The Shadow excused himself, promised vaguely to come beck at some later date to view Dixon's rare collection.
He walked slowly down the curving path that led from the mansion toward the distant entrance of the grounds. The moment he had rounded the first turn and was sure that the shaggy bushes concealed him from view of the house, his dawdling manner changed to one of purposeful speed. He darted from the path, began to hurry swiftly through the darkness.
He remembered the exact spot where he had left his car. He ran diagonally toward the stone wall that divided the thick shrubbery from the road outside.
In an instant, he was over the wall.
He found the green glade where his car was concealed and entered the powerful little coupe. A moment or two later, he emerged again. But not as Lamont Cranston. The figure that crossed the road swiftly and ran toward the stone wall would have sent superstitious shivers up and down the spines of Hooley and Snaper.
Inky-black from head to foot, hands encased in black gloves, a slouch hat drawn low over deep-set eyes that burned like steady reddish flame, The Shadow reclimbed the wall and dropped noiselessly to the dark turf inside.
The Shadow moved with the swift silence of an Indian. Suddenly he halted.
Ahead of him he could see the bent back of a man.
The man was crouched behind a dark bush, peering intently through the spread leaves that gave him a good view of the curving path that led toward Arnold Dixon's door The watchful face turned slightly and The Shadow caught a revealing glimpse of a tense profile.
It was Bruce Dixon!
THE SHADOW didn't delay. He made a cunning detour and passed the silent watcher without betraying his presence. He hadn't returned to spy on Bruce.
That would come later. The two blackmailers were the men who now interested The
Shadow.
His circling approach brought him almost to the front door of the mansion.
Flat on the damp grass behind a spreading bush, he waited.
Feet came pounding down the gravel path from the gate where the two blackmailers had parked their car. It was Hooley and Snaper and they were cursing with rage. They ran straight for the front door, which had closed behind them only a few moments before. They began to ring the bell and pound on
the oaken panel with angry fists.
The Shadow smiled. He had expected this little drama! The crooks had discovered that the wallet and the thousand-dollar check was missing. A show-down with Arnold Dixon was in the making.
Dixon himself opened the door. He quailed as Hooley shook a vicious fist under his nose.
"Gentlemen, what - what in the world is wrong?"
"You know damned well what's wrong!" Snaper rejoined. "You stole that wallet with the check! We want it back quick - or else!"
"I stole my own check? I don't understand."
"No? You picked my pocket, wise guy! Where's that check? Hand it over!"
Arnold Dixon recovered his wits. "Don't be a fool," he said, harshly.
"Why
should I do that? You've undoubtedly dropped the wallet accidentally in the foyer or in the library corridor. Please, gentlemen, be quiet. Come inside quickly!"
The two thugs shouldered in and the massive door closed. The Shadow rose swiftly, peered back at the grounds. If the lurking Bruce Dixon had heard he disturbance, he gave no sign of his presence.
The Shadow rounded the stone corner of the mansion. He glided toward the wing in which the library was located. He pushed up a gentle inch or two the window which he had unlocked when he was in the room previously. He had barely accomplished his purpose when Arnold Dixon and his two visitors entered the room.
A trailing length of leafy vine hit The Shadow's prying eyes. He saw that Snaper had already found his lost wallet, as The Shadow had intended him to do.
The rogue was waving the leather fold in one hand, the check in the other.
Hooley was the calmer of the two.
He said, grimly: "Don't try to kid us, mister. You picked Joe's pocket.
Try to double-cross us!"
His face deathly pale, Arnold Dixon denied any idea of theft or treachery.
He pointed out that the wallet had been found lying on the floor under the table, where it had undoubtedly fallen accidentally from Snaper's pocket when he brushed against the edge of the furniture.
Snaper cursed the millionaire with fluent rage. "How would you like Bert and me to go see some cops - and talk? I mean talk plenty!"
"No, no," Dixon moaned. "Not that, gentlemen - don't do that!"
"Then don't try any more foxy tricks like you tried to-night." Hooley grunted. "A thousand bucks twice a month is cheap for a guy as wealthy as you.
Especially when he's a guy who could go to jail for -"
THE SHADOW was leaning forward, his ear intent on not missing a single word inside the room. A sound behind him made him spring abruptly away, turning
on his heel with a lithe movement.
The sound he had heard was the snap of a dry twig. The next instant, dark bushes parted and a man came plunging at him. So swift and deadly was the attack that The Shadow's hand was caught midway as he reached for an automatic.
A muscular heave threw The Shadow to the soft grass. He rolled over and over, trying to squirm out of the clutch of his powerful assailant.
Dazed, The Shadow fought for his life. He saw a gun come whizzing down toward his skull. He managed to duck away and avoid the bone-crushing blow, but
at the cost of a sharp, tearing pain in his side.
The wound he had suffered two nights ago from the explosion on Varick Street was beginning to bleed again. He could feel the sticky warmth. Strength seemed to ooze out of his body with the flowing blood.
His assailant caught him by the throat. The eyes of The Shadow were bulging now. His tortured mouth gaped wide. He could see the grim face of his enemy glaring close to his. It was a man The Shadow had never seen before.
Tiny, pin-point eyes under a curiously white forehead and brown, tousled hair.
A pointed brown beard. Teeth as even and white as a woman's.
The Shadow's head lunged downward. He clamped his teeth on the flesh of the man's wrist. He heard a shrill, animal-like scream and the pressure on his throat relaxed for an instant. As The Shadow took a staggering step, "Brown Beard" was on him again like a flash.
But an interruption came from an unexpected quarter. The library window flew wide open. Framed in the opening were the tense faces of Snaper and Hooley. They came leaping out to the soft turf, guns glittering in their hands.
Brown Beard whirled to meet this new threat. His gun flamed. The bullet missed Snaper by an inch and sent him diving headlong to the ground. Hooley had
leaped aside as he saw the flash. His gun jerked level as Brown Beard hurdled the fallen Snaper and jumped at him. The gun in Hooley's hand exploded once -
twice - but the bullets screamed harmlessly upward toward the dark sky.
Both men had a double grip on the swaying gun and were wrestling fiercely for its possession. Snaper started to rise from the ground to come to his partner's assistance. A back-heel kick of the brown-bearded man caught him full
in the throat and tumbled him flat again.
The Shadow waited to see no more of the death struggle. He began to run in
an erratic line through the dense shrubbery. He was desperately weak from his reopened wound and knew he was on the verge of collapsing.
The cold air on his face revived him. Already, he could see the dark roughness of the stone wall, when he heard a warning cry.
"Halt, or I'll shoot!"
Bruce Dixon was almost directly in The Shadow's path, rising ghostlike from a patch of weedy darkness. The gun in his hand was rigid, pointed like an ominous steel finger.
THE SHADOW'S movement was purely instinctive. He bent, and his hand closed