hand. Frantically, Rundon tried to make his throw; but the roar of a gun stopped him. He seemed to stiffen in his pit.
With the recoil, The Shadow whirled; he hurled Harry and the sheriff back along the passage. A howl sounded, as Rundon's wounded form went straight down, the light and the bomb going with it. After moments of interminable suspense, scurrying men heard the bomb's great blast.
The Shadow's gunshot had echoed loud. This report actually drove air ahead of it. The ground was quivering; masses of ore were collapsing; walls of the old shaft were dancing, as The Shadow rushed his companions between them.
Having confined the blast to the lower pit, The Shadow had gained moments that proved vital. Ahead of the deafening, increasing roar, he and the men with him dived out to the ground before the underground avalanche could overtake them.
The explosion had found one victim only, the man responsible for it. Niles Rundon, leader and only survivor of a criminal band, had finished his career, by blowing himself to atoms and burying his scattered remains beneath tons of shattered rock.
From the outer darkness came a quivering laugh, that seemed to pick up the reverberations of the blast and add a touch of triumph to their fading echoes. Those who heard it recognized the laugh of The Shadow.
Later, the wind quieted, the surface of Lake Calada lay motionless. Waters of crime had stilled; but their blackness showed the reflection to two twinkling lights, red and green, that seemed to scoot through vast depths.
The lights themselves were high above; they came from the night plane bound for Los Angeles. Among the passengers were two who glanced back, as the plane banked, for their last look at Lake Calada.
Lamont Cranston and his friend Harry Vincent had finished their play with Henry Denwood. They could count their work complete.
Black though the waters lay, they harbored crime no longer. Evil had gone from Lake Calada, banished by The Shadow!
THE END.
