THE SHADOW’S JUSTICE
A MAN sat in the luxurious lounge car of the Canadian Limited. He was alone; all of the other passengers had retired.
The man’s face bore signs of mingled worry and elation. He was restless, but he managed to feign an appearance of calm.
Bob Maddox was fleeing northward with his ill-gotten wealth. He had left the Royal Building without interference.
He had been tempted to go back for the other bags, after he had descended in the elevator. For there were no signs that any one in the building had heard the shots.
But in the street, he had hurried on to escape the attention of a group that had surrounded a spot on the sidewalk. The crowd had evidently gathered about The Shadow’s body.
Bob had decided then that to return would be disastrous, especially as some of his pals might still be alive. He feared their wrath, and reminded himself that Garry Elvers remained as a witness to his perfidy.
He had chosen this train because it was the first that would take him from the country. In Canada, he would have a breathing spell.
Maddox doubted that he would be followed; nevertheless, he wanted to place himself safely beyond the immediate reach of either his confederates or the law.
Each succeeding hour had given him new confidence. The fleeing man knew that he had chosen the obvious direction for flight. That did not worry him. After all, he might have gone West, or taken a steamship for a foreign port.
To-morrow, he would be safe, and worth a quarter of a million dollars — with no one to dispute his possession.
He hoped that his pals had lost their lives in their attack on The Shadow. For with The Shadow gone, there remained only Garry Elvers — a mere bodyguard of a slain gang leader.
Maddox arose restlessly and went into the next car. He opened the door of the drawing-room and entered. There, he inspected his bags which he had placed in the upper berth. They were heavy, for they contained the greater portion of the swag.
The man laughed moodily. Greedy to the core, he still thought of those thousands that remained back in Theodore Galvin’s cache. Then another thought struck him. Suppose one — or two — of his pals were still alive? After all, their share would satisfy them sufficiently to keep them off his trail.
The thought eased his disappointment at having left part of the booty.
Maddox began to feel tired. He had smoked innumerable cigarettes in the lounge car, between his many journeys to the drawing-room to see that the cash was safe.
He was glad that he had taken the drawing-room. Here, he could be undisturbed, behind a locked door. His restlessness was leaving him; his fatigue was increasing. He kicked off his shoes and removed his coat and vest. He laid down in the berth.
Then a thought disturbed him. The customs officials!
Well, that could be managed, he decided. The train would still be in the United States when he awoke. He could leave it, buy a car and cross the border.
Canadian customs officers were not so strict as those of the United States. He could stow the money safely out of sight in an automobile. It would never do to have the customs officers see it.
Between the motion of the train and this new worry, the fleeing man found slumber difficult. When Maddox finally dropped off to sleep, he passed into a state of deep oblivion. His hand lay flat upon the automatic at his side.
The train sped northward, and the man slept on.
THE LIMITED was speeding rapidly across an open stretch of country. It seemed like a flashing sweep of light amidst a pitch-black waste.
But a new sound mingled with the roaring of the train to disturb the sleeping countryside. Overhead, a plane was purring, rapidly passing the Limited with swift, birdlike flight.
The plane soon outstripped the train, making the locomotive slow in comparison.
Twenty miles farther on, the engineer of the Limited applied the brakes in response to a signal which he saw. The train came to a slow stop. The door of a vestibule was opened; the platform was raised and the conductor descended the steps.
Out of the darkness came two men, muffled in heavy overcoats. One stood close beside the other, as though his hand was pressed against his companion’s body.
The man with both hands free drew back his coat and showed a badge.
“Acting Inspector Zull,” he said. “New York City detective headquarters.”
The conductor nodded. He had expected this. Orders had been awaiting him at the last city.
“All right,” he said, gruffly. “Work it quick, if you can. I’ll show you where he is — in a drawing-room. I think he’s the man you want.”
He led the way softly between rows of curtained berths. They stopped at the door of the drawing-room in which Bob Maddox slept. The conductor softly inserted a key and turned it. He stepped back.
Zull entered, followed by the other man, a tall individual whose face was wrapped within a muffler.
The door closed behind the two men, the second shutting it with his left hand, while his right still pressed against the back of the inspector.
Zull turned on a flashlight. It revealed Bob Maddox, sound asleep.
Calmly, the second man passed an automatic to Zull. He spoke in a low whisper as he did so.
“It is loaded,” were his words. “But remember; I have mine.”
Zull was amazed at the calmness of this warning. He had traveled, bound, in the back of a closed plane, which The Shadow had piloted. Now he was released; added to that, he had been supplied with a loaded gun!
But he knew The Shadow too well by this time. A single false move would spell his doom!
Keeping the automatic in view, pointed toward Maddox, Zull nudged the sleeping man. Maddox opened his eyes.
The light of the drawing-room clicked. The Shadow, standing by the door, had turned it on. Zull’s flashlight went out.
He, alone, was visible to Bob Maddox. The Shadow was out of view, a muffled figure backed against the door.
“Come on, Maddox!” growled Zull. “We want you!”
Maddox recognized Acting Inspector Zull. He grinned at the inspector, even though his face was worried.
“Say!” he exclaimed. “What’s the idea? You were paid to fix everything. You hung it on to young Galvin—”
“You’ve double-crossed the Chief,” replied Zull. “That’s why I’ve come to get you!”
THE explanation startled Maddox. He had never thought of this situation. He realized that Hiram Mallory could command the action of the law as well as protection from it — through the efforts of Zull.
Maddox, alone of the gang, knew of this connection. Briggs had known that if he left the sign, he would be free from arrest; but the big man had never figured out the details. Moose Shargin had been kept in ignorance.
But now came a surprising thought to Maddox. The Shadow was dead — but Hiram Mallory was still alive; and Zull was working with him!
“You want me?” questioned Maddox, sleepily.
“Yes. Hurry up!”
Maddox started to rise in his berth. As he reached a sitting position, his hand came from his side. He fired twice with his automatic.
Acting Inspector Zull fell dead, without a groan. Maddox sprang from the berth. He turned toward the door. He stopped as he saw the silent witness of his crime.
With a fiendish cry, he raised his gun to fire. The Shadow’s automatic spoke twice. One bullet clipped the murderer’s wrist; the other lodged in his shoulder.
Maddox fell writhing to the floor. To his ears came a mocking laugh. He realized that The Shadow lived!
The conductor was rattling at the door of the drawing-room. The Shadow did not hurry. He lifted Maddox and placed him in the berth, where the man lay, helpless and gasping, his left hand gripping his right shoulder.
Two guns lay on the floor. One belonged to Maddox; the other to Zull. The Shadow pocketed the dead detective’s automatic and laid his own revolver in its place.
With head lowered and face muffled, he opened the door. He thrust the two suitcases out into the aisle.
“Help me with these,” he ordered, in a whispered voice. “We’ve gotten our man. Don’t worry about him.”
As the conductor took one of the bags, The Shadow closed the door of the drawing-room. The conductor led the way along the aisle, between the rows of curtains through which startled heads were appearing.
“This is far enough,” came the word, when they reached the vestibule. “You can go back.”
THE conductor turned and reentered the car. Quickly, the man with the muffled face opened the door. He dropped the bags to the ground; then ascended the steps to rejoin the conductor. Suddenly, he stopped.
The door of the next car was opening; the white-coated form of a Pullman porter came into view. Unseen, The Shadow dropped from the steps and swung beneath the car, drawing the suitcases after him. Voices sounded from above.
Two men had followed the Pullman porter and the three had stopped in the vestibule.
“Who opened this platform?” came the demand.
“Ah, don’t know, sah,” answered the Pullman porter. “Two men went back into the cah, sah.”
“Where’s the conductor’”
“Back in the cah, ah reckon.”
“Well, we’re State police. Got orders to meet the train here to take over a prisoner. Got here sooner than we expected. Where’s the prisoner?”
“Ah don’t know, sah.”
“Come on,” growled one of the State policemen. “Let’s find the conductor.”
“No,” objected the other. “I don’t like the looks of this open platform. I’m going to drop off and see if any one is around.”
The man suited the words with the action. He dropped to the ground and flashed the rays of an electric torch in all directions. He inspected under the car, but to no avail. The Shadow had slipped away to the other side of the train.
Back by the drawing-room door, the conductor was waiting.
Where was the man with the muffled face? When would he return?
Precious minutes ticked by. The conductor, hesitant, feared to enter the drawing-room. At last his patience was rewarded. Two men came along the aisle — State policemen. They had given up their useless inspection.
“They’re in there,” said the conductor, pointing to the drawing-room.
“Who’s in there?”
“The New York police inspector — and the man he captured.”
A State policeman placed his hand upon the drawing-room door. At that instant, the lock clicked. The door would not open. The conductor produced a key. A muffled blow was heard from within the drawing-room. The lock was rendered useless!
For the delay had been a long one. The return of The Shadow had been averted. Nearly fifteen minutes had elapsed since he had left the drawing-room.
Now, the deadened senses of Bob Maddox had been suddenly reawakened. Using his left arm, he had locked the door just in time to prevent the entry of the State police.
“Open the door!”
Maddox replied with a curse.
THE siege began. Hastily dressed passengers scurried from the car. One State policeman remained guarding the door. The other went to the front of the train to summon two more who had been stationed there.
They crept along the side of the track. They spotted the window of the drawing-room that formed the murderer’s stronghold. They opened fire. Bullets smashed the windows.
Maddox replied with shots. He had two guns — his own and the one The Shadow had left with Zull. He had a supply of cartridges.
Although crippled, he was ambidextrous, and could shoot well left-handed. He forgot all pain in his maddened fury.
From the darkness of his beleaguered drawing-room, he poked his head toward the shattered windowpane and fired wild shots at the vague men in the darkness.
A wild, intermittent gun battle. Maddox aimed with uncanny intuition. One of the State policemen fell, wounded.
Every time the gun flashed from the window, shots responded from without; but Maddox always got away in time. One of the troopers crept along close to the car. Maddox suspected the ruse. He turned his automatic downward.
Two bullets struck the steel surface of the Pullman. One ricocheted and hit the State policeman. The injured man rolled beneath the car just in time to escape a fatal shot.
Maddox crouched beside the shattered window. The cold breeze served to revive him. Grim and determined, he awaited the next attack.
The troopers were retiring. Maddox could see them slinking away. He fired, but they were out of range. He suddenly sensed danger from beneath. He leaned cautiously from the window, sure that he would be unseen.
He fancied that he saw a form below. Down came his gun. Then a black shape seemed to rise. A long, black arm swung upward. It knocked the automatic from the murderer’s hand. A backward blow from that same arm, and cold metal struck Maddox behind his ear. He managed to roll into the safety of the drawing-room, scarcely conscious.
Out of the night, The Shadow had returned to strike!
The retiring State policemen paused. They could not see what had occurred; yet they were sure something had happened to their enemy. The one uninjured trooper dashed boldly to the side of the car. Scrambling up to the window, automatic in hand, he leaned through.
Maddox had lost his loaded gun; now he swung weakly with the empty automatic that remained. The State trooper dropped away, firing point-blank as he escaped the blow.
All was still in the steel-walled stronghold after that.
When the State policeman entered through the window, he found Maddox lying dead, sprawled over the lifeless body of Acting Inspector Zull.
The train moved on its way, with the troopers in charge. The two wounded policemen were taken to a hospital at the next town.
Hardly had the Limited departed from that isolated spot before a roar came from a near-by field, the site of an old landing place for airplanes. A plane rose in the air and sped southward.
AT next morning’s breakfast, New Yorkers read the news. Heroic Herbert Zull had gotten his last man!
Accompanied by one associate, he had boarded the Canadian Limited and had sought to capture Bob Maddox, now known as the escaping murderer who had slain Zachary Mitchell.
Zull had shot Maddox; but evidently the murderer had killed his captor after Zull’s companion had left the train. State police had arrived and finished the criminal after an attack upon his improvised stronghold.
The conductor and the passengers told varied stories. So did the State policemen.
Zull’s companion was unknown. It was probable that the inspector had told him to leave after the capture; that Zull intended to ride on with the prisoner.
It was simply known that Zull had called railway officials, and had arranged the stopping of the train; and that he had also notified State police to appear upon the scene to aid him.
To Bob Galvin, all was confused memory. He was free, back at his uncle’s old home.
Harry Vincent, his temporary companion and friend, had left. But Betty Mandell was home — happy and amazed to find that the real Bob Galvin fulfilled her expectations.
She was able to explain, in part. But both she and Bob were astounded when they received, from a mysterious source, the sum of three hundred thousand dollars, a legacy from the late Theodore Galvin.
Other persons in different parts of the country received sums that they had never expected. The Shadow, aided by the information gained from Theodore Galvin’s papers, made retribution to persons who had been swindled or robbed; and to the relatives of some who had died.
The finding of the bodies in the secret room of the Royal Building was sensational news.
It was learned that Hiram Mallory had led a double life, dealing with crooks to gain wealth. The broken window showed that Garry Elvers had fallen from that spot.
But it did not explain the false impression that Bob Maddox had gained when he had seen the gangster enveloped in The Shadow’s cloak. That had been deceiving in the gloomy room.
It was believed that the secret room was a hideout where the criminals had engaged in conflict among themselves. The two men who might have altered this opinion were dead — Richard Harkness and Zachary Mitchell.
Had the confession of Herbert Zull been made public, it might have been a clew; but The Shadow did not bring it to light. The masquerading inspector had atoned for his misdeeds.
That confession reposed, with Theodore Galvin’s cryptic map, along with other strange and remarkable documents, in the secret archives of The Shadow!