Part 11 (1/2)
For one thing, Carlton Sauber couldn't yet have reached this meeting place in the reptilian guise that branded him as the Black Dragon. As for The Shadow's agents, they would be at least ten minutes behind the double-dealer whose departure Steve had witnessed.
Meanwhile, the drama was centered in the meeting room, and it was drama indeed. First, the creaks. They weren't the sound of footfalls; rather they were only the groaning of loose floor boards, purposely arranged so that even the tread of The Shadow would disturb them. Reaching the center of the room, the creaks stopped amid the absolute darkness.
A long time seemed to pa.s.s, but only because moments lingered in this place that was like a tomb, a purpose for which it happened to be intended. The proof that an insidious climax was at hand came when lights appeared, creeping from mere flecks of redness into a gradually increasing glow that soon revealed the room and the stranger it contained.
Standing in the center of the room was The Shadow. As the lights disclosed him, the cloaked figure hunched lower and began to turn about. His posture showed that he was ready to whip guns from beneath his cloak, should enemies invade this room. But so far The Shadow was alone. At moments he gazed toward the gilded throne, but observing it to be empty, he continued to lookelsewhere.
The Shadow's back was almost turned when a puff came from the throne.
There, as if conjured from thin air, sat the Black Dragon. As if startled by the puff of smoke, The Shadow wheeled about, too late. One of the Dragon's hands had already flipped a signal that went with the sharp hiss from his fang-embroidered mouth.
The walls of this room had more than ears. They held fighters. With a rip, panels crashed from the ornamental screens. Guns stabbed the openings that ripped further to disgorge a dozen members of the Dragon Clan, all aiming for their cloaked enemy - The Shadow!
Knives, too, were flaying through the air, to find their mark in that hated figure of justice. In one instantaneous swoop, the murderous horde had overwhelmed The Shadow before he could fire a single shot in return!
Halted, the a.s.sa.s.sinating band expected to see the bullet-riddled victim collapse. Instead, The Shadow laughed!
SNARLS came from killers as they shrank back toward the broken panels.
Those snarls were drowned by the sharper, louder hiss of the Black Dragon as he arose from his throne. He would end this illusion, nullify this strange chance whereby The Shadow, through some sheer trick, was standing dead on his feet, his lips forcing a laugh that they had begun before the hail of knives and bullets reached him.
Advancing with a drawn knife of his own, the Black Dragon stopped just short of The Shadow, intending to slash the blade into his rival's heart. The Dragon paused, his hiss triumphant. The figure of The Shadow was swaying; its collapse had begun.
Such was the introduction to another marvel.
The Shadow did not fall. His sway became a shrink. He was dwindling, before eyes that now included the Dragon's in their astonished circle, to something that was formless! A thing that couldn't be The Shadow, yet was, for from the shape that folded into itself came the same challenge that amazed men had heard before: The laugh of The Shadow!
Down to the floor where it spread like an enormous ink blot that crept, with its hemmed cloak transformed into tentacles, toward the murderers who couldn't kill! Such was the action of this thing that had once been The Shadow, and still was!
From the blot, itself, issued The Shadow's laugh, louder, more strident than before!
To dispel the illusion that so outmatched his own arts, the Black Dragon stooped forward to clutch at the spread cloak and the slouch hat that tilted from the top of the cloth blot. Then, his hiss changed to an angry snarl, the Dragon waved his hand instead, as though such menial work belonged to others.
None of the Dragon Clan sensed their master's fear. One was bold enough to obey the Black Dragon's order.
Springing forward, a rangy killer grabbed the hat and flung it, at the same time scooping up the cloak. Timed to the action came a louder mockery, with ita gun spurt from the midst of the blackened folds. The Dragon man who had dared defy The Shadow, paid his penalty before the cloak could leave his hand.
Face forward, the killer sprawled, gave a kick that turned him over and lay face upward, his eyes staring into the ruddy glow. There was horror in those dead eyes, as though they had seen the invisible hand that could deliver vengeance from nowhere!
The Shadow's laugh ended at the same instant. Madly, the Black Dragon seized the hat and cloak himself and shook them in order to learn their secret.
They were empty, those garments, due proof that The Shadow was indeed a ghost.
But this ghost had proven that it could deliver vengeance to any - or all - of the Dragon Clan!
INSTANTLY, the power of the Black Dragon was gone. The Shadow ruled triumphant in the minds of the superst.i.tious clan. Anxious to appease The Shadow, they saw the Black Dragon as their real foe. He was the one who had defied The Shadow's challenge and p.r.o.nounced the doom of the pit upon a fighter who could return from the world beyond!
”Death to the Black Dragon!”
With that shout, the a.s.sorted killers hurled themselves upon their former chief. With a frenzied writhe, the Black Dragon reached the throne, striking his hands against the arms and rolling around, to land deep in the seat. He didn't wait to throw a puff ball that would dramatize his disappearance. He used the mechanism as fast as it could send him, which was just ahead of the bullets that shattered the dropped gla.s.s, ending its utility as a mirror.
Bullets fired from the doorway, by an arrival whose hand was quicker than those of the Dragon's followers! The motley clan still didn't guess the trick, for by then the throne was empty. Nor did they stand gaping at the broken gla.s.s, for their attention was diverted the other way. The thing that brought them full about was more than mere gunfire.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
Fierce, vengeful mirth that seemed to hold this tribe responsible for the escape of the Black Dragon. There in the doorway stood The Shadow, fully cloaked, smoke trailing from his drawn guns. The Shadow, no longer a ghost, but a superhuman fighter who had switched from the invisible to the indestructible!
Like the pair who had seen The Shadow return from the spiked pit, the whole brutal throng flattened on their faces and pleaded with The Shadow to spare their worthless lives. Leaving them thus, The Shadow turned and started for the stairs.
His laugh, trailing back, was like an omen, telling the cowed killers that their case would pend while The Shadow was settling scores with their banished leader, the Black Dragon.
CHAPTER XX.
THE DRAGON'S RUSE OUTSIDE, a cab was stopped beside the curb a short distance from the meeting building. On its steps stood a figure robed in gold and silver, adorned with a writhing dragon that ended in a hood.
Gun in hand, this monster who represented murder was about to point the weapon at a doubtful cab driver and order him to start away, when The Shadow wheeled from the doorway of the building and delivered a weird laugh.
Instantly, the creature in the dragon's costume changed his tactics.
Instead of firing at The Shadow, he sprang away from the cab and rushed for shelter across the street. The lights of another cab disclosed him and he tried to dart from the glare. Out of the cab sprang other fighters, The Shadow's agents.
Between The Shadow and his agents, the fugitive hadn't a chance. Lowering his gun, The Shadow watched the roundup. It looked as if four men were trying to capture a slippery snake, so wildly did this Dragon writhe. He was coming across the street again, forgetful that The Shadow awaited him, when another car bore down on him.
Only by a mad scramble did the Dragon reach the sidewalk. Even then, he tripped across the curb. But his pursuers were blocked off by the stopping car and for the moment, the Dragon was in the clear. Then, a new champion was leaping from the limousine, in the person of Miles Fenmore.
In his hand, Fenmore had a revolver, which he tried to center on the Dragon. It was the writhing effect of the costume that fooled him and gave the other man time to come about. By then, there was no question as to the Dragon's ident.i.ty. The man in the costume was Carlton Sauber; he had thrown back the dragon's hood, because the eye-slits were out of their proper place.
Seeing Fenmore aim, Sauber returned the favor. The gesture was almost useless, considering the advantage that Fenmore held. But to Steve Trask, springing around the front of Fenmore's limousine, the situation looked serious.
With more fervor than wisdom, Steve hurled himself toward Sauber, shoving a gun toward the man who wore the regalia of the Dragon.
Only the speed of The Shadow could outmatch Fenmore's steady aim, Sauber's hasty return, and Steve's frenzied interference. Like a whirl of smoke, The Shadow went across the path of aim, but he met Steve with the solid effect of a stone wall. Flinging one hand upward, The Shadow struck Steve's revolver with the hard clash of an automatic and knocked the gun away.
Out of the same whirl, The Shadow aimed his other gun in backward style and fired. The illusion of the dragon costume seemed to baffle him, for he missed Sauber by scant inches. The shot, continuing onward, reached Fenmore's shoulder.
Jolted at the moment when he pulled the trigger, Fenmore shoved his gun high.
His shot carried over Sauber's head.
Before The Shadow could change that situation, Sauber's gun was full in line. It spoke, like an echo of the others, and drove its leaden message straight to Fenmore's heart. With a long, slow pitch, Fenmore flattened to the sidewalk into the posture of the Dragon Clan that The Shadow had so recently left.
There was no longer any writhe to Sauber's costume. The man was standing like a thing of stone. The Shadow's agents reached him and he made no effort toflee. The Shadow gestured toward Steve and they pushed Sauber in that direction.
Steve plucked the gun from Sauber's hand and gave it to The Shadow. All the while, Sauber kept staring at Fenmore's body.
MINUTES must have pa.s.sed while Steve stood frozen, watching Sauber, who was equally rigid. Not a word from Sauber; the mere sight of his handiwork, in the form of Fenmore's body, held him speechless. A big car pulled into the street and from it stepped Commissioner Weston, with Inspector Cardona right behind him.