implements that you left on the scenes of your crimes were intended to be thought of as false."

"Because of Lettigue's cane -"

"Yes. But they were too obviously placed to have been left as blinds. I knew them for what they were.

Instruments of death!"

A CLATTER sounded from across the room. Daniel had seen Greel's hand crawling almost to the wall switch. The servant was opening a window beside him. Markham made a leap for another sash and raised it.