footsteps went hurrying along the hall, and Warren could hear Holley’s shouts to those below.
What could be done now? The others would be here - Gorson and Farman - and Holley was outside blocking the only avenue of escape. Warren leaped to the revolver and plucked it from the floor. For a moment he was determined to fight his way out of here; then he realized that such a course would change his innocence to guilt.
Confronted by an incredible dilemma, Warren could only grope mentally until he found a middle course. He would remain here, hoping for the best. But he would not let the invaders through the door!
The young man’s mind was dazed. He wanted to seize the telephone and call Clark Brosset; but now he heard new footsteps in the hall. To call Clark might incriminate his friend.
“Open this door!” Police Chief Gorson was shouting as he pounded on the portal. “Open this door! In the name of the law!”
Still holding the revolver limply in his right hand, Warren advanced step by step, moving like a somnambulist. He paused as he neared the door, sensing rather than hearing Gorson’s new shouts.
AGAIN, the room was plunged in darkness. It came so suddenly that Warren merely accepted it as a natural occurrence. The clock on Jasper Delthern’s desk had ticked a full ten minutes since shots had echoed through this room; but Warren’s groping brain had no sense of the time that had elapsed since the former period of darkness.
“Open the door!”
A light switch clicked close by the spot where Warren stood. Turning, the young man staggered in new terror. Standing before him was a tall being clad in black! Like a ghost, this phantom shape had appeared. Warren, bewildered, took it for a living portion of the blackness that had remained after the dark was gone.
Sensing a menace, Warren raised the hand that held the revolver. A long arm shot forward. A black-gloved hand gripped Warren’s wrist. Finding himself staring into a pair of blazing eyes that glowed from beneath a broad- brimmed slouch hat, Warren let the revolver drop from his clutch.
The Shadow had arrived. Heedless of the pounding blows that were falling upon the door, the black-cloaked master calmly released Warren Barringer’s wrist. He drew the glove from his left hand. Upon a long white finger, he revealed a glittering gem that shone in sparkling hues.
Warren Barringer tottered. The scene seemed to shift. He fancied almost that he was back in Lamont Cranston’s curio room. For he was staring into the ever-changing depths of the spark-emitting girasol, that mysterious stone that could never be forgotten by anyone who had felt its spell!
A low voice whispered into Warren’s ear. Its tones were commanding. The sight of the girasol made Warren know that a friend had come to aid him. The words impressed themselves upon his brain as effectively as if they had been his own secret thoughts.
“Be calm.” The Shadow’s tones brought confidence. “Whatever has happened, speak the truth. Protest your innocence. Demand that Clark Brosset be brought to testify in your behalf. His presence - the facts he knows - they alone can aid you.”
The whispered voice paused as a shattering stroke shook a panel in the heavy door.
“Remember,” resumed The Shadow. “Have Clark Brosset aid you. Here, in this room. At once. Insist upon his help to prove your statements. When I have gone, open the door. Submit to arrest without a struggle.”
Warren Barringer nodded. Staring at the girasol, he saw the black glove slide over the finger that wore it. He turned his gaze upward after the strange gem had gone from view. He watched the eyes of The Shadow; but in his range of vision, he could see a black-gloved hand reach for the light switch.
Darkness. The swishing of a cloak, audible despite the heavy pounding on the door. Warren Barringer’s ears caught the tones of a whispered laugh that crept weirdly through the blackened room.
On came the lights. Moving mechanically to the door, gripping the key with one hand, and the knob with the other, Warren Barringer prepared to admit the men who were pounding from the opposite side.
But his eyes were wandering about the room, wondering as they looked for the strange personage who had worn the talismanic ring of Lamont Cranston - the circlet with the mystic girasol.
There was no sign of The Shadow. The black-clad master of darkness had vanished completely with the coming of the light!
CHAPTER XXIII
EVIDENCE OF MURDER
JASPER DELTHERN’S study had become an inquest room. Police Chief Sidney Gorson was standing just within the door. Before him, seated in front of the desk, was Warren Barringer, head bowed and hands cuffed.
Two uniformed policemen were present. Horatio Farman, pale of face, was seated in a corner. On the floor, the gruesome body of Jasper Delthern still stared upward in mute testimony of murder.
The revolver was lying on the floor where Warren had dropped it when The Shadow had been here. Police Chief Gorson was constantly shifting his gaze from the weapon to Warren Barringer.
“Well,” growled Gorson, “we’ve got the goods on you, Barringer! You say you don’t know how this happened, but it looks plain to me. Come along now - are you going to talk?”
“I’m waiting for Clark Brosset,” responded Warren.
Chief Gorson laughed. It was the twentieth time that Warren had made that statement.
“He’ll be here shortly now,” promised the police chief. “We sent for him when you insisted. It’s not going to help you, Barringer. There’s only one man who could have killed Jasper Delthern. That man is you.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Three men appeared: a policeman, Holley, and Clark Brosset. Warren Barringer raised his head, and his eyes gleamed hopefully. Brosset, serious of expression, approached and tapped him on the shoulder. Then, noting Jasper Delthern’s body, the president of the City Club stepped away in momentary horror.
“What’s this, Warren?” he queried. “You - you haven’t killed him?”
“No,” responded Warren.
“Here are the facts, Mr. Brosset,” informed Gorson, taking the floor. “Warren Barringer came up to this room with Jasper Delthern. The servant came to summon them downstairs. He found the door locked. No answer. I was below. He called me and others. We hammered at the door, and Barringer opened it. We found him and Jasper’s body.”
“I didn’t do it!” cried Warren. “I didn’t kill him! There was a shot in the dark -“
“He asked for you,” inserted Gorson, speaking to Brosset. “Said he wouldn’t talk until you came. We can’t see what that has to do with it.”
“Tell them, Clark!” pleaded Warren.
“I KNOW why Warren Barringer wanted me here,” declared Clark Brosset frankly. “He told me some time ago that he suspected Jasper Delthern of murder. He overheard Jasper talking on the telephone at the City Club.”
“To whom?” queried Gorson.
“To Wellington, the servant here,” responded Brosset. “Warren Barringer came here immediately. Afterward, he returned and told me that Humphrey Delthern had been murdered.”
“Wait a minute!” Gorson was on his feet. “You mean that on the night when Humphrey Delthern was killed, Warren Barringer came here -“
“Yes,” broke in Warren. “I was here. In this room. Someone turned out the lights, and when they came on again, Humphrey was dead. Wellington came in; he grabbed for me. The lights went out again, and someone shot Wellington.”
“What did you do then?” inquired the police chief, in a sarcastic tone.
“I left,” admitted Warren. “I went back to the City Club and told Clark Brosset that Jasper Delthern was a murderer.”
“Ah! You saw Jasper here?”
“No,” admitted Warren slowly, “I knew he was coming here -“
“You did, eh?” Gorson was derisive as he turned to Clark Brosset. “Did you know that Jasper was coming here that night?”
“Only because Warren Barringer told me,” declared Brosset. “You see, Warren confided in me as a friend. He
