“The word of Yat Soon has been given,” declared the Chinaman, in simple tones. “I have promised to deliver you to Gray Fist. I must obey; even though my life may be the sacrifice. Gray Fist must have The Shadow. Alive or dead.”
The statement was given in a tone of fact. It showed the simplicity of Yat Soon’s nature; it revealed the justice that had made this one Chinese the arbiter of all Chinatown. The question still appeared in The Shadow’s eyes.
“Gray Fist once aided me,” explained Yat Soon. “A young man — from China — was in danger. Gray Fist, in return for aiding him from the country, demanded that I, Yat Soon, serve Gray Fist.”
“And you agreed,” came The Shadow’s whispered tone.
“I did agree,” resumed Yat Soon, “but only to one promise. I told Gray Fist that I would accede to a single request. He did not ask it until recently. Then he sent word that you were in Chinatown. He demanded that I turn you over to him, as a prisoner. Alive or dead.”
There was no doubt that Yat Soon intended to keep his promise. Silence pervaded the room, until The Shadow spoke. His hissing tone was solemn.
“Gray Fist,” declared The Shadow, “once offered me a promise. He agreed to loose two prisoners — men who served me — if I would yield to his demand. He has not done so.”
“You are not his prisoner,” rejoined Yat Soon.
“That is true,” announced The Shadow. “But should I aid you in keeping your promise to Gray Fist, you, in turn, must assure me that Gray Fist will keep his promise to me.”
Yat Soon blinked solemnly. With his steady mind, the arbiter considered the proposal. At length, he bowed, in acceptance of the terms.
“If you enable me to keep my trust,” he said, “I shall plead with Gray Fist to abide by his terms with you.”
“That is not enough!” The Shadow’s tone was stern. “This, Yat Soon, is a new pact. It lies between us alone. I shall become your prisoner. I, by my own willingness, shall see that your promise to Gray Fist is kept.
“But I must have your aid — your fairness — to see that Gray Fist deals with me as he has promised. Should he perform no treachery, he may take me, even though it means my death.”
“What is your plan?” inquired Yat Soon doubtfully.
The Shadow’s whisper resumed. This time, the black-garbed phantom moved closer to Yat Soon. The words that The Shadow uttered were not in English. They were in perfect Chinese, to the amazement of Yat Soon. The Celestial nodded; wonder, then admiration, appeared upon his face. When The Shadow’s discourse was ended, Yat Soon understood. He bowed.
“All is fair,” he replied in English. “I shall perform my obligation to Gray Fist. I shall give him the opportunity to prove that he will keep his word. You will become his prisoner as I have promised. Yat Soon agrees.”
The Shadow’s automatic disappeared beneath the black cloak. Yat Soon went to the rear of the room and pressed a switch. Another panel arose. It revealed a small room, beautifully decorated in Chinese style. Yat Soon bowed for The Shadow to enter.
“This,” declared Yat Soon, “will be your prison, for the time. I shall give the order to reach Gray Fist. I shall return, to speak with you, before he has arrived. I, Yat Soon, shall keep my word with The Shadow. Yat Soon has spoken.”
The Shadow stepped through the threshold into the little room. The panel descended as Yat Soon pressed the switch. Alone, the Chinaman blinked solemnly. A bland smile appeared upon his yellow face.
Yat Soon was ready to keep his promise to Gray Fist. The Shadow would soon be in the power of the superfiend!
CHAPTER XXII
GRAY FIST ARRIVES
LONG hours had passed since The Shadow’s interview with Yat Soon. Once again, the wise Mongol stood within the portals of his reception room. A clang at the door. Yat Soon opened the panel to admit Snakes Blakey.
Yat Soon’s expression showed that he had expected the sneaky gangster’s arrival. Snakes, feeling more confidence than he had shown before, began to speak as soon as the panel had dropped.
“It’s all set, Yat Soon,” he declared. “I got the message you left for me outside. I took it to Gray Fist.”
“He has agreed to the terms?” questioned Yat Soon mildly.
“Sure thing,” replied Snakes. “He’s got three prisoners. Two of them were guys that worked for The Shadow. The other is a dick named Joe Cardona. They’re all downstairs. We’re ready to bring them up.”
“Who is ready?”
“Ruff Shefflin and his gang. You said the prisoners had to be brought here. Gray Fist agreed. But he’s not going to let them out of sight of his crew — of Ruff’s crew.”
Yat Soon considered the statement solemnly. At last, he denoted his acquiescence. He pressed the switch; the panel opened. Snakes Blakey issued forth to follow the arrangements.
As soon as the mobster had gone, Yat Soon walked stolidly to the panel at the rear of the room. He paused there, in deep thought. At last, he pressed the switch and went through the rising opening.
He had gone to carry this word to The Shadow. Ruff Shefflin and a crew of mobsters had not been in the previous discussion. Nevertheless, Yat Soon apparently expected his prisoner to abide by the unexpected arrangements.
When the panel opened, a smile beamed on Yat Soon’s usually placid face. The red-robed master closed the panel of The Shadow’s prison. A clang from outside announced that visitors were at the brass gate. Yat Soon opened the portal.
Mobsters shuffled into the reception room. With them they had three prisoners. Jabbing revolvers kept Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent in line, along with Joe Cardona. All were groggy. They had evidently been doped for this occasion.
THERE were half a dozen mobsters in all. Ruff Shefflin was their leader. Snakes Blakey was with the crew. They shoved their prisoners against the wall. Snakes Blakey faced Yat Soon.
“Here they are,” he snarled. “Two of them belong to The Shadow. These two — and we brought the other guy along for good measure.”
“Where is Gray Fist?” came Yat Soon’s query.
“He’s coming,” laughed Snakes. “We’ll wait for him. He’s the fellow that wants The Shadow — Gray Fist is.”
Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were staring wearily about them. Their faces began to register surprise at this strange setting. Joe Cardona, beside them, seemed more alive than The Shadow’s agents. Although he made no effort to defy the gun-wielding gangsters, the detective wore a challenging look.
In fact, Cardona became more alert and defiant, as slow minutes moved by. It was the clangor beyond the front panel that caused Cardona’s look to turn to one of intense interest. Then came words that brought the detective’s head up straight.
“It’s Gray Fist!” exclaimed Snakes Blakey.
The panel rose as Yat Soon pressed the switch. Into the room stepped a man clad in gray. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland stared. They recognized the figure that they had seen before. This time, in better light, the face was plain also. It was a face that neither could remember.
A startled cry of recognition came, however, from another quarter. Joe Cardona, staring madly, knew the man who had just entered. He had recognized Gray Fist! This man who was dressed in gray was Landis Glascomb!
THERE was no pitiful expression on the face of the financier. Glascomb’s features were tinged with evil. He made no pretense to cover up his fiendish character. He was gloating, in an hour of evil triumph — sneering as he glanced at Joe Cardona.
The detective, more alert than ever, knew the hideous truth. Landis Glascomb — as Gray Fist — had never trusted more than one minion. He had used Seth Cowry as an agent to gain power over men of big affairs — men whom Landis had studied, and whose weaknesses he knew.