Part 15 (2/2)
The last man was writhing, clamped by The Shadow's left arm. A cloaked limb was throttling him; the thug was helpless, with eyes bulging as he choked in the viselike grip. The Shadow looked up, still holding the revolver by its gleaming barrel. From a dozen feet away, he heard a vicious snarl.
COURTNEY DOLVER was aiming a revolver. The gleams of wavering flashlights bathed the archcrook in their glare; the same illumination showed Dolver the spot where The Shadow struggled. Dolver had the bead. His finger was on the trigger of his rising gun, while The Shadow's weapon was reversed.
The Shadow's right hand gave a toss. The revolver spun about, squarely into the fist that twisted it. The Shadow's forefinger sped for the trigger, just as Dolver blazed from a range of a dozen feet.
A bullet whistled wide as Dolver fired. A second quick shot clipped The Shadow's hat brim. The revolver steadied with a slight jerk as Dolver sought to deliver a third bullet that never left his gun. For in that interim, The Shadow fired twice.
Dolver wavered dizzily. As he swayed, his finger failed upon the trigger. The revolver slipped from his numbed hand. With a last sag, the archcrook flattened. His lips twisted out epithets; then their quiver ceased. The Shadow raised his left arm and let the choked thug slump to the deck.
The Shadow had studied Dolver's weakness. Murderous though the supercrook had been, Dolver had never trusted his own aim. That's why he had burned three shots into Ralgood; the same number into Ba.s.slett; and a full five into Shurrick's dying body.
At close, scorching range, Dolver had dealt with helpless, unresisting victims. At half a dozen paces, faced by The Shadow, the murderer's faulty aim had failed.
Firing was still scattering about the deck. The remnants of the riffraff horde were gathered at the bow, ready for a final charge, while Markham and Leng Doy's Chinese lay low, awaiting them. Pot-shots, wild thrusts in the dark, were but useless preliminaries. The Shadow stood ready to aid in the final fray; then to his ears came a token that told that he would no longer be needed.
Lights glimmered beyond the scow. Clattering footsteps on the deck of the water-logged craft. Sc.r.a.pings of the ladder. The police boats had arrived; attracted by the gunfire, Weston and Cardona were on hand.
The Shadow alone had guessed the meaning of these sounds. He watched the outcome.
In ragged fas.h.i.+on, the last of Dolver's minions came out from cover. They shouted as they drove across the deck. Markham and the Chinese greeted them with a low-level fire.
Two crooks sprawled; the others came on, shooting wildly from reloaded guns. Then came the climax.
An enfilading fire broke out along the rail.
Joe Cardona and three detectives had reached the top of the ladder, spreading apart to aim with earnest zeal. Police revolvers found easy targets; for Leng Doy had called for lights. The glare of flashlights held by Chinese fists had spotted the thugs in their final charge.
Odds were equaled; the hoodlums, by their own act, were losing numbers. Some turned to aim as new detectives swung in view along the rail. Then snarling ruffians gave up the fight. Dropping their guns, the defeated remnants yielded to the law.
Cardona's detectives crowded the riffraff to the bar. The searchlight from a police boat was hoisted, withits wire, to the rail of the Xerxes. Commissioner Weston blinked in amazement as he saw Markham standing there, Leng Doy beside him, with solemn-faced Chinamen on both sides.
FROM the hatchway came Dave Callard and Captain Jund; behind them the two seamen, who joined the ones that The Shadow had saved. Dave and the others had escaped thugs below by taking to the strong room.
Cardona, stepping into the light, saw Dave before him. Joe bounded forward, thinking that Dave must be a prisoner. Markham stopped him.
”Let him explain,” suggested the detective sergeant.
”Dolver was the murderer,” declared Dave, calmly. ”I thought it was Mallikan, Markham. I found out I was mistaken. I was out at Dolver's thinking that Mallikan might be coming there to make trouble.”
The final sentence was addressed to Cardona and Weston. Dave added a few more words.
”I ducked the night I came in,” he admitted. ”Just didn't want to be questioned by the police. I had too much at stake; the recovery of my uncle's fortune. I went to Leng Doy for advice” - he paused to indicate the Chinese merchant - ”and while I was there, someone came in on us. Leng Doy thought I had better stay under cover. I did. I never went to Ralgood's.”
”This young man is very good,” nodded Leng Doy, solemnly. ”He did fine things in China. My friends in that country told him to visit me when he came to New York. I was honored to be of service.”
”When the murders started,” added Dave, ”I knew I was being made the goat. So I stayed in hiding, along with Leng Doy. Some of his men trailed this fellow this afternoon.”
Dave pointed to Clyde Burke, who had arrived with Weston. The reporter was actually astonished.
”Callard barged in on me and Hungerfeld,” put in Markham. ”Along with a squad of c.h.i.n.ks. They grabbed us and carried us out in laundry hampers. They couldn't explain things in the hotel. We wouldn't have believed them.
”Hungerfeld blabbed about the Xerxes; so they headed here. As soon as they were on the open road, they cut us loose and told us the layout. They convinced us they were on the level. We said we were with them; so I stuck with Leng Doy and his bunch.”
”Where is Hungerfeld?” demanded Weston.
”Up in one of the cars,” replied Markham. ”He's safe. We left a big Chinaman there to act as his bodyguard.”
Captain Jund was introduced to Weston. The skipper thrust a paper into the commissioner's hand. It was a note that he and Dave had found in the uppermost of the boxes in the safe, while they were barricaded below.
”Milton Callard's handwriting,” declared Jund, emphatically. ”A codicil to his will, leaving everything to his nephew. There's plenty in those boxes that I just locked up again. We looked in some of them. Bank notes, securities, boxes of old family gems. It'll run higher than a million and a half, if I'm any judge.”
Weston extended his hand in congratulation. Dave Callard received it warmly. Cardona edged up to add his good wishes. Clyde Burke smiled at thought of the story that he was getting for the Cla.s.sic. FROM beyond the trees below came the throb of a motor. Men swung about to see lights ascending past the woods. A plane was rising almost vertically, its course marking it as an autogyro. High in the dark it lifted, hovering below the close-wedged hulks of the ghost fleet.
The s.h.i.+p swung southward, its motor easing as it took its straight course. Then to listening ears came a sound that might have been a ghostly call, so faintly was it heard at that long distance. It was an echo of a challenge that had rung high tonight; a fierce defiance that had staggered a horde of evil fighters.
It was the laugh that had presaged the death of a master murderer, Courtney Dolver. Now its tone, though strangely like a knell, carried an indescribable quaver that bore a note of victory. Unearthly and unreal, that weird mirth faded; yet its lingering recollection could not be forgotten.
As fitting climax to the victory of justice, those men aboard the Xerxes had received a token from the master fighter who had won the cause for right. They had heard the triumph laugh of The Shadow.
THE END.
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