whose fingers bore rings of doom!
A low, grim laugh whispered in the darkness above the dead figure on the floor. It was still The Shadow's task to find a master mind of murder!
CHAPTER XV. CREEP OF DOOM
UNDER the lamplight, Lenfell's face seemed to grimace upward at the eyes above it, as though the man enjoyed the death that had come his way. Certainly, Lenfell had more cause to grin in death than in life.
Had he been living at this moment, he would not have grinned at all.
There wasn't a doubt that Lenfell had betrayed the trust that others had placed in him. But his crimes did not include murder. Lenfell, alone, could point the finger upon the master plotter who had gone still further, to trick him along with his dupes.
Lenfell's knowledge, however, was locked as tightly as the teeth that gritted from the midst of his wide death grin.
The trouble was that Lenfell had known too little. Had he known enough, he would not have been lying dead.
Thinking in terms of the unlocked door below, The Shadow came to a new conclusion. There was another reason why that door was open, and a good one. It could mean that Lenfell still expected visits from members of the secret six, not knowing that death was to befall them. A good explanation, since it gave a plausible reason for Lenfell's own death.
Considering the complexities that Lenfell's death produced, The Shadow turned toward the large safe that stood at the rear of the financier's study. Catching the glow of the lamplight, the glistening bulk added challenge of its own.
Like its owner, Lenfell, the safe refused to talk. But it might be possible to pry facts from the safe, instead of Lenfell's grinning jaws. Stepping to the safe, The Shadow crouched, pressed his gloved fingers against the dial.
Before he could test the intricate combination, The Shadow was attracted by a sound outside the study.
It came as a slow creeping, and it was close, yet elusive, as it traveled along the hall.
Having heard no creaks from the stairs, The Shadow was sure that the creeping arrival must have been cautious while coming up from the ground floor, only to drop the guarded manner as he neared Lenfell's study.
Adding that to previous facts, The Shadow found the answer.
The man whose creeps were coming closer was the murderer of Armand Lenfell!
Such logic was perfect. In his own approach, The Shadow had moved silently all the way. The newcomer had done the same only as far as the second floor. He was taking pains to avoid being heard by servants in the kitchen, but once near Lenfell's study, he did not care what sounds he made. It meant that the approacher knew that he would find Lenfell dead.
Properly translated, the facts proved that this was Lenfell's murderer. If not, the creeper would still be using caution.
Turning from the safe, The Shadow sidled into darkness, drawing an automatic, to await the appearance of the creeping criminal who was in the hall. Yet, even to The Shadow's skilled ears, the approaching sound was elusive. At moments, it seemed close, then far away until, when The Shadow did not actually expect it, a huddling figure showed itself within the doorway.
Even when close, the creeping man's face could not be distinguished. The Shadow, himself, was partially to blame. He had turned the lamp so it no longer shone toward the door. Creeping footsteps entered, their maker with them, and the huddling man kept looking toward the desk for a sight of Lenfell. The action turned his face away from The Shadow.
Of one thing only was The Shadow certain: that this was not Dwig Brencott, nor any of the slick crook's crew. This was the master criminal, in person, the conniver who had somehow managed to pass death along with the faulty sapphires that Lenfell had given out.
So far, the chief criminal had not shown his hand on other scenes of death, but he obviously had business here in Lenfell's study.
Drawing still farther into darkness, The Shadow watched. He saw the crouched man reach the safe and begin to thumb the dial without the need of extra light. Evidently, the interloper knew the combination, which indicated that he had visited these premises while Lenfell was alive.
What the murderer was about, The Shadow did not fully know, though he could guess. To substantiate his opinion, he glided forward, moving close behind the man at the safe.
Never before had The Shadow sought to trap an intruder who possessed such sharpened senses. Only the most suspicious of eyes could have spied the glide of darkness across the already dimmed floor. Few ears could have caught the slight swish of The Shadow's cloak.
Perhaps the crouching safe-tapper possessed some uncanny ability to recognize the approach of a challenger. Whatever the case, he sensed The Shadow's presence.
LIKE an uncoiling snake, the crouched man unlimbered. Spinning around, he flung himself straight for The Shadow, whipping out a revolver as he came. There wasn't time to sight the man's face, for the light was behind him. All that The Shadow could do was meet the lightning attack by as quick a counterthrust.
Swinging his gun hand in a wide arc, The Shadow outdid his foe in point of speed. Guns clashed, automatic against revolver, before the unknown man could give a trigger tug. The force of The Shadow's stroke slashed the weapon from his adversary's hand.
With the blow, The Shadow delivered a low but recognizable laugh - a taunt that would have fazed an ordinary criminal. The mirth did not work with this man.
His gun lost, the creeper simply took advantage of his weaponless condition. In bashing the revolver, The Shadow had swung himself off balance, and quick eyes noted the fact. Long arms shot forward; one hand caught The Shadow's wrist, while the other sped to his throat. His own gun forced upward, The Shadow hadn't time to fire.
He did the next best thing. A quick twist, a backward fling, and The Shadow was starting his opponent on a jujitsu flip that should have carried him to the wall. But the master criminal performed an amazing gyration in midair and did a side twist of his own. Though he struck the floor, the twist that he gave The Shadow's wrist was sufficient to yank away the cloaked fighter's automatic.
Undaunted, The Shadow drove anew for his foe. By then, they were halfway to the door, well distant from the desk lamp.
In this first battle with Jan Garmath, the creeper who had come to Lenfell's study, The Shadow was meeting with surprising opposition. But it wasn't the sort that could continue. Clutching his snakish adversary, The Shadow managed to get his gloved hands on the man's neck.
A quick choke and Garmath would be helpless, his identity revealed as soon as The Shadow could drag him to the light. But Garmath, tugging at the gloved hand's that throttled him managed to raise an outcry.
He shouted, not in his own voice but in excellent imitation of Lenfell's tone:
'Help! Andrew - George - help! They are murdering me!'
In the midst of his cries, Garmath managed a side twist toward the desk. He was still wrestling hard against The Shadow when Lenfell's servants arrived. They came with a promptitude that The Shadow had not expected.
Piling through the door, they saw a writhe of blackness blocking off the light from the desk lamp. Hurling themselves upon The Shadow, they tried to haul him from a victim that they thought must be their master, Lenfell.
The servants were only half successful, but Garmath supplied the rest. Out of The Shadow's clutch, he ducked around the desk leaving the cloaked fighter in the hands of Andrew and George. They were too ardent in their attack to observe Garmath's quick flight.
Only The Shadow saw the running man who scooped up the revolver from the floor and kept on his way.
But The Shadow had no chance to spy Garmath's face. The smart crook did not show it.
Flinging Andrew in one direction, George in the other, The Shadow recovered his automatic and went after Garmath, with George and Andrew following. Garmath was at the bottom of the front stairs when The Shadow reached the top; he was slamming the front door when his cloaked pursuer arrived at the bottom of the stairway.
