They broke free. Then came a new avalanche through the front door. Gypsies were scaling through the shattered window of the dining room.
Outnumbered by the clannish Rom, the mobsters fired wildly. The Shadow, sniping, had wounded three; Casper had floored one; the remaining four were overwhelmed by the score of gypsies.
SOUNDS of the fray had carried to the strongroom. Marty Lunk, stacking metal boxes on the table, could hear the shouts of the triumphant gypsies. This differed from the gunfire that he had heard before.
He had attributed shots to Uhler’s servants, not knowing that all were slain.
“There’s something phoney here,” growled Lunk to the pair of gangsters with him. “Get down there. See what’s going on. This old guy dead — these other mugs — maybe—”
He paused to stare at the metal boxes. He ripped one open and saw jewels. Thinking they were part of the Spanish gems, Marty grinned.
One mobsman was through the door. The other was just behind him. The first gorilla stopped. He raised his gun and leaped forward to meet an advancing form in black.
The Shadow’s left automatic swung up hard against the mobster’s forearm. The gorilla’s wrist went high.
Two guns spoke — automatic and revolver. The mobster’s shot clipped The Shadow’s hat-brim and flattened against the ceiling. The Shadow’s bullet found the gorilla’s heart.
The second mobster fired as he saw his companion slump. The Shadow’s right-hand gun spoke simultaneously, as the cloaked form shifted to the left. The gangster’s shot zimmed wide; The Shadow’s bullet, though diverted by the falling of the first gorilla, found a human mark.
It clipped the second mobster’s left shoulder. Spinning, the crook leaped toward the stairs. He fired wildly at The Shadow’s fading form. The shots were without effect. No answering fire came as the mobster dashed down the steps.
The Shadow knew the gorilla would not escape. As the mobster saw the gypsies, he aimed to kill. He never fired. A knife, hurled by the hand of Valdo, was on its way. It sped deep into the gorilla’s side.
Sprawling, the last of Lunk’s ruffians rolled to join the others of the crew.
IN the strongroom, Marty Lunk was on his feet. He was leveling his revolver toward the darkness of the door. It seemed chunky — that darkness — as Lunk watched for sign of human presence beyond.
Then suddenly came the realization that the darkness was a wall of solid black! Lunk saw the outline of a form, with burning eyes beneath a hat-brim. It was The Shadow!
Cursing, the mobleader tried to press the trigger of his gun. His momentary fumbling ended his one chance. As Marty Lunk faltered, a shot ripped from the blackness. The mobleader sprawled forward on the table, his writing hand upon the opened box of gems.
Thrice had Marty Lunk eluded The Shadow’s mesh. Luck had saved the mobleader in the past. This time, with equal odds, Marty Lunk had fallen, without delivering a shot from his fully loaded gun.
The Shadow’s laugh came weirdly from the door. The tall form stood within the light. Emptied automatics slid beneath the cloak.
Four guns had been needed in the prolonged fray. The Shadow, counting every shot, had saved one for the last. That was the bullet which had found the evil heart of Marty Lunk!
CHAPTER XXII. THE VERDICT
A SWIFT sedan came swishing up to the front of Hampton Uhler’s mansion. Two men leaped out as they saw the shattered door. Their faces showed grim in the moonlight.
One was detective Joe Cardona. The other was a local officer whom the New York ace had called for on the way.
Three silent gypsies were standing in the hallway when Cardona entered. Cardona stopped short as he saw the bodies of mobsters lying on the floor.
“What’s this?” he growled. “What’s happened here?”
One of the gypsies pointed toward the living room. Cardona strode in that direction. He saw Rodney Casper lying on a couch, propped against the pillows. Shirley Laustin and Valdo were standing beside him.
The girl turned as Cardona entered. She spoke quickly to the detective.
“Are you the doctor?” she questioned.
“No,” replied Cardona, a puzzled look on his swarthy face. “I’m Detective Cardona, from New York.”
“We tried to call the doctor.” declared the girl. “But the robbers had cut the wires. So we sent one of the gypsies for the doctor. He had three miles to go—”
An automobile throbbed outside the house. Cardona turned to the local official.
“See who that is, Squire,” he suggested. “Maybe it’s the doctor.”
The squire left. He returned, bringing Howard Laustin. The retired manufacturer stared as he saw Rodney Casper, pale upon the couch. Shirley sprang forward to grasp her father’s arm.
“Where is Uhler?” demanded Laustin. “What has happened?”
“I can tell — everything.” The words came from Rodney Casper. “Better — better go upstairs first. See — see all that has happened.”
“I’ll stay here, father,” said Shirley. “Rodney seems better. He is wounded; but he will be all right until the doctor arrives.”
The three men left. Laustin led the way to Uhler’s strongroom. There they found Uhler’s body, dead upon the floor. Laustin uttered a cry of dismay. Cardona stared grimly.
“But here’s the fellow who got him,” declared the detective, pointing to the form sprawled across the table. “This is the fellow we’ve been after — Marty Lunk. They stopped him this time, before he could get away with the swag.”
ANOTHER car had glided up to the house. It was a trim coupe. From its interior stepped a tall, keen-faced personage, who walked with long stride into the house. He reached the living room.
“Mr. Cranston!” exclaimed Shirley, in recognition.
“I came here alone,” said Cranston. “I was too late to join your father, so I drove myself. What has happened to our friend Casper?”
“Bullet wound.” announced the man on the couch. “Fighting mobsters—”
Cranston’s hand adjusted a light above the couch. His fingers rested on Casper’s shoulder; his keen eyes studied the improvised bandages that Shirley had made.
“Not serious.” assured Cranston. “A physician is coming?”
“Yes,” replied Shirley.
“I must — must talk first,” pleaded Casper. “I–I must tell them all that happened—”
“Surely.” A thin smile appeared upon Cranston’s lips. Drawing a small vial from his vest, the arrival placed it to Casper’s lips. The wounded man swallowed. He felt a dizziness; then a sudden surge of strength.
The men, returning from above, found Cranston propping Casper higher on the couch. Howard Laustin was surprised at Lamont Cranston’s arrival.
“Let us hear Casper’s story,” suggested Cranston, quietly. “I understand that Uhler has been killed.”
“Yes.” It was Rodney Casper who spoke. His voice has firm and steady. Then, in slow sentences: “Uhler suspected that gangsters were about the grounds. He thought they might be crooks from New York. He sent a telegram.”
“To me,” nodded Joe Cardona, wisely. “Told me he would like to see me personally. He said that he had important information. Asked me to come here tonight.”
“Yes,” agreed Casper. “I saw the telegram. A servant took it to the station. We did not think the gang would strike here; but they did. They fought with Uhler and his men. I tried to protect Shirley. I was wounded.
“Then the gypsies arrived. This man” — he pointed weakly toward Valdo — “was the one who brought them. Their camp is quite close by. They heard the battle. They arrived — in time to finish the mob — to save me — and Shirley—”