Part 8 (1/2)

The meeting was coming to its end, and apparently it had been a brief one, otherwise Xitli would have ordered the door of the throne room to be locked.

The throned masquerader had given his Aztecs new instructions for this evening; their chant, which The Shadow understood, was merely their way of saying that the commands of the fire G.o.d would be obeyed.

With an automatic wedged through the crack of the door, The Shadow was preparing to end the cult of Xitli by proving that the fire G.o.d was very human; a fact that a single bullet would establish. But he wanted Xitli alive, and therefore was taking very careful aim toward the flame-robed figure. The Shadow's exact.i.tude proved fortunate for Xitli.

Just as The Shadow was ready to squeeze the trigger, Xitli gave a gesture with one hand. Something struck the stone floor of the room; there was a vivid spurt of flame. The dazzle blinded The Shadow, as it did the Aztecs. When he obtained a clear view of the throne, Xitli was gone.

The Aztecs were coming from the throne room. Still blinking, they did not see The Shadow. He drew rapidly away, to the door of an exhibit room. His eyes were keen again, but the Aztecs also had regained full vision.

Battle, at this time, would be fruitless. To meet the Aztecs on their home ground, where they could dive for every cranny and fling stone axes from cover, would mean odds much to The Shadow's disadvantage, with no chance of finding the master murderer who ruled this cult in the guise of Xitli.

Having work ahead, the Aztecs moved toward the stairway, and The Shadow followed. To all appearances, Xitli had gone ahead of the stony-faced tribe. At present, the Aztecs were the persons to be followed, as on that night when they had murdered Carland.

But whatever the crime that Xitli had designed for this evening, with the Aztecs as the perpetrators, The Shadow intended to block it.

The trail led down through the museum cellar, where the Aztecs drew away a loosened block and exited through a grating on the ground level, a few feet above.

There were numerous gratings around the museum; they led to drainage pipes that carried water away from the foundation of the pyramid. The Aztecs had simply used the grating in reverse; whether Xitli had loosened the stone for them, or had left the task to his followers, was something of less importance than the fact that the secret route existed. As before, The Shadow kept close behind the Aztecs, after he, too, had used the grating as an exit. But tonight, the trail was much more certain, because The Shadow called in two waiting aids to help him.

Those two were the Xincas, and they were right in their element. Not only could they move as craftily as the Aztecs; they looked like the squatty men, and could approach very close to them, since the Aztecs mistook them for companions.

Thus, when stretches of light forced The Shadow to remain behind, the Xincas carried through. One followed the Aztecs; the other waited for The Shadow. At no time did the trail show signs of breakage.

The amazing thing was the destination. The Aztecs chose the very area where they were being hunted: the waterfront!

POLICE were on hand in plenty, but the Aztecs filtered right through the loose cordon. In the main, they chose alleys; but at intervals, they scaled low roofs. They formed as insidious a swarm as any that The Shadow had ever hunted; coppery men, who moved with the stealth of reptiles and, moreover, resembled snakes in the hissed signals that they exchanged.

At last, the Aztecs reached their goal. They became a close-knit cordon around the doorway of an old, forgotten frame house that was squeezed among other buildings. The door was evidently the rear entrance to the house, and to cover it, the Aztecs chose various vantage spots.

Some lay in the shelter of a little fence; others crouched in an alley. The rest were on top of adjacent sheds, from which they could fling axes with increased effect.

The Shadow drew the two Xincas to a deserted house, pointing them to a low roof. Taking their positions, they produced arrows and short, thick bows.

The Xincas were deadly with such weapons, and their present duty was to be ready with a barrage against the Aztecs, should it be necessary to cover The Shadow's advance. There was enough light, fringing the yard that the Aztecs watched, for the Xincas to pick out the hatchet-armed fighters.

Then, along the darkness of the ground, The Shadow entered the death yard, alone. Entry was easy, for the Aztecs were watching the rear of the frame house. Approaching the door, however, was a feat requiring all The Shadow's skill.

He had to move with the trickling effect of cloudy smoke; and did. His black figure was as flitting as the shadowy motion of the wavering palm trees near the door that he sought.

Inch by inch, it seemed, The Shadow blotted the darkened door itself, and gradually eased his way inside, m.u.f.fling the very creaks of the woodwork with the folds of his enveloping cloak.

He was inside, the door closed behind him; next came a pa.s.sage to a room where he heard voices. The Shadow approached, and peered at faces that he had seen before.

Pierre Laboutard was in conference with his motley band; this was their new hide-out, and Laboutard, backed by Jaro, was a.s.suring them that they had nothing to worry about. He didn't consider it good policy even to lock the door, or place guards about.

”Perhaps the police find us,” suggested Laboutard. ”If they do, what can it matter? Like many other people, we are staying away from trouble. So we wait, and say nothing. But if the police do not find us, so much the better.”

Laboutard's comments brought approving nods. His men weren't asking him about the ”other job” that they had once discussed. They had done enough crime in the past to be particular about the present. Asfor the future, it would have to wait until the Aztec scare was ended.

A jangle sounded from a side room, reached from the hall where The Shadow stood. Drawing back, The Shadow waited while Laboutard went alone to answer the telephone. He saw the crafty look on Laboutard's face, listened while the man talked to someone who had called. There was a light in the little room, and through the crack of the door The Shadow observed a tightening of Laboutard's expression.

”Ah, oui,” said Laboutard. ”They have been done, those things you wish, but not by me. So you wonder why I call, eh?”

The Shadow recognized that Laboutard was referring to the murders of Carland and Dorn, tasks on which he had hedged. The man who wanted those murders done had found a better way. He had taken advantage of the Aztecs, and made himself their ruler.

Laboutard, at this moment, was talking to the master mind who called himself Xitli!

OBVIOUSLY, Laboutard knew who Xitli really was, and had sent him word to call this number.

Smoothly, Laboutard was planning a shakedown. He wanted hush money from the master plotter who styled himself Xitli. Naturally, Laboutard wasn't putting it too bluntly. His words were actually purred.

”You promise me that I could kill those men” - Laboutard was referring to Carland and Dorn - ”and while I wait, pouf! - I find it is already done. It is not fair that you should forget me, after we make the bargain.”

His face shrewd, Laboutard listened to Xitli's reply. Evidently Xitli was not willing to pay for work that the Aztecs had done in place of Laboutard's men. But the wily Laboutard expected such refusal.

”But I tell my men so much,” insisted Laboutard. ”I tell them everything m'sieu', about those men you say for us to kill. Everything, oui, except why you wish such murder.”

A brief pause; then Laboutard added, cunningly: ”You think I do not know why you wish murder? Ah, you are very foolish. You should remember that I come from the bayou, where I paddle many places in my pirogue. I see many thing while in my canoe. I learn - Ah, you understand?”

Triumph gleamed on Laboutard's shrewd features. He was driving home the very point he wanted. But there were things that Laboutard could see, and learn about, without making another trip to the delta of the Mississippi. Things right here in New Orleans, which were happening right around him.

Shadowy patches were creeping in upon Laboutard, climbing onto the wall beside him. Suddenly startled, Laboutard remembered his old enemy, The Shadow. He wheeled from the telephone and gave a sharp cry of alarm.

But it wasn't sight of The Shadow that caused Laboutard's consternation. The Shadow was still away from view, beyond the hallway door. Other figures had caused the creeping blackness.

Pierre Laboutard was enmeshed by a half circle of Aztecs, chunky warriors who had come in from the windows of this room while Laboutard was busy at the telephone. They were menacing him, with their raised hatchets, as if waiting a signal to bury the weapons in their victim.

From the dangling telephone receiver that Laboutard had dropped came a harsh, significant chuckle: the tone of Xitli!

CHAPTER XV. LINKS IN CRIME

FACED by the horrendous Aztecs, Pierre Laboutard showed frantic changes of expression that told a story which needed no words. Peering from the doorway, waiting with leveled gun, The Shadow could read the entire tale. It summed to this: Laboutard knew too much.

Xitli had foreseen that Laboutard would try a shakedown, demanding cash for silence regarding the motives of, as well as knowledge of, the man who had ordered the deaths of Carland and Dorn. So Xitli had postponed his telephone call until his Aztecs were on the ground. The jangle of the telephone bell had been the signal for the squatly killers to creep in upon Laboutard.

At that moment, The Shadow could have taken toll among the Aztecs. But to do so would have been sure death for Laboutard. Other Aztecs had crept in from the windows, to support the ones who held Laboutard encircled. The newcomers were watching the door, and would handle matters from that direction.

So The Shadow waited in the darkened hall, preserving Laboutard's life for the simple reason that Laboutard was the one man whose testimony could prove the ident.i.ty of Xitli.

Numbly, Laboutard groped for the telephone receiver and found it. Then, in gasps, he was pleading over the wire, promising anything if Xitli would spare him. The Shadow had foreseen that Xitli would give Laboutard a chance to beg; otherwise, the Aztecs would have struck down their victim without waiting.

”Ah, non!” gulped Laboutard. ”I did not mean that I would ever talk. I meant that because of things I know, I thought that I could be useful to you... Ah, oui, I can do anything you ask, and my men will help... Non, they do not know why you wished murder. None know, I swear it; not even Jaro!”

The plea seemed to bring results, for Laboutard's voice returned to normal, as did his expression. Then: ”You think I work for someone else?” queried Laboutard. ”That I take something from the museum, and from the Amazonia?... Very well, I say I have done those things. I take treasure from the boxes, and no one find out... Oui, I do it for the man you name, and he has given me the pay...

”Ah, very good!” Laboutard's tone showed his approval of Xitli's cunning. ”You wish me to rob the man who has the treasure... Why not? If he do not watch it, he should lose it... We go and take it, right away, and bring it wherever you say.”