"Well?"
Glade Tremont's short, harsh question was uttered as he stared into Harold Sharrock's eyes. They were mild, light-gray eyes that flinched as they met the lawyer's gaze. Then, with an effort, Sharrock tried to gain composure.
A flush came to his pasty face. His weak eyes glistened. He bit his colorless lips as he looked from Tremont to Savette. His manner showed that he knew these men, and understood the evil in their hearts.
"I've come back," declared Sharrock hoarsely. "Come back, for an accounting. That's all."
"That is enough," commented Tremont.
Sharrock flinched; then stared boldly toward Doctor Savette.
"I landed this morning," he said. "I went up to watch your house. I followed you when you went to take the train. I did not know where you were going. I did not know that you had this place here. When I saw you enter, I came after. I wanted to get you — to kill you — both of you!"
Hatred flashed in Sharrock's face as he delivered this outburst. Tremont and Savette both received the statement calmly. They were not perturbed in the least.
"Your return is a fortunate one," declared Savette. "We can use some of those funds which belong to us."
"Belong to you!" Sharrock's cry was contemptuous. "Nothing belongs to you! There is nothing for you to get. I lost everything I had at Monte Carlo!"
"Hm-m-m," chuckled Glade Tremont. "Now I suppose you would like to have us finance you?"
"You can guess why I'm here," blurted Sharrock. "I'm going to face the music, that's all. Kill me, if you want. That's better than jail. I've come here to see if Austin is still alive — to make up for the evil that I have done him. It means jail for me. I don't care."
Tremont shook his head sadly.
"While you had the money, you forgot Austin Bellamy," he said. "Now you appear to have a conscience. A very useless possession — a conscience. I wonder what it feels like — a conscience?" He looked at Savette, and the physician laughed. Like Tremont, he was conscienceless.
"Say what you want, you crooks!" said Sharrock hoarsely. "You started the dirty work. You and that renegade, Ivan Orlinov!"
"What of it?" questioned Tremont. "You are only giving us credit for an excellent idea. I happened to be your stepbrother's lawyer. Doctor Savette chanced to be his physician. We saw that you had been wrongfully cut off in his new will. So we quietly arranged his death — with your approval — and kept him alive, with Ivan Orlinov as his capable guardian."
"Yes," retorted Sharrock. "You did it — for half a million. Then you kept Austin Bellamy because he was a threat. You had it framed so I could be the goat. All done with my order.
"You bled me — a hundred thousand dollars at a time — to get the entire two million. I got away, to France, with half a million left. There are crooks there, too. I was in no mood to ward them off.
"I'm back now, broke — all except a few thousands. I'm going to come clean. I've come to tell you that. I wanted to learn if Austin were still alive—"
"He is alive," interposed Tremont. "Alive and well. That means we still have the threat which you have mentioned."
"That is not all," added Savette. "You speak of us killing you, Sharrock. That is a good suggestion — one which we shall use. But we have a few other devices that are better than death. We have progressed since our early days, when we kept your dear stepbrother doped in a cottage on the Jersey coast."
"I've figured that," said Sharrock bitterly. "You bought this place with my money—"
"With Bellamy's money—" corrected Tremont.
"With anybody's money but yours!" cried Sharrock. "You are up to new mischief. You had a cottage; now you have a castle. I know your game! You are tricking others — holding new prisoners—"
"Excellent reasoning," declared Tremont ironically, as Sharrock paused. "You have made a perfect deduction, Sharrock. So I think it would be a good plan to reward you.
"We are keeping this establishment. It is well guarded. It is necessary. So to terminate our discussion with you, we shall let you travel the route that others have taken, since your stepbrother made the precedent.
"How would you like to become one of the living dead?"
Sharrock's face blanched. He trembled. Tremont and Savette indulged in villainous smiles.
"To kill you would be a pleasure," declared Tremont. "Unfortunately, we do not know what foolish things you may have done before you reached here. It would be best to have you alive — so that you can speak — under Orlinov's pressure.
"So you shall taste of death. It was kind of you to come here. Others have not been so obliging. That box" — he pointed to the heavy object by the fireplace — "contains one new member for our colony. We were forced to ship him here as we shipped others. You have saved us that trouble.
"What do you say, doctor? We are very busy at present" — Tremont was smiling toward Savette — "and we cannot be annoyed with our good friend Sharrock at this moment. Shall we put him away for the death period of two days?"
"An excellent idea," returned Savette.
"Are you prepared to perform the operation?" questioned Tremont. With a suave smile, Savette removed a hypodermic syringe from his pocket. Sharrock quailed as he saw the object.
Then the threat of the revolver held by Tremont became imminent. Sharrock stood trembling, fearing both the gun and the needle.
Doctor Savette approached the helpless man. He threw back Sharrock's arms, and wrested his coat from his body. He tore away the sleeve of the man's shirt. He raised the syringe and prepared to thrust its needle into the victim's flesh.
Pale, tottering, Sharrock began to edge away. A short word came from Tremont.
Sharrock saw the threat of the revolver.
He faced two deaths: that of the needle would be temporary; that of the gun would be permanent. He knew that he must accept one. He looked from Tremont to Savette. There was no mercy in either of those livid faces.
"Wait!" exclaimed Sharrock, in futile tone. "Let me talk. Maybe I can — can forget what I know—"
"You will forget it," declared Tremont coldly. "Certainly. We are arranging that at present. I give you warning, Sharrock. We do not intend to waste more time with you. You have your choice — the needle or a bullet.
"You have no friends here. If you flinch or refuse to take the hypodermic, I shall shoot you through your yellow heart. We are not afraid of anything you may have done. Do not hope that I shall spare you."
Sharrock knew well that Tremont was speaking facts. Motionless, he stared weakly at the lawyer. Tremont held the gun leveled toward the intended victim's breast.
Savette, nearer to Tremont than Sharrock was, stood away from the line of the lawyer's aim, calmly holding the needle in readiness. He was facing Tremont.
The three men formed a strange tableau, their profiles toward the fireplace, where no embers glowed tonight. Savette was awaiting a signal from Tremont — an indication whether he should go ahead with the injection or whether the lawyer intended to shoot to kill.
No eyes were upon the huge box. Something was happening there. The lone pivot hinge on one side of the box was moving noiselessly upward, actuated by some mechanism operated from the interior. The motion of the hinge stopped.
Now the door of the box was opening, slowly and silently — opening at the side where the hinge had lifted. The strong padlocks, with their firm hasps and staples, were serving as a hinge!
The door was opening the wrong way!
Clear of the tricky hinge, released by slots that were now freed, the door swung wide, pushed open by a hand from within. The noise of that opening turned six eyes toward the box.
Tremont, Savette, and Sharrock gazed instinctively in that direction.
Moving forward from the box was the crouching, huddled form of a man clad entirely in black. He was a blotted form, his body shapeless under its black cloak, his features invisible under the protecting edge of a broad-brimmed hat. His hands were thrust forward. They alone seemed alive. Black-clad hands — in each an automatic!
One gun was trained on Tremont; the other covered Savette. The black form continued its emergence. It rose and took the shape of a tall, sinister being.
"The Shadow!"
The cry came from Savette's lips. It was echoed by Tremont's weak gasp. The answer was a sinister, whispered laugh from lips that the cloak collar covered. The laugh of The Shadow!
The laugh of a man whom Tremont and Savette believed dead!
Neither villain dared move. Fiends that they were, they trembled. Sharrock stood dumfounded at the sight of this strange avenger.
Again, The Shadow laughed. He had caught his archenemies by a well-timed ruse. The dread avenger was here, to settle scores, in the very lair of his foe. With guarding mobsmen outside, protected by the walls of a veritable fortress, the fiends were helpless.
The Shadow's laugh was the sardonic mirth of vengeance. It was a laugh that boded death!