with him, their guns ready to repel an attack, until they received orders from The Shadow.
"You're liars!" Arnold Dixon cried. "You're not trying to help me. You're here to rob me, to kill me!"
"You're mistaken, Mr. Dixon," Harry Vincent told him, curtly. "We're neither thieves nor murderers. We're here at the orders of a man you have every
reason to thank for being alive and unharmed at this very minute!"
"Who?" Dixon demanded.
"The Shadow!"
Dixon's eyes bulged. He seemed struck with awe. He started to reply, and stopped short.
The reason was the quick palm of Harry Vincent that flung itself across the millionaire's mouth, stifling his words. Into the trembling millionaire's ear he whispered a swift command:
"Quiet! Not a sound, if you value your life!"
Clyde Burke had turned so that he was watching the door of the chamber.
At
a sign from Vincent he backed noiselessly away, so that the opening door would hide any trace of himself or Vincent from whoever was creeping up the stairs of
the old mansion.
It was obvious to both agents of The Shadow that some one was creeping up the staircase outside.
Arnold Dixon remained silent in his chair, his eyes watching the white knob of the door.
Slowly, the knob began to turn. The door moved inch by inch. It was opening!
A face peered cautiously. Dixon cried out in hoarse terror as he saw a clipped brown beard and hard, pinpoint eyes. It was Paul Rodney.
"QUIET!" Rodney snarled. "One more yelp like that and you get it for keeps, old man!"
His foxy glance convinced him that except for the trussed Dixon in the chair, the room was empty. He was unable to see Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke, hidden by the barrier of the open door. Even had he peered past it, the two agents of The Shadow would still have been invisible, for they had backed into the opening of a deep closet.
Rodney laughed suddenly. "Okay, Squint. Come on in! Somebody's been here ahead of us. Did us a favor by tying the old boy up. They must have heard us sneaking in the window downstairs and scrammed."
Squint crept into the room. His beady eyes wrinkled with pleasure.
"How about a little torture stuff, first?"
"That's out! Torture is all you're interested in, you little devil!"
It was Dixon who betrayed the hidden agents of The Shadow. He didn't mean to. He did it unconsciously by the fixed glare of his frightened eyes. Squint whirled and uttered a quick yell of warning.
Both crooks fired at the open closet.
There came answering bullets that made the two thugs skip backward hastily
out of range. Vincent and Burke had thrown themselves prudently to the closet floor as Squint yelled.
They sprang out now, determined to save Arnold Dixon from death. Their very boldness turned the tide of battle. Rodney, not knowing how many enemies he had to deal with, and worried by the thought that the house might be surrounded by police, backed swiftly toward the door, his gun jetting scarlet.
Squint had already beaten his boss to safety. But Rodney lingered a moment
in the doorway, braving the spurt of lead that boomed from Vincent's gun and splintered the casing all about him.
Vincent's poor aim was due to his jerky movements. He was leaping away from the trussed millionaire in the chair, hoping to draw Rodney's fire and save the life of the hapless man.
Burke darted across the room and sent the chair toppling backward to the door. His action was all that kept Dixon from receiving a bullet squarely in the forehead.
Rodney's last shot was timed with a quick motion of his free hand to his pocket. His arm jerked and a small object fell to the floor and exploded.
There
was no sound except a glassy tinkle. Instantly, streamers of white vapor shot into the air. It spread in a dense fog, obscured the crook in the doorway.
Tear gas!
COUGHING, Vincent crept on hands and knees to the door. His outflung arms met only vacant air. Rodney had fled under cover of his gas barrage. His feet thundered down the staircase. Vincent made no effort to follow him, although his whole body burned with the grim desire to overtake and capture Rodney and his ugly little henchman.
Duty to the stern commands of The Shadow kept Vincent in that room. He could not leave the room until the orders were changed. So he staggered to his feet and helped Burke throw open the window and dissipate the thick, choking fumes.
The fallen Dixon was moaning faintly in his overturned chair.
"Are you hurt?" Clyde Burke cried.
"No, no! Lift me up. My arm's doubled under me. I'm afraid it's broken!"
The two agents of The Shadow righted the chair with a quick heave between them. Their faces were grim.
Clyde and Harry reloaded their guns. The first attack had been beaten off,
but there might be another.
DOWN in the tangled shrubbery of the grounds, Squint and Rodney fled toward the road. Squint, the faster of the two, was in the lead. It was he who swerved with a startled cry.
He saw the same black-cloaked figure that Bruce Dixon had seen earlier.
It
rose like an ascending wraith from the dark surface of the ground.
Squint dodged as black-gloved hands reached for his throat. Gasping, he tripped over an unseen root and plunged heavily on his face.
His mishap gave The Shadow time to deal with the more resolute Rodney. He closed with the snarling killer and disarmed him with a quick jerk of his wrist
and hand. The gun flew off in a tangent and vanished.
Rodney fought furiously, and for an instant seemed to be conquering The Shadow by the very fury of his fists. The Shadow gave ground, seemed to falter.
But it was only a momentary weakness, and it changed to strength in the twinkling of an eye.
The Shadow had seen Squint rising to his feet. He threw Rodney aside with a tremendous shove and whirled to meet this new menace.
Squint was no match at all for The Shadow. He screamed as his arm-bone scraped in the socket of his shoulder. The gun he had tried to fire slipped from his pain-loosened fingers. Moaning, he reeled backward, intent only on getting away from this black-robed wraith that had risen to block his escape.
The Shadow wanted Squint to flee. It left him free to deal with Rodney, who was again charging like a clumsy bear. The same thing that had happened when The Shadow fought his battle with Bruce Dixon was now repeated. He began to fight defensively, as if he had lost heart.
Rodney thought he had The Shadow at last. But The Shadow, slipping suddenly away, ran like a deer in a direction opposite to that taken by Squint.
As he ran, a paper fluttered to the ground.
Paul Rodney, who had eyes like a cat, saw the paper fall and abandoned his
plan to pursue his antagonist. He reached, scooped up the paper. Hastily scratching a match, he read its contents.
Laughter issued from his throat. He was staring at an exact duplicate of the paper that Bruce Dixon had found.
RODNEY whirled, followed the path Squint had taken. It took him to a gate in the stone wall. He darted through, raced toward the car where Squint was already behind the wheel. The car's headlights were dark, but the engine was throbbing harshly under the hood.
"You rat!" Rodney cried, fiercely. "Were you going to scram and leave me here?"
"Hell, no!" Squint whispered. "I wanted to be all set for the get-away.
Get in, quick! We're licked if we don't scram in a hurry!"
"Licked nothing," Rodney purred. "I got something to show you, as soon as we're on our way. Drive straight for the Carruthers house - that burned-down dump where we croaked Snaper and Hooley."
"Why there? That's a devil of a place to hide out."
"It is? It's the best place in the world to find the Cup of Confucius!