At that instant, Casper’s gun barked from the floor. The aim was wide; but Uhler’s own act made up for Casper’s error. The big millionaire was lunging toward the table, his left hand shooting forward to stop his fall. The bullet from Casper’s .38 reached the objective that the aiming man had sought.
Uhler’s big frame skidded sidewise. It seemed to balance in mid-air. Then, with a whirl, it plunged backward to the floor. The murderer lay motionless, shot through his evil heart.
THE SHADOW had whirled toward the stairs. Uhler’s other minions — murderers all — were arriving to give battle. Automatics boomed from the doorway. Tumbling forms marked the precision of The Shadow’s aim.
One man sprawled at the head of the steps. A second slumped beside him. A third went hurtling backward, clutching wildly at the balustrade. The fourth, screaming in terror, dashed madly for the safety of the dining room.
A weird laugh came in bursting mockery. It was The Shadow’s triumph cry. Hampton Uhler, murderer, had shown his true face. He and his men of crime had received The Shadow’s justice!
CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW’S SEQUEL
RODNEY CASPER was leaning on the table in the strongroom. Shirley Laustin was beside him. Before them lay the open coffer. Its wealth belonged to the man who had come to claim it — to the Duke of Almanza — whose life had been saved by The Shadow.
Casper slammed the coffer-lid. The lock clicked. Grimly, the young duke tried to raise the heavy burden.
Shirley aided him. The coffer reached the edge of the table. Casper paused to gather up the stack of currency. He thrust the reclaimed money into his pocket.
Casper’s left arm hung weakly. Kneeling, he thrust his right shoulder underneath the box. Clutching the burden, with encircling arm, he staggered to his feet. Shirley, seeing his plan, gave aid with the heavy weight.
They reached the stairs. A lull had filled the house. Stumbling, while Shirley sought to prevent his fall, Casper passed the bodies of sprawled servants. With frenzied strength, he managed to reach the floor below. He staggered as he entered the living room.
Slumping, Casper let the box roll on the floor. Shirley, stooping, tried to aid the young man to his feet. It was hopeless. Loss of blood — strained effort — both had taken toll.
“The gypsies” — Casper’s words were a fading gasp — “by the veranda — call them—”
At that instant came the sound of smashing glass. It was the window of the dining room. Then came a revolver shot, snarling shouts, a cry that was a dying wail. Uhler’s remaining servants had met invading mobsters. A gorilla’s bullet had ended his repelling shots.
Shirley pulled open the veranda door. She called, phrasing a name that she had heard Casper speak, and which Lorenna had mentioned to her later:
“Valdo! Valdo!”
There was no response.
“Valdo! Come quickly!”
A thunderous roar from the front of the house. Marty Lunk, in his double attack, had blown the front door. White smoke curled in through the hallway. Shirley, fearing for Rodney, dashed back to the spot where the young man lay.
“The revolver” — Casper coughed the words as he half rose from the floor — “my pocket — Shirley — keep behind me — go — go—”
The girl gained the gun for which Rodney Casper was fumbling. She placed it in his right hand. Ready to support him if he faltered, Shirley waited by Casper for the attack that was to come.
CHOKING smoke had settled. Looking across the hall, Casper could see a mobster peering from the dining room. Casper fired. The gangster dropped from view.
Then came a snarl from the front door. Tramping footsteps marked the entrance of the mobsters. Marty Lunk and his crew were heading for the stairs. Shirley gripped Rodney’s arm. She hoped that he would not reveal himself by another shot. She was too late. Rodney fired wildly. A gorilla spun and saw him, through the smoke.
Up came the gangster’s gun. In answer, a burst of flame spat from a niche at the bottom of the stairway.
The whirling mobster seemed to leap in the air. His body floundered on the floor.
“Look!” gasped Shirley.
It was The Shadow. Rising from his hiding place, the black-garbed master opened further fire. Marty and two gangsters had hurried up the stairs. The others were starting to spread on the first floor.
Like the turret of a monitor, The Shadow blazed shots as he turned to stop the startled mobsters.
Attacking almost from the very center of the spreading gang, The Shadow caught the gorillas unaware.
Instinctively, they ducked for cover — to the dining room; back to the front door; to a little music room in front of the living room.
One man only bounded toward the living room itself. This time, Rodney Casper steadied. His revolver barked a direct shot. The mobster sprawled, less than three feet from where Casper waited.
The Shadow had dropped back to his obscure spot. Somewhere in the darkness of the short side hall, he was delivering timely shots that kept the sniping mobsters under cover. It was a stalemate between The Shadow and half a dozen gangsters, while Marty Lunk and a pair of aids were rifling the strongroom where Hampton Uhler and his servants lay dead!
“Rodney!” The cry came from Shirley. “Rodney! The gypsies!”
As Rodney Casper half arose, figures appeared from the veranda door. Valdo, his face gleaming grimly in the gloom, was at their head.
“The mob,” gasped Casper. “They are here — in the house—”
“We are ready, senor,” came Valdo’s soft reply, in Spanish, “my men are about the house. Come, when you are safe, we shall begin.”
He motioned to two gypsies. They lifted Casper toward the veranda. Shirley followed, while another pair picked up the coffer that contained the Spanish gems. At intervals, gun-shots barked from the hall and the room that were adjacent. These were tokens of the sniping duel between The Shadow and the lurking mobsters.
Then, as Valdo and four gypsies were creeping toward the hall, there came the sound of a strident laugh.
Weird, ghastly, its reverberations carried a challenge that none could defy.
COWERING gangsters edged back as they heard that taunting tone. Advancing gypsies stopped short, voicing muttered protests as Valdo urged them on.
To mobsmen, that was the token of a master battler, one whose bullets came with deadly aim. To the gypsies, it was the recollection of a weird shape upon a gray stone tower — a form that they had taken for a vampire.
There was purpose in The Shadow’s laugh. He had known that the gypsies would return. He had heard their whispered voices from the living room. This was the moment that he had awaited — the time for the end of his lingering game.
His sinister merriment was well delivered. It quailed the mobsters, for the moment; the next act came with further purpose. As the Shadow leaped from darkness, his automatics broke loose with swift staccato.
His whirling arms sent splintering bullets to the doorways where mobsters crouched. It was not until The Shadow had made a quick spin to the stairs that the frothing gorillas sprang from shelter.
Their shots were low. The Shadow had not stopped. Sweeping upward, his course seemed one of flight.
With elated cries, the gangsters sprang from doorways to begin pursuit. Their one goal was the stairway, where they might down The Shadow with their upward shots.
Then came the surging gypsies. From the door of the library — the closest spot to the stairway — Valdo and his close-knit band charged the mobsmen from the flank. Grim, brown faces with dangling, golden ear rings gave them the appearance of a swarm of pirates.
Cries in a wild, strange jargon — these were shouts that made the mobsmen turn. Then the gypsies were upon them. Ancient pistols popped. Long-bladed knives flashed through the air. Mobsters staggered.