Moultrie half arose from his table. At the same instant, the creature from the bookcase launched itself on a terrible leap. Simultaneously, a terrific roar issued from the darkness of the bedroom; with it came a long flash of flame.
David Moultrie cowered as he cried aloud in startled fear. The long-limbed creature that was diving forward seemed to spin sidewise in mid-air. Its spidery shape struck Moultrie on the shoulder, and staggered the frightened man; then the misshapen body plunged against the top of the table and hurtled to the floor.
The door burst open. Joe Cardona, revolver in hand, leaped into the room. The detective stopped short as he saw Moultrie cringing against the bookcase staring at the writhing, spidery creature upon the floor.
Cardona looked toward the top of the bookcase; then to the half-opened bedroom door. The heavy roar of the automatic was still echoing in his ears. The truth dawned upon the detective.
Someone — a being of amazing skill and foresight — had been awaiting this event. A steady hand had aimed at this strange creature who had been dropping down upon an unsuspecting man below.
The Shadow, unfailing in his power, had delivered death to Chun Shi, the Crafty!
CHAPTER XXII. THE LAW MOVES
DETECTIVE JOE CARDONA was facing David Moultrie across the table in the stock manipulator’s living room. Men were coming from headquarters in answer to Cardona’s summons. Orders had been left for Markham to relay a call when he reported from Urvin’s.
Cardona had searched the bedroom to find it empty. The detective had expected as much. The window, opening beside a fire tower, had offered quick egress for The Shadow. Cardona was concerned now with the man before him.
“Come clean,” growled the detective. “Better spill all you know about this.”
“They were after me!” blurted Moultrie, staring at Cardona with a wild gaze. “Out to get me like they got Hartnett — Goodall — Schofield—”
“Who was out to get you?”
“I’ll tell you!” Moultrie’s voice was a hoarse scream. “It was Doctor Zelka — Ward Zelka! I was the only one left who would know about — about the chance to clean up on Huxley stock. He — he was afraid I’d blab to someone who—”
“Zelka,” observed Cardona. “So that’s the name of your crony, eh?”
“He was playing this alone, I tell you!” gasped Moultrie. “I was afraid he was doing all this. But I wasn’t sure — until I saw him last night. Even then, I was doubtful. I had no proof.
“He had Huxley stock. He wanted me to buy him more. Schofield wouldn’t play the game. That’s why Zelka must have grabbed him — after he killed the others. Zelka wanted me dead, too.”
Moultrie pointed to Chun Shi’s body as he spoke. Cardona was forced to nod at the sight of the proof which the frenzied man indicated. This creature was a murderous one, a link with that fiendish yellow face which Cardona had seen driving away from Schofield’s mansion.
Someone was rapping at the door. Cardona admitted two detectives. After a few brief instructions regarding the body of Chun Shi, Cardona again contemplated David Moultrie.
“All right,” announced the detective, “you say you’re on the level. This looks like a break for you. Someone thought enough of your welfare to bag this big spider from the other room. Instead of being dead, you’re talking. So Ward Zelka is the man we want, eh? What about this Hugo Urvin?”
“I don’t know a thing about him,” confessed Moultrie. “I–I don’t see how he could be mixed in it. He came here to talk about oil stocks.”
Cardona’s gaze rose to the top of the bookcase. The sleuth saw what Moultrie had ignored; that a murderer planted there might well have been informed of this strategic spot.
“Was Zelka ever in this apartment?” quizzed Cardona suddenly.
“Not that I know of,” returned Moultrie.
Cardona smiled. He was beginning to be convinced of Moultrie’s absolute innocence. The detective pondered as he rested his hand upon the telephone. Suddenly, the bell rang. Cardona raised the receiver.
It was Markham.
“What!” Cardona’s voice was tense. “Dead? How? Looks like a poison case? Stay there… Yes… Keep your men with you… Attempted murder down here…”
Joe Cardona replaced the receiver and looked directly at David Moultrie. He saw a look of dumbfoundedness upon the big-mouthed face.
“Hugo Urvin is dead,” declared Cardona quietly. “Murdered. In his own apartment. Listen, now, Moultrie. Give me the dope on this guy Zelka. I’m going to move to get him.”
WHILE Joe Cardona was discussing the affairs of Doctor Ward Zelka, the physician, himself, was entering his own apartment. He had come from the opposite direction tonight, and had apparently not observed the confusion which existed outside of the near-by building in which Hugo Urvin had died.
As Zelka closed the door of his apartment, his foot slid against a piece of paper on the floor. The physician turned on the light and picked up a folded note. He opened it, and a stern glint appeared in his eyes as he scanned the Chinese characters which adorned the page.
Strolling across the floor, Zelka again read the note; then rolled it between his palms and tossed it into the wastebasket. He sat down, adjusted a cigarette in his holder, and emitted an odd chuckle.
A curling smile flickered on the physician’s lips. His sallow face was crafty in the gloomy room. Ward Zelka glanced at his watch.
Quietly, the physician picked up the desk telephone and dialed a number. He was calling the apartment of David Moultrie. He heard the bell ringing, and he nodded with a wise smile. Then, to his surprise, a voice answered.
The tones were those of David Moultrie, but Zelka was quick to notice a forced sound in the voice. He heard Moultrie demanding to know who was on the wire.
“Hello,” remarked Zelka quietly. “Tell me, Moultrie, is anyone there with you at present?… Yes… This is Doctor Zelka…”
The physician heard a gasp that was evidently partially covered by a hand pressed over the mouthpiece at the other end of the wire. Then came a gruff, demanding voice. A look of alarm appeared momentarily upon Zelka’s face. The physician dropped the desk phone on the hook.
The police were at David Moultrie’s. Zelka had identified the gruff voice as of a detective. Zelka saw a menace in the presence of the law. He knew well that other sleuths might be on their way here. In Manhattan, the forces of the law move swiftly. Yanking open a desk drawer, Doctor Zelka seized a bundle of papers. He grabbed his hat and overcoat. He hastened from the apartment, not waiting long enough to extinguish the corner lamp. He did not go toward the elevator; instead, he headed for the fire tower.
Minutes drifted. The door opened and a figure entered the deserted apartment. The Shadow came into the range of light. A keen, spectral observer, he saw the opened drawer. His searching eyes looked everywhere.
Standing by the desk, The Shadow glanced downward. He spotted the crumpled ball of paper which Zelka had so unwisely left in the wastebasket.
The Shadow understood. Zelka, upon entering here, had been calm and secure of mind. He had tossed some message into the basket, figuring that no one could ever find it; then, in sudden haste after a startling discovery, he had neglected to carry the piece of paper with him.
The gloved hand of The Shadow plucked the wad from the basket. The paper crinkled as The Shadow smoothed it. The keen eyes scanned the Chinese inscription. Instantly, The Shadow knew who had delivered this message here.
Chun Shi!
The terse statement of success at Hugo Urvin’s. An announcement that the crafty slayer had departed for his scheduled destination at David Moultrie’s. The words were written with the precision of a report sheet. A soft laugh came from hidden lips as The Shadow continued to scan the paper. Then, suddenly, the gloved hand crumpled the paper, and thrust it out of sight beneath the black cloak.