A low-built coupe was whirling along a Pennsylvania highway, its yellow hood shining in the moonlight. Two men were laughing as they watched the road flow rapidly beneath the wheels of the car.
"Great work, Frenchy," said the man at the right. He turned and opened a box that lay in the center of the seat.
The box was cubical, measuring approximately one foot in each dimension. It rested free between Chefano and Frenchy; its opened lid revealed a shimmer of sparkling contents that caught the glint of the dash light. Chefano closed the lid and turned a key. Leaning back, he stared forward through the windshield.
"Lucky it was gems instead of gold," asserted Frenchy, his eyes intent on the road ahead. "They must have used the gold for other purposes and sent the sparklers over here because they were easier to carry."
"That's probably the idea," said Chefano. "I wonder how that messenger brought them in. He must have smuggled them."
"Getting by the American customs would be easy," was Frenchy's reply. "Easy, compared to sneaking them out of Russia. Why worry about it, Chefano? We've got them. That's enough."
"Yes, and we're lucky. I wonder who it was that let those fellows loose. Could it have been The Shadow they were talking about? Was that him fighting Jupe on the tower, do you suppose?"
"Probably. And he got what was coming to him."
"I wonder where Jupe went."
"I suppose he's hiding somewhere. Why think about him? You're better off without him, Chefano. He's done his work. He doesn't know enough to talk, even. He can't give you away if they do catch him."
Chefano laughed. Frenchy could see his lips twist as he gazed in the mirror of the car. He thought he saw a dark form, too, and two tiny spots of light, like fires. It was not wise to watch the mirror, going at his high speed.
"It's been a wild night," said Chefano. "First that little surprise you didn't warn me about. That worked out very nicely when we put the two men on the rack. We handled the Russian messenger in the best possible way. When he walked in with the box under his arm, thinking we must be friends, I couldn't resist it. It was so easy to knock him down without any argument.
"Yes," agreed Frenchy, "but if you had had your way and opened the box right then and there it would have been very bad when Vincent and the Englishman came in. I shoved the box under the table while we decided what to do next. One minute later they popped up."
"We did the best thing when we ran for it," said Chefano. "They never thought to watch us while that fight was going on up at the top of the tower. When I got loose and started to free you, my one idea was to get the box and clear out."
"They couldn't have followed us through the woods," said Frenchy. "If they had known where my car was — in that old barn down the pike — it might have been bad. But once we were away — well, we're going to keep right on going."
"We?" said Chefano sharply. "We? You've been paid for your work, Frenchy. It's my lookout from now on. But you've been so useful that I'm going to give you some extra cash."
"You'll split the swag fifty-fifty," asserted Frenchy.
"What do you mean?" demanded Chefano. "How about Isaac Coffran? I've worked with him for years."
"Leave him out this time."
"Nothing doing. I'm too wise for that, Frenchy. I don't double-cross any one so smart as he is."
"All right. Split it three ways, then."
* * *
Chefano's lips twitched as he seemed to consider the matter.
"I'll tell you what, Frenchy," he said. "Twenty-five per cent for you, deducting what you've already received. That is, if Coffran will agree."
Frenchy's teeth shone as he smiled. He did not reply at once. The car was following a curving course; his eyes were on the road as he tried to maintain the rapid speed.
At last he spoke.
"That might do," he said. "But when you figure that we have the swag now — all ours — here in this car—"
He stopped as Chefano uttered a sharp exclamation. Frenchy looked down at the jewel box. A hand was upon it — a hand that came through the open window at the back of the coupe! Only the hand was visible in the moonlight. Frenchy could not see the arm.
"You have the swag?" whispered a mocking voice. "You are wrong. It is mine!"
The gloved hand lifted the box by the handle. The motion was slow — deliberate — uncanny. Frenchy's eyes had leaped back to the road as he righted the car along a sloping curve.
"I won't stop, Chefano!" he cried. "He can't get away at this speed. We're going too fast. Grab him! It's The Shadow!"
Chefano thrust his hands toward the box, which was almost to the rear window. A black-clad arm swung the box swiftly to the right. It crashed against Chefano's face.
Frenchy's right arm was quick. With a swift glance he directed his motion and caught hold of the box with his hand. He still watched the road, steering the car rapidly around a bend with his left hand on the wheel.
"Help me!" he exclaimed to Chefano.
There was no response. The other man was groggy from the blow he had received.
Frenchy felt the box slipping from his clutch. He turned his head in desperation. He saw a black form at the back window of the car. He threw another glance at the road, then vainly tried to halt the momentum of the car.
Not twenty-five feet ahead was a red light of warning, mounted upon a white fence that marked a sharp turn in the road. It was too late for action then. The automobile smashed the heavy fence as though it had been built of match sticks. Over the edge plunged the car — a sheer drop into the river below.
The men in the car were trapped as the automobile sank beneath the water's surface. The river was deep beneath the cliff. The coupe turned completely over as it fell, tossing its occupants about inside the body.
But before the car reached the water, a long figure shot clear of it and was precipitated twenty feet beyond.
Out in the river a head appeared among the ripples that had followed the tremendous splash. The head seemed to float for a few moments, then the swimmer struck out for shore. He clambered from the river; in his hand he supported a box.
The hand of The Shadow had regained the stolen wealth. The box had been plucked from the death car the instant that it had made its fatal plunge.
But there had been no escape for Frenchy and Chefano. Trapped within the closed doors of the coupe, the crooks had been enveloped by a surge of water through the opened rear window. Their car had sunk into a hollowed depth beneath the cliff. Thirty feet below the stream's surface, two fiends of crime had found their proper doom.
* * *
On the following evening, Harry Vincent and Major Hubert Weston arrived at the home of Bruce Duncan. They brought with them Berchik, the messenger of the late Prince Samanov. They had come following instructions which Vincent had received by wireless early in the morning.
The loss of the Samanov fortune had come as a stunning blow to Bruce. His duty still remained — to recover the jewels and to divide them among the heirs of the unfortunate men who had been murdered.
"We have only one hope," maintained Harry Vincent. "I expect The Shadow to act immediately against Isaac Coffran. The old man is in the game. Through him we may locate the stolen wealth. He must be forced to give us information that will lead us to the two crooks who escaped."
"Isaac Coffran is gone," replied Bruce Duncan soberly. "We have no clue. Remember, Abdul and I have a score to settle with that man. Last night Abdul visited the old house with my consent. The place was empty. The door was unlocked. Everything of value had been removed. Isaac Coffran is too clever to have left a single trace that would tell where he has gone."
The men looked at one another gloomily. Each was thoughtful, but their silence indicated that none of them could propose a course of action.
The door opened. Abdul entered, for once the calm Hindu seemed excited. He was carrying a cube-shaped box; already his fingers were turning the key that projected from its lock. The lid came open as Bruce Duncan seized the casket.
Vivid sparkles flashed from within the box. Out upon the table, Bruce poured a dazzling array of shimmering gems: rubies, sapphires, emeralds, along with glinting diamonds. A rare topaz slid to the edge of the table. Berchik stopped the skidding gem; then dipped his fingers into the mass of treasure.
"The Samanov jewels!" cried the Russian. "Here — all here! They have been regained!"
"Who brought them here?" queried Bruce Duncan, turning to Abdul.
"There was a knock at the door, sahib," declared the Hindu, solemnly. "When I opened the door, the box was upon the steps. I saw no one — no one but a great dark shadow. I saw two burning spots, like eyes. Then they were gone. Only darkness stayed there, sahib."
While the others stared at Abdul in amazement, a thought flashed through Harry Vincent's brain. Those spots that Abdul had seen were living eyes; the burning optics of a weird avenger who had conquered crime. They were eyes that Harry had seen in the past; eyes that he would see again, when he encountered new adventures in the service of a mysterious master whose command meant law to Harry Vincent.
The eyes of The Shadow!