Hugo Urvin saw the pair depart. He smiled. His work was one that required caution. Barton Schofield had retired, but until these visitors were gone, Urvin would not act. He saw Cardona and Cubitt go out by the front door.
In the darkness of the veranda, the detective gripped the lawyer’s arm. His voice was tense as he spoke in a low and decided tone.
“Come,” he ordered. “Be careful.”
He conducted Cubitt toward the side of the house. Together they clambered from the veranda and moved along, close by the side of the gray mansion. They reached the door of the sun porch — the one which Cardona had unlocked. The detective opened it carefully and motioned his companion inside.
Seated in corner chairs, the two were close together as Cardona whispered the reason for his strange behavior. Cubitt felt a chill as the detective pressed a revolver into his hand.
“I didn’t want to scare the old man,” declared Cardona, “but it looks to me like he is in danger, sure enough. When you told me of Hartnett and Goodall — that was bad enough. But with Schofield in it, too—”
“You think that those two unknown men may plan to harm Schofield?”
“Why not? They bumped off Hartnett and Goodall, didn’t they? Listen. Schofield’s an old man. The easy thing would be to let him alone. But suppose they’re watching — spying here—”
“Then?”
“They’ve seen us come, haven’t they? That is, if they’re watching — inside or out? Well — do you realize what we’ve done? We may have put the old man on the spot!”
“By questioning him?”
“Sure. Any crook would know me. I didn’t realize how serious this might be when I came here. I wised up quick. When Schofield began to get scared, I figured he might be marked.”
“But if we stay here—”
“We can watch. I ought to have some men on hand, but it’s too late to fetch them now. It’s better to lay low — and if I give you the word, use that gat I handed you. Did you ever shoot one?”
“Yes. Target practice.”
“All right. Keep your nerve, then. Maybe nothing will happen tonight. I’m just playing safe. Tomorrow, I’ll detail men to cover this place. Say — when that party breaks up, I can call headquarters. I’d like to sneak around a bit now, but it’s best to lay low.”
The two men sat in darkness, Cardona cold and steady, Cubitt worried, but trying not to show it. A dance ended, and silence replaced the faint strains of music that had come to the sun porch.
IN the dance room, Hugo Urvin strolled toward the hallway. He lighted a cigarette and joined two men who were standing near the front door. Tonight’s party was a small and informal one. Less than a dozen persons were present. It was on this account that Urvin guarded his action carefully.
He waited until his companions had turned back to the dance room; then, with a nonchalant air, Urvin opened the front door and stepped out upon the veranda. He strolled to the end opposite the way which Cardona and Cubitt had so surreptitiously followed.
At the edge, Urvin paused and puffed his cigarette. He removed the half-finished stump from his mouth, and flicked it with his thumb and second finger. The cigarette shot from the veranda on a long, meteoric arc that clearly defined a glowing curve in the darkness. Sparks scattered as the cigarette struck the lawn.
Strolling back to the front door, Urvin entered unnoticed and joined the others in the dance room.
No one realized that he had been temporarily absent. Yet in that short space of time, Urvin had performed the mission demanded by Kwa.
His sparkling cigarette had been a signal to men who were crouching in the outer darkness!
CHAPTER XVI. ON THE STAIRS
WHILE Hugo Urvin’s cigarette still glowed upon the lawn beside Barton Schofield’s mansion, a figure arose beside the house and stood in momentary watchfulness. Firm hands gripped a vine-covered trelliswork, and a strange, black-garbed shape began an upward course against the wall.
Invisible in motion, spectral in action, this shape was as awe-inspiring as the yellow-faced figure which Harry Vincent had spied two nights ago. But although eyes were watching this very house, the climbing form was completely hidden during its ascent.
The Shadow, master of the night, was making a secret excursion to the second floor of Barton Schofield’s mansion. His lithe shape gained a window. The sash opened, and the cloaked figure entered.
Meanwhile, men were advancing upon the lawn. Peering from his vantage point, The Shadow could make out the shapes of stealthy invaders. Still, The Shadow watched. These were the ones who had been sent to wait for Hugo Urvin’s signal. Scattered, hidden at various points, there had been no way of attacking one without alarming the others.
The advancers closed in upon a little door on the ground floor, at the side. The Shadow had expected this. He saw one man enter the opening; then another. Counting, he observed eight in all. The faint whisper of a laugh escaped The Shadow’s hidden lips.
There were two chief henchmen whom Kwa employed. One moved by craft; the other by might. The Shadow had been prepared for either.
Had Chun Shi been chosen, it would have meant a single-handed combat. Koy Shan, however, was the designated person. One of the few Chinese gunmen who had escaped The Shadow’s fire two nights ago, this powerful enemy was advancing with strong men behind him.
Murder was not in the cards tonight. The Shadow knew that fact now. The course was plain. These raiders had been sent to capture Barton Schofield alive. Eight fighters to take one old man!
Moving across a darkened room, The Shadow found a door and opened it. He entered a gloomy hallway and passed by the door of Barton Schofield’s room. There was another doorway on the other side; beyond that the stairs. The Shadow merged with the blackness of the opposite portal.
MUSIC was coming from below. The second floor was deserted. Padded footsteps became evident.
The raiders had arrived by way of an obscure back stairway. From his place of hiding, The Shadow could not count the members of the insidious band, but he could observe the door to Barton Schofield’s room.
Figures clustered at that doorway. Among them was a huge fellow — Koy Shan, the Mighty. Yellow faces, darkened in the gloom, were looking toward their leader. Koy Shan gave a low command. Two men crouched and moved toward the head of the front staircase.
Koy Shan’s strategy was now apparent. He had probably left two minions to guard the rear way. With two at the front stairs in case of emergency, he and his four helpers could invade the bedroom and seize the helpless old banker.
Two Chinamen looking downward; four at the banker’s door with their backs toward The Shadow. One against six, but the advantage lay with the hidden master. As Koy Shan laid his huge hand upon the knob of the door, the figure of The Shadow moved slowly forward.
As The Shadow prepared to deliver a swift attack, one of the men at the head of the staircase chanced to turn to see how the others were progressing. This crouching Chinaman, like his comrade on the steps, was armed with a long knife.
Almond eyes widened as the guard saw a moving smirch of blackness that blotted out all sight of Koy Shan. It was a moment before the man realized that this was a living foe. He could not hold back the amazement which accompanied his discovery. A snarling gasp came from his lips as he leaped forward, knife upraised.
As the Chinaman sprang, The Shadow whirled. His form shot forward to meet the attack. The Chinaman made a downward thrust, calculated to strike the back of the black-clad figure. The Shadow, however, was too swift.
His driving shoulder smashed against the Chinaman’s knees. The man with the knife hurtled along the floor, his weapon flying from his grasp, to the feet of those at Schofield’s door. Sprawled flat on his face, this enemy of The Shadow was eliminated for the time.