“Then go,” urged Cardona.
“I am afraid,” pleaded Glascomb. “That is why I told you to come here — one reason, at least. I thought that in return for my statement, you would see that I reached the station in safety.”
Cardona arose.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll ride down there in a taxicab. I’ll be on the lookout for any tough birds that Gray Fist puts on your trail.”
Landis Glascomb accompanied the detective to the door. Philo, the servant, brought his master’s hat and coat. The detective and financier went downstairs. Philo cautiously opened the door. The pair departed from the house.
Glascomb’s step seemed quick and firm as they walked toward an avenue. The protection of the detective had given the old man new courage. At the avenue, Cardona hailed a cab. They rode to the Pennsylvania Station.
Glascomb arranged to take a train to Washington; there to await a through train for Florida. He wanted to be out of New York. Cardona could not blame him.
The detective watched the old man through the gate. Landis Glascomb looked pathetic as he went away alone. Cardona smiled. He realized that Glascomb had told him of a definite menace; at the same time, Cardona had an idea that the old man had exaggerated the power of Gray Fist.
The arch crook had mobsters under his control. Cardona was positive of that fact. But Joe had encountered others before who had used mobsmen to aid their schemes of villainy. As he walked from the Thirty-third Street entrance of the station, Cardona turned eastward, feeling sure that Glascomb’s plight was chiefly imaginary.
Cardona did not realize that his attention had completely engaged with Glascomb on the way here; and that now, his thoughts of what the old financier had told him were crowding other impressions from his mind.
In reviewing all that he had heard; in planning action against Gray Fist, Cardona was deeply absorbed. His natural caution was ended. He did not realize what was due to happen.
A soft whistle sounded from in back of Joe Cardona. As the detective turned, unconsciously scenting danger in the sound, men rose suddenly from the wall beside him. Three ruffians fell upon Joe Cardona en masse.
The detective went down under the rush. As his senses swam, he felt himself thrust into a waiting car. Then came the roar of the motor; after that, a blow against the head that dropped him groggy to the floor.
Detective Joe Cardona was in the power of Gray Fist!
CHAPTER XXI
YAT SOON RULES
YAT SOON, the arbiter of Chinatown, was standing in his paneled reception room. Despite the splendor of the place, there was no furniture. Yat Soon, when he received visitors, made it a custom for all to remain standing.
There was a musical clang from without. Yat Soon stepped to the wall and pressed a hidden release. A panel rose. Two tall Chinese stepped into the room. Yat Soon recognized them as important tong leaders.
The entering men bowed before the one whom they recognized as ruler. At a command from Yat Soon, one began to speak in Chinese. Yat Soon listened placidly. The other spoke. When he had finished, Yat Soon replied in the native tongue.
“Yat Soon has ordered,” was his statement. “Yat Soon expects you to obey. There is one whom I seek as a prisoner. He must be brought hither before another night descends.”
The tong leaders babbled pleading replies. Yat Soon was obdurate.
“You say that you have searched everywhere,” he said. “That is no answer to Yat Soon’s order. Go. Find my prisoner, or be lowered from the powers which you now hold. Yat Soon has spoken. Yat Soon rules.”
The tong leaders bowed. They backed from the room as the panel opened. The brass gate descended silently. Yat Soon remained alone.
Despite his statement to the tong leaders, Yat Soon was troubled. Never had any one within the realm of Chinatown been able to balk his power. This intruder — one whom they called The Shadow — had been the first to show a strange ability in eluding the powerful arbiter.
Yet the tong leaders could certainly have spared no effort in their search. Where could The Shadow be? A troubled look appeared upon the face of Yat Soon. Again, the ruler raised the panel. He summoned one of his Chinese guards.
“Be ready,” he told the Mongol. “I, Yat Soon, shall lead a search. As an example, I shall bring the tong men here. I shall show them through my secret rooms, that they may learn of hidden places beyond their dreams. Be ready, should I call.”
Stepping back through the brass door, Yat Soon closed the panel. He stood in deep meditation, and his yellowed face showed a sternness. It was some subtle inkling that caused Yat Soon to suddenly look up.
A PANEL was closing at the side of the secret room. Yet Yat Soon’s view of the dropping entrance was only partial. The chief portion of the panel was obscured by a form that intervened. Yat Soon was staring at a figure clad in black. His own fixed eyes were met by blazing orbs that stared from beneath the broad brim of a slouch hat.
A hand, gloved in black, projected from a cloak of the same hue. In that hand was an automatic. The weapon loomed before Yat Soon’s gaze. Yet the Chinaman made no motion. He did not stir even when he heard the whispered tones of a shuddering laugh that echoed through that square-walled chamber like a sinister cry from the grave.
Yat Soon stood inflexible as he saw the one whom he was seeking as his prisoner: The Shadow!
“Yat Soon.” The whispered voice was weird. “You have sought me. I am here. You have found The Shadow.”
The Chinaman’s face remained inflexible. Others might have quailed at this dread meeting; not so the stern man whose word was law in Chinatown.
“I have come,” resumed The Shadow, “to end your quest. If you prefer life to death, Yat Soon, you will make no effort to prevent my departure.”
The flicker of a smile appeared upon Yat Soon’s lips. Stolidly, the Celestial made reply, his words a paraphrase of those which The Shadow had uttered.
“If you, The Shadow,” was his statement, “prefer life to death, you will become my prisoner.”
The Shadow laughed. Yat Soon did not appear troubled. His smile remained.
“I know now,” declared Yat Soon, “where you have been in hiding. You, The Shadow, found your way to the one place where we did not think of searching. You have been lurking within the portals of my own secret abode.
“You were wise. You were safe here. You have acted craftily to elude my guards. But now you are a prisoner. Those who enter this room can never leave without the will of Yat Soon. The portals are closed against you. I, Yat Soon, alone possess the secret of reopening any of them.”
The Shadow could see that Yat Soon had spoken the truth. Face to face with one of the craftiest of all Chinese, The Shadow had discovered a formidable opponent. Yet The Shadow’s threat was ready in return.
“You have spoken well, Yat Soon,” declared the black-clad master. “But you forget your own condition. Perhaps death may await me should I try to leave this room. But remember, Yat Soon! Before I make such an attempt, you will be dead upon this very floor!”
The threat was ample. Yat Soon’s smile faded. It was stale-mate. The Shadow could not escape without Yat Soon’s aid. Yat Soon, should he fail to obey The Shadow’s order, would die at The Shadow’s hand!
Minutes moved slowly by while Yat Soon faced The Shadow. Then, with a short bow, the Chinaman made his decision.
“Very well,” he remarked, in his perfect English. “We must die.”
THERE was a strange acceptance in the Chinaman’s tone. It brought a steady glare from The Shadow’s blazing eyes. Yat Soon was able to resist that gaze; but he caught a question in the gleam. Unresisting, he answered it.