"Like my father did!" exclaimed Eleanor. "His paintings were proven false! He couldn't believe it. That is why he committed suicide."
"As Tyrune did!"
WITH those words, The Shadow's eyes met Eleanor's. His gaze called for action that The Shadow had told her would be needed. His back toward Chanbury, The Shadow was playing his master stroke. He was giving Chanbury an opening to betray himself without further proof.
Chanbury took it. Springing back from the desk, he yanked a gun from his pocket and aimed straight for The Shadow. The cloaked form faded; but its shift was unnecessary. Eleanor had acted at The Shadow's signal. She had the automatic from her pocket; she pressed the trigger before Chanbury could fire.
The crook staggered, a bullet in his elbow. Cardona and the detectives were surging for him. Their revolvers withered him as he tried to prop his right hand with his left. The grizzled crook rolled forward on the desk; toppled sideways and fell to the floor.
There was a clatter in the hall. Chanbury had counted on his servants; they were here, but too late to rescue him, thanks to the crippling shot that Eleanor had supplied. Crooks to the core, the armed invaders were willing to riddle Cardona's squad; but their chance never came.
Blackness blocked the door in front of them. Big automatics sprawled the foremost of the band. Others flung their guns aside; they cowered, arms raised in surrender. The Shadow's laugh echoed along the gallery. The lips of stolen portraits seemed to quiver in reply.
The mocking tone faded. Into the room came Chanbury's followers, herded by The Shadow. Detectives clapped handcuffs on them. Cardona drew Henshew from his chair. The prisoners began their slow march outward. Cardona ushered Eleanor from the room of death.
The girl gave one glance as she left. Faces from the past reflected her gaze: those wall portraits, to which Eleanor had become accustomed. But there were other faces here tonight, as stilled as painted ones.
They stared from the floor. Shark Meglo's, the face of a murderer; beyond that, the face of Michael Chanbury. Frozen in death, Chanbury's visage had lost its mask of pretense. Its hardened lines showed the murderous character of the man.
Madden Henshew, clever man of crime, had been trapped through the genius of a crook greater than himself.
The Shadow had allowed that outcome, that he might bring a similar disaster upon Henshew's crooked trapper, Michael Chanbury.
No longer did The Shadow linger in the mansion. His triumph finished, he had departed, while the law was rounding up the last prisoners that he had given them. Only Cardona was with Eleanor when she walked through the long gallery toward the marble stairs.
Yet a presence still lingered - one that had dominated from the start. Every move by men of crime had been under The Shadow's surveillance until the conquest of evil stood complete. Only The Shadow could have produced such absolute victory.
The lines of portraits seemed to smile from the walls of the long gallery, as if they knew that they alone had witnessed the departure of The Shadow.
THE END
FB2 document info
Document ID: 979ff0db-d312-4126-b529-bd4fd3bc4641
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 22.8.2012
Created using: calibre 0.8.65, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Maxwell Grant
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The Shadow Unmasks s-131 Page 14
