There was method in The Shadow’s thrust. His driving attack kept on with unrestrained swiftness. The second guard was turning from the staircase. He raised his knife to deliver the stroke which the other had failed to make.
The arms of The Shadow caught the Chinaman’s rising form. While the left served as a fulcrum behind the villain’s back, the right shot the Chinaman’s feet upward. With a shrill scream, the yellow man went plunging backward, his body describing a whirl as it spun down the staircase.
In the powerful effort which had tossed this enemy from the fray, The Shadow had again acted with unfailing calculation. His hurling motion terminated with a sweep that brought him face to face with Koy Shan and his henchmen. While the falling guard was still on the first lap of his long plunge, The Shadow sprang down the hall to meet a concerted attack.
KNOWING that stealth was the keynote of the invasion, The Shadow had correctly reasoned that the Chinamen would be ready with knives rather than guns. Blades that flashed in the gloom told the correctness of this belief.
The Shadow knew how to deal with such weapons. His tall form shot into the midst of the four attacking men. Black fists, sweeping from nowhere, smashed into yellow faces.
One man, alone, managed to grapple with the vengeful form in black. It was not Koy Shan — the big fellow had been floored by The Shadow’s first blow. It was a wiry underling, who fought with ferocious venom as he plunged to the floor with his arms about the black-garbed attacker.
With a clever twist, the Chinaman jerked his right hand free, and drew it back to deliver a thrust with the knife which he still held. His left arm was clamped against The Shadow’s body.
But in the fall, The Shadow had acted with the same promptitude. His own right hand had gone beneath his cloak. As he lay against the wall, the Chinaman kneeling half beside and half above him, The Shadow pressed the trigger of an automatic.
A terrific roar burst through the hallway. The Chinaman, his grinning face distorted, toppled sidewise and fell upon The Shadow’s body. The knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.
The Shadow made no effort to remove the helpless burden; his right hand free, his keen eyes staring toward the front of the hall, he held the bead on his enemies.
One rising foe leaped forward, his swift hand swinging to hurl a knife toward The Shadow’s body. The automatic roared. The Chinaman plunged as he sprang. The blade whistled above The Shadow’s head, and clattered from the side wall.
Three of six had been totally eliminated. One had hurtled down the stairs; two had been felled by The Shadow’s bullets. The others, Koy Shan among them, dived for the staircase.
Before The Shadow could fire after them, he was forced to meet another menace which his shrewd brain had anticipated — the pair of Mongols from the back way.
The Shadow’s automatic turned. The muzzle flashed. The first of these reserves, the first Chinaman to produce a gun, went down, a useless revolver in his fist. The other, a few feet behind, dived back the way that he had come, and took the turn of the back stairs as The Shadow’s automatic barked once more.
This Chinaman had managed to reach a spot of safety. The hallway was cleared. The Shadow, however, had even swifter work ahead. Hurling aside the limp body that lay upon him, the black-clad battler rose to his feet.
THERE was bedlam from the floor below. The crash of the first Chinaman falling down the steps had brought people rushing from the dance room. They had seen a limp form lying upon the hallway. That enemy was out.
Then had come the roar of The Shadow’s automatic. Koy Shan and his companions, hurtling down the stairs, had been too great a terror to face. Unarmed men and frightened girls had dashed back into the dance room, for the Chinamen, in their flight, were brandishing their wicked knives.
Two Mongols reached the front door unobstructed. One was Koy Shan. The third, still on the steps, was trapped by the sudden arrival of Detective Joe Cardona and George Cubitt. With a sharp command, Cardona halted the fleeing Celestial in his tracks. The glowering assassin dropped his knife and raised his hands.
“Cover him!” cried Cardona. “I’m going up!”
George Cubitt obeyed. Cardona, revolver in hand, started up the steps to investigate the shots that now had ceased. A sudden cry of warning made him halt.
Nervously, Cubitt had danced toward the front door. The barrier had opened. There stood the huge form of Koy Shan, revolver in hand. Cubitt, trembling, still covered the Chinaman whom Cardona had just passed upon the steps.
A hoarse cry of exultation rose from Koy Shan’s throat, as the big Chinaman leveled his automatic directly at Joe Cardona. This Chinese gangster had recognized the star detective. With merciless precision, Koy Shan prepared to end Cardona’s life. His finger was on the trigger, while the detective still had his own gun at his side.
A mighty roar rolled from the head of the staircase. It was the terrific report of The Shadow’s automatic.
From long range, The Shadow had arrived in time to take quick aim at Koy Shan.
With that roar, which sent stern echoes from the close-walled upstairs hall, Koy Shan faltered. The huge Chinaman staggered two steps backward; his hand wavered, and the revolver dropped from his loosened fingers. With a hideous snarl on his evil lips, the big Mongol sank to the floor.
The Shadow’s oath had been kept. Since the death of Blaine Goodall, Koy Shan had accomplished no new deed of murder. One of Kwa’s chief threats had fallen. Koy Shan, the Mighty, was dead.
CHAPTER XVII. THE HANDS OF KWA
FRIGHTENED faces were peering from the dance room. George Cubitt was still covering the Chinaman, who cowered at the foot of the stairs. Only one man looked upward toward the second floor.
That man was Joe Cardona.
There, at the head of the staircase, the detective saw the grim form of an avenger clad in black. He observed the black cloak, its turned-back edge revealing a portion of crimson lining. He spied two keen, blazing eyes that alone were visible beneath the brim of the slouch hat. He saw the smoking muzzle of the automatic that projected from a black-gloved fist.
The Shadow!
Cardona had encountered that mysterious being before. He knew the power of The Shadow’s might. He had, ere this, gained evidence of The Shadow’s readiness to combat crime. Tonight, the hand of The Shadow had saved Cardona’s life.
The weird peals of a mocking laugh seemed to rise from the dying echoes of The Shadow’s amazing shot.
Only perfect marksmanship could have thwarted Koy Shan. The Shadow had delivered it.
Then, as Cardona again ordered Cubitt to watch his prisoner, the form of The Shadow seemed to blend with darkness. A swish of the black cloak; the weird figure was gone. Joe Cardona started up the stairs.
Even though he knew The Shadow to be a friend, Cardona was impressed by a sense of awe as he reached the top of the staircase. The sight of four Chinamen sprawled upon the hallway floor brought a gasp from the detective’s lips.
Joe Cardona stared. He could see no sign of The Shadow.
Barton Schofield’s door was on the left. Cardona seized the knob. The door was unlocked. Cardona opened it and turned on the light. Barton Schofield was half out of bed, trembling as he stared toward the man who had entered. He gasped in momentary terror; then recognized the detective.
“All right?” queried Cardona.
“Yes,” faltered Schofield. “What — what has happened?”
“Trouble,” returned Cardona briefly. “They were here to get you, Mr. Schofield, but we” — Cardona paused sheepishly as he gave the plural pronoun — well, we managed to bag them. Lie down — you’re all right.”