Denby Chadwick stood aghast. The Shadow's words were true. There, in his hand, was the evidence. The timetable showed the local and the express, scheduled side by side.
"A perfect alibi!" declared The Shadow. "But not one of your testifiers stated that he had seen you while the train was between Essington and Newark.
"You were at work then. At five thirty, you took the local. At six five, you left it at Essington. At six thirty-five, you boarded the express at Chester. You walked a little more than a mile in twenty-five minutes, and committed murder on the way!
"At seven three, the express reached Newark. You took the local again at seven six. That was when you went to the smoker and joined the men there. You were with them when the train reached Havre de Grace at seven forty-five.
"This sheet of paper ends your alibi. You are a murderer — even though it was Delmuth who urged you to the crime. You will pay the penalty for that murder, Denby Chadwick.
"Tonight, a marked copy of this time-table goes in the mail to the authorities. It was I who sent you the telegram, bringing you here tonight, that you might learn that your crime was known!" Frenzied, Chadwick started to reach for his gun. The sight of an automatic in a black-gloved hand withheld him. He stood, trembling, while The Shadow swept across the room and stood before the door.
"You have committed murder," came the accusing voice. "Your crime is known. The penalty for such a crime is death!"
The man in black was gone, vanished in an instant. The Shadow had other work to do tonight. Denby Chadwick stood beside the body of Sidney Delmuth. The Shadow's last words echoed in his ears.
"The penalty for such a crime is death."
Slowly, mechanically, the young man stooped and picked up his gun. He stood like a man in a trance. His next action was deliberate. He pointed the gun toward himself, and stared into the muzzle. A second shot sounded in Delmuth's apartment. Denby Chadwick lay on the floor, beside the body of the man he had killed.