CLIFF aimed for the hands that were on the machine guns. A shout had just come from Lance Bolero — a brutal, snarling shout — that expressed the joy of the killer. But before Tony Caprona could respond — before Lance, himself, could start action with his machine gun — Cliff’s attack had been delivered.
Bullets from Cliff’s automatics found their marks. Both men fell wounded. The guns were useless. Lance Bolero made a vain effort to recover. He clutched the machine gun with his left hand. Cliff’s next bullet broke his wrist.
Then came quick action on the part of the extra man, Gringo Butz. Not knowing that the menace came from above, Gringo leaped to Tony’s machine gun.
Its staccato bark never began. Cliff emptied his automatics at the gunner and the gun. Bullets crashed against the machine gun. Gringo Butz collapsed.
On came the policemen and detectives. Over the barricades they went, with revolvers spitting fire. They had heard shots, but had not seen from where they came. They piled into the ambush, shooting — and stopped in amazement at the sight of the three prone gangsters before them.
Lance and Gringo were dead. Police bullets had finished what Cliff Marsland had begun. Tony Caprona was wounded. While the police were dragging forth their victims, more shots came from the ends of the alley.
Eight officers responded. Cliff heard heavy firing. Reserves, stationed outside, had opened an onslaught on Flash Donegan and Dip Riker, quartered separately within the ends of the warehouse. Reinforced by the attackers who had been in the alley — men whom Flash and Dip had thought dead — the minions of the law were fighting the beleaguered gangsters to the death!
Cliff crouched below the window. He could hear detectives shouting in the alley. He was safe here; his hiding place was a disused air shaft, with a hidden opening below. From this place of security, he listened to the firing, and also heard men storming at the opening in the warehouse opposite.
The victory belonged to the law — but Cliff Marsland, hidden and alert, was the man who had won the fight. The real victory had been gained by the power of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVIII
A FIEND’S END
IN the silent temple, far from the street, the noise of smoking revolvers was unheard. The place itself was like a tomb, as Chandra, the Burmese servant, opened the door of the mummy case — the home of Kali to reveal its black interior.
“She must enter!” declared Charn.
A chanting response came from the vague forms on the cushions about the temple. Margaret was urged forward — into the fearful chest that Charn had destined to be her tomb.
Before the silent men alongside the girl could move, a strange thing happened. The rays of the ceiling light had turned directly upon the open mummy chest, to show its interior as a mass of solid inkiness.
A sound issued from that spot — the sound of a gibing laugh. The blackness moved. Instantly, it assumed a human form.
The Shadow stepped from the home of Kali! A living avenger, he had come to save those who were doomed to die. Full in the light he stood, his face hidden by the upturned neck of his cloak and the brim of his broad slouch hat.
Each of his black-gloved hands held an automatic, and the threatening weapons turned slowly back and forth, covering every inch of that mystic room.
Not a person stirred. All were transfixed. The men beside Margaret Glendenning were helpless. The vague forms in the background dared not stir, cowed by the threat of those hidden eyes.
Chandra was trembling. The man on the throne remained as motionless as an image.
To Margaret Glendenning, amazement was profound. She knew that this man was her rescuer. Through her dazed mind came the recollection of that night when she had seen this figure in the temple, standing almost invisible against the wall.
To Harry Vincent, bound and helpless, the arrival of The Shadow was another of those marvelous episodes that he had experienced before.
“The home of Kali,” came The Shadow’s low, ominous voice. “A home prepared for death. I have made it a home of retribution. Your fate has arrived, Henri Zayata — you who call yourself Charn. This spells the end of your crime cult — and your sordid worshipers of Kali.
“Do you think that I have been idle while you planned?” The Shadow’s tones were mocking. “No! I have penetrated to the secrets of your inner shrine. I came here once — and finding the way, I came again.
“I have read your Book of Death. I have delved into your hidden tomes. You lived in India — years ago. There you learned the creed of the Thugs, from one of the few survivors of that notorious caste.
“You brought your learnings here to America. You found converts — they are with you now.
“You love murder — but only murder by the noose. Women are immune from that strangling thread. So you arranged the home of Kali for the girl who would not be your wife!
“You, Henri Zayata, a pretended invalid. A strange man, indeed — with crippled legs, but powerful arms — you, who have killed — and killed!
“You slew Robert Buchanan. Not alone because you loved to kill, but because you wished no rival with the woman you sought. You killed Don Hasbrouck — to silence him and to place the crime upon a harmless old man, Clinton Glendenning.
“There are other murders at your door — and all who have died were betrayed to you by those who pretended to be their friends.
“Larkin is one. He is not here tonight. He betrayed Buchanan. He called you so you could await Hasbrouck and strangle him.
“The police are holding Larkin, now, as a witness against Glendenning. They will keep him — as an accomplice in your murders.
“I know others who are here. Winthrop Morgan, who betrayed his friend, Glendenning” — one of the men beside Margaret quailed at the words — “and I could name the rest. But time is short.”
SILENT, The Shadow strode toward Henri Zayata, the man who sat on the throne as Charn. The Shadow did not stop there. He continued to the spot where Harry Vincent lay.
Stooping, he released Harry’s bonds — but all the while, The Shadow’s head was up, and a single, weaving automatic defied those who might attempt escape.
The Shadow stood erect, with both guns, now. Harry Vincent had risen beside him. The man in black spoke in a tone of finality.
“This is the end,” were his words. “Listen and you will hear the approach of your captors.”
A moment’s pause; then The Shadow’s prediction proved true. There was a loud knocking at the bronze door. Cardona and his men had arrived, to invade the temple of Zayata’s crime cult!
It was then that the throned man made his great attempt. Reaching to the side of the gilded chair, Zayata pressed a switch. Instantly, the lights were out.
The Shadow’s two automatics spat through the darkness. The shots were warning ones. They cowed Zayata’s henchmen.
But The Shadow was not firing uselessly. A single bullet — the first he fired — was aimed with a purpose; and it found its mark — in the body of Henri Zayata!
The lights gleamed on. The Shadow was standing by the gilded throne. Henri Zayata had fallen headforemost to the floor. With one contemptuous look at the writhing figure, The Shadow took his seat in the throne of Charn.
It was he who gave the orders now!
Cowed by his automatics, the other men obeyed his command to line against the wall. There, with arms upraised, they stood helpless, from Chandra, the Burmese, to Winthrop Morgan, the lawyer. The worshipers of Kali had found their new master.
At The Shadow’s order, Harry Vincent advanced and led Margaret Glendenning to the side of the room. The Shadow pressed another knob on the throne. The wall opened. Harry and the girl entered. The knob was pressed again. The wall closed.