His finger jabbed for the trigger as he thrust the muzzle against Romson’s ribs. Colin was diving in to aid the police inspector.
AN automatic spoke. A sizzling bullet whizzed an inch from Colin’s driving hand, to clip Mark’s wrist.
With a cry, Mark lost his clutch upon the gun. Romson wrested it away and leaped backward, while Mark staggered, at mad grips with his hated cousin. The two sprawled at the base of the bronze statue.
Sagging crooks had already added their weight to the tilted image. The statue quavered as Mark and Colin rolled against the farther portion of the pedestal.
Dave Kelroy uttered a hopeless shout. He leaped forward, too late. The heavy statue was toppling down upon the forms of the writhing men.
Covering disarmed crooks with one gun, The Shadow had aimed for Mark with the other. A single shot could end the villain’s fight; but The Shadow did not dispatch the bullet. Colin had heard Dave’s cry. With a hard twist, he wrenched away from Mark, just as the statue’s slow fall gained momentum.
Mark’s head came up; his lips ejaculated a hideous scream as his eyes saw the descending mass of bronze. His discovery was too late; before he could follow Colin’s roll, Mark was floundered by the crushing bulk.
Like a Juggernaut of doom, the shoulders of the statue drove down upon Mark’s skull. An instant later, the terrified crook was flattened beneath the weight of the overturned bronze.
The floor quivered with the thud as the statue rolled from Mark’s body.
Motionless, his body broken like his skull, Mark Eldreth had met with sudden doom. Solemn men stood staring at the overwhelmed form of this monstrous schemer who had planned their deaths.
Sullen crooks had crawled up from the passage. The crash of the statue had startled them into more rapid surrender. They were facing The Shadow, holding their arms upraised. Eight in number, they stood powerless before two looming guns. Then, from the hole, came yellow hands that clutched revolvers.
Chinese faces followed.
“Tsing Chan!”
Dave Kelroy uttered the name as he recognized the leader of the Chinese squad. Tsing Chan smiled and nodded as four followers lined up in back of the eight thugs. Each Chinese had a pair of revolvers. Every crook could feel the jab of a gun muzzle against his back.
Dave saw two others just below the opening in the shattered floor. Colin saw them also. Both recognized the two men who had been at the Chinese bazaar — Harry Vincent and Miles Crofton. The two had been with Tsing Chan’s fighters; catching a signal from The Shadow, the agents dropped from view.
Harry and Miles were no longer needed. Inspector Romson was taking charge of the crooks; and the Chinese held the conquered thugs helpless. Seeing The Shadow’s agents no longer, Dave looked toward the door of the room. He gripped Colin’s arm, and pointed.
The Shadow was by the steps no longer. With a sudden turn, he had swept upward to the door. The metal barrier was closing; beyond it, blackness blocked the dim light of the museum passage. Burning eyes flashed momentarily; the weird notes of a parting laugh awoke final, startling echoes. Captured crooks shuddered as they heard the mocking quiver of The Shadow’s triumph.
LESS than one hour later, four men entered Colin Eldreth’s apartment at the Coronado. One was Colin himself; the others were Dave Kelroy, Weldon Dryer and Tsing Chan. They had come here at the Chinese steward’s suggestion.
Explanations had been given. Inspector Romson had forced confessions from the captured underlings.
Those thugs were already on their way to jail, guarded by a squad of police. Tsing Chan’s status was established. His cryptic talk of a visit to Colin’s apartment had been accepted.
The living room was just as Colin and Dave had left it. Tsing Chan pointed to one darkened bedroom. It was the one that Dave had occupied; the room through which The Shadow had gained entrance. Dave entered and turned on the light.
Upon a corner table rested a large metal casket, almost the exact size of the space that had been beneath the gold statuette. The casket had a large keyhole; eagerly, Dave brought forth the reclaimed keys that Ku Luan had given him. One key fitted. Dave opened the casket.
Within were jewels, set in exquisite mountings of heavy gold. Tiny Buddhas, with emerald eyes; large buckles studded with matchless rubies; massive rings, with clustered sapphires and diamonds. These lifted with a tray that occupied the upper third of the large casket. In the next compartment, Dave found stacked bundles of securities.
Ku Luan had been wise in his choice of wealth. He had brought money from China, years ago; he had invested it in securities. Dryer nodded as he noted the bundles. These represented holdings in companies with which Tobias Eldreth had held interests.
Dave lifted the large casket; it still seemed too heavy, despite its considerable size. He found that the securities were in a second tray. He removed it; beneath shone the glimmer of closely stacked gold coins.
Here was wealth, in itself, the residue of the money that Ku Luan had neither spent nor invested.
Dave turned to Tsing Chan. He asked a question that had not yet been answered.
“You knew the secret?” queried Dave. “You brought this casket here?”
Tsing Chan shook his head.
“But you sent teakwood box, Tsing Chan—”
“That was before,” interposed Tsing Chan, quietly. “The casket was brought here later. No knowledge came to me until the time that word was given. The word that I should bring faithful men to the house near the museum.”
DAVE suddenly understood. He looked at Colin, who nodded that he also guessed the truth. The Shadow was the one who had preceded them to the museum, this very night. He had seen the Chinese tapestry; he had read its message correctly. He had gained the treasure and had brought it here.
Learning that Dave and Colin had returned, to study the tapestry themselves, The Shadow had followed to the museum. He had left the treasure here, in the last place where anyone would have expected to find it. The Shadow had told Tsing Chan alone.
As if in approval of the guessed solution, a sound came from the foggy darkness of the night. Dave Kelroy sprang to the window; he unlocked it and raised the sash. He and the others heard the sound again, more clearly. It was like a voice of the fog itself.
Elusive, chilling, the tones of triumphant mirth broke into fading echoes. Stilled atmosphere seemed to quiver. Dark, swirling fog formed a creeping shroud about the unseen author of that eerie call. But listeners well knew from whose lips that final mirth had issued.
Again, Dave Kelroy had heard the triumph laugh of The Shadow.