Part 10 (1/2)

A police car drove up to the front of the Mandrilla. From it popped a swarthy man in plain-clothes-Detective Joe Cardona. The ace sleuth's face was grim. He had heard of this trouble when he had reached headquarters. He had returned as swiftly as was possible.

For Cardona had a hunch that the trouble had broken at Preston's. Though he had not voiced the thought, Joe had decided that the lawyer might be in danger. Joe had been deceived by Preston's manner, but in believing that Preston was a real friend of Worth Varden, Cardona had felt alarm concerning the lawyer's safety.

The police attack was in readiness when Cardona arrived. Pus.h.i.+ng his way into the lobby of the Mandrilla, Joe joined the bluecoats. He heard the word of gunfire from an upstairs apartment. Joe recognized that it must be Preston's. Stating that he would show the way, Cardona took the lead up the stairs.

As a fighter, Cardona was intrepid. The first shot that greeted him was a bullet that whizzed by his ear.

Cardona returned the fire. Although his shots were wild, they brought the result that he wanted. A mobster dived away from cover at the head of the stairs.

Cardona and policemen dashed up. The gunfire opened along the corridor. An officer fell. Blazing police revolvers downed the gangster who had fired the shot. Mobsters scurried toward the fire tower. The door opened. A gangster came backing in to escape policemen who were coming from that direction.

With one accord, the few gangsters who were able leaped toward Preston's apartment. Flocking policemen sent them staggering with a fusillade of shots. A lone gunman sprang into the corridor; seeing that he was trapped, he fired at random. Cardona, aiming true, picked off the last mobster.

The nest had been reached. Shots from the roofs of the building outside marked the completion of the police clean-up. Cardona saw that the police were aiding their wounded fellows, and that reserves were coming to take charge of the eliminated gangsters. Thrusting forward, the detective entered the apartment.

RUGGLES PRESTON'S huddled form still lay by the window. Cardona recognized it. He hurried to the body and turned it sidewise to view Preston's face. The lawyer's corpse rolled on its back. The hands seemed to swing upward, extending the crumpled list which they held.

Joe Cardona plucked the sheet of paper from the dead lawyer's grasp. Standing by lamplight, he began to read the names. He recognized some, and wondered at them until he came to the final one. Then agrim look came upon Cardona's face.

Worth Varden-at the bottom of the list-was crossed out! That fact meant much to Joe Cardona. It cleared the detective's vision. Instinctively, Joe knew that he had been tricked by Ruggles Preston.

The lawyer was a crook! He must have been a.s.sociated with Seth Cowry! The racketeer was gone.

Worth Varden was gone. Now Ruggles Preston! At that moment, Cardona counted both Cowry and Varden as dead. He saw the hand of a superplotter.

Some one-a master criminal-had held all three within his clutch! That master mind had disposed of Cowry, Varden, and Preston in turn. All, perhaps, were men who had known too much!

Cowry had left no clew; nor had Varden. But Preston had supplied the information that he had been unwilling to give earlier in the evening. Others were tools of the supercrook whom Cardona must seek.

The names of those others were here upon this list!

Cardona thrust the crumpled paper in his pocket. The detective grinned. He recognized that the men whose names he had learned must be of caliber equal to Worth Varden and Ruggles Preston. Through this list, he could trace them and demand to know all that they might know.

That would come later. First, Cardona intended to investigate this apartment. He would aid the police in clearing up the ident.i.ties of the dead mobsters. He would learn all he could before he went to see the men who had been named on Preston's list.

Joe Cardona, though he did not know the type of man he sought, was heading for an encounter with Gray Fist!

He did not realize that he would have to deal with a supercrook who moved while his enemies delayed!

Unwittingly, Cardona was giving Gray Fist an opportunity to clear the trail.

CHAPTER XVIII. IN CHINATOWN.

THE Chinese quarter of Manhattan blazed gayly beneath somber night. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since The Shadow had entered this picturesque district. Sightseers were pa.s.sing through as usual. The corner of Mott and Pell showed its usual mingling of Orient and Occident.

Yet beneath the placid surface, a seething foment was at work. Bland, blinking Chinamen went their ways without betraying their thoughts to any but their fellows. The secret which they held was spoken only in their native tongue.

Lurking mobsters still skulked about the limits of the district. Rats of the underworld were waiting for The Shadow to come out. How long their vigil might last, none could tell. They were willing to wait. They had instructions to keep out of Chinatown itself. They did not know why, but they a.s.sumed it was because their presence among the Chinese might attract police attention.

That was, in part, the reason. There was, however, another factor that the hordes of gang land did not recognize. That was the secret which the natives of Chinatown held among themselves. They, like the lurking gangsters, knew that a mysterious stranger had come into their midst. The word had pa.s.sed about like magic.

Two blinking Celestials were talking in a corner of an Oriental lunch room. While they plied their chop-sticks, these American-garbed Chinese talked in their own language, whispering their words. ”The tongs are united,” declared one.

”True,” returned the other.

”It is because Yat Soon has spoken,” remarked the first.

”When Yat Soon speaks”-the second Chinaman blinked soberly-”all must do his bidding.”

”Yat Soon is above the tongs.”

”The leaders of the tongs obey him.”

That was all. Even the whispered conversation was guarded in its language. But in another spot of Chinatown-the back room of a little Oriental shop-two Mongols were discussing more freely the one subject that held the attention of all the Chinese in New York.

”The one who is here must be taken,” declared the solemn-faced owner of the shop. ”Yat Soon has commanded.”

”Yes.” The Chinese visitor nodded and blinked his almond-shaped eyes. ”The one who is sought must be taken to Yat Soon.”

”They say he lurks in darkness-this one whom Yat Soon seeks.”

”Yes. He is like a shadow that lives.”

”One cannot capture a living shadow.”

”So Yat Soon has said. But one may kill anything that lives-even a shadow.”

The listener nodded.

”That is why some one will slay,” he declared. ”It would be better to kill this strange devil in black than to try to catch him living.”

”He must be brought to Yat Soon.”

”Dead.”

”Dead if he cannot be brought alive.”

CHINESE who lurked on street corners were eyeing the faces of all who pa.s.sed. They were watching patches of darkness. They studied the faces of all Americans who paced the streets of Chinatown.

Moreover, these bland Celestials were watching those of their own ilk.

They knew about The Shadow. They understood that he was more than a phantom garbed in black.

They had been told that he was a master of disguise; that he might appear as either an American or an Oriental.