The unexpected welcome brought Cardona to a stop. With a gruff laugh, the detective signaled to Markham and two others.
“Come with me, Markham,” he ordered. “You fellows hold this panel open. The rest of you stay back — and pile in if there is any trouble.”
Peering through the opening, Cardona saw the seated shape of Kwa. Chon Look stood aside to admit Cardona and Markham.
Both detectives stared in amazement at the hideous face before them. They had not dreamed that such a monstrous being could exist, even in this hidden lair in the depths of curious Chinatown.
“Others will be here” — Kwa spoke in English, his tones crackling — “and it would be wise for us to be undisturbed. They are coming through the other passage—”
He indicated the door where Soy Foon was standing. Even now, shouts were echoing along the buried corridor, a proof that detectives had entered from the shop.
Cardona motioned to Markham to watch the seated figure on the taboret. Going to the spot where Soy Foon stood, the detective shouted along the passage. His cry received a response of recognition.
“Two of you come up,” called Joe. “Hold this panel. The rest of you stay back until needed.”
Two detectives appeared. The pair obeyed Cardona’s order. Joe Cardona joined Markham.
Together Cardona and his companion faced the Living Joss. The situation was all in favor of the sleuths.
They held revolvers. Their men were ready with weapons at the panels.
The word had passed back, and the entire squad was congregating through these passages. No avenue of escape lay open to Kwa, the Living Joss. Here, in the temple, Cardona was ready to end the fantastic drama as quickly as it had begun.
“Who are you?” quizzed the sleuth. “What is this place for? What have you done with Barton Schofield?”
“I am Kwa, the Living Joss.” Teeth snarled as the voice crackled. “I have nothing to do with your world. I am of China.”
“Koy Shan was a Chinaman,” retorted Cardona. “So was Chun Shi. Call yourself any name you wish — I know your true identity. You are not Chinese. Put up your arms” — the detective threatened with his revolver — “before I blast a bullet through your black heart — Doctor Ward Zelka!”
AS Cardona pronounced the name, an ugly snarl spat from the vile lips of Kwa. An expression of fiendish rage was manifest upon the evil face. Then came a crackling cry of challenge, as Kwa, raising his hands at Cardona’s command, hurled back his reply.
“You have come to my temple” — the tone was hideous. “You have discovered my identity. You seek to capture me. You want Barton Schofield? He is my prisoner. You will never find him — never — for first you must seize Kwa, the Living Joss. That you will never do!”
The ugly form leaned backward, with a gloating chuckle. The shift of weight brought an instantaneous result.
Puff!
Thick jets of smoke burst from the incense burners. Joe Cardona, quickly recovering from his surprise, fired his revolver into the enveloping cloud of white.
The smoke cleared away. The terrible figure of Kwa was gone! Cardona’s men were surging in from the passages to support their thwarted leader.
Chon Look and Soy Foon were prisoners; but Kwa was gone!
The Living Joss had vanished, but now a grim token of his evil might came in terrible retaliation against those who had come to capture Kwa. A pungent odor filled the temple. Detectives began to stagger. Joe Cardona saw Markham waver; then Joe, himself, felt the effects of an overwhelming gas.
The room rolled before his eyes. The star detective tottered and caught vainly at the taboret in front of him. Revolvers were clattering to the floor.
Death was entering this room, death in the form of a purplish vapor that was rising from the smoke-wreathed incense burners. Huddled on the floor, Joe Cardona felt the sickening sensation that comes as a forerunner to unconsciousness.
Kwa had departed; from somewhere outside this temple, he had launched a counterattack which was overpowering the huge squad of sleuths who had come here to snare him!
Death! That was Kwa’s decree to Joe Cardona and his men!
CHAPTER XXVI. THE ROOM BELOW
IN a square-walled chamber directly beneath his temple, Kwa, the Living Joss, stood staring upward.
Beside the superfiend were the mechanical contrivances with which he had worked his amazing feats.
A skeleton plunger, topped with a flat seat, pointed directly toward the ceiling. This was the heavy-springed device which enabled Kwa to appear and vanish with such suddenness. The top of the plunger was designed as the solid seat of the taboret which served as the throne in Kwa’s temple.
A tank was connected by a hose to jets which entered the ceiling. These supplied the incense burners. A second tank stood beside the first. Kwa had disconnected the automatic container which produced the smoke; in its place, he had quickly put the new tank, which was now pouring forth its overwhelming vapor.
The long hand of Kwa, an ugly claw with its extended finger nails, was resting on a lever which controlled the supply of deadly gas. Purple doom was rising to meet the foes of Kwa!
The glaring eyes of Kwa turned toward the wall at the right of the room. The gloating gleam vanished from those insidious orbs. That wall was the beginning of the path which this monster had designed for his escape. Slowly, the wall was spreading at the center!
Kwa held no weapon. His fiendish mind sensed an unexpected menace. Someone was coming through that barrier — some unknown enemy who had found Kwa’s own underground passage! With a wild snarl, the Living Joss sprang to the opposite side of the room and clutched a lever with his clawing fist. As the right wall opened under pressure from without, this wall on the left separated also!
As Kwa dived through the spreading barrier, a black-garbed figure appeared at the opening in the opposite wall. The Shadow had broken the last barricade. He was in the heart of Kwa’s domain, beneath the temple itself.
An automatic roared. Its shot was a moment too late. Kwa, with remarkable quickness, had closed the barrier through which he had escaped the menace of The Shadow.
A mocking laugh came from The Shadow’s lips.
IN the dim light of this control room, the master of the night had spied the gas tank with its connected hose and opened lever. With one swift stride, The Shadow reached the instrument of death and pulled the switch. That action stopped the passage of the deadly vapor. Cardona and his men, helpless in the temple above, were saved from doom!
The Shadow turned to the barrier which Kwa had closed. The fiend had jammed it from the other side. If this way led to another secret exit, Kwa’s escape would be a matter of course. The Shadow strove to wedge the curtained wall apart.
His first efforts failed. Then, with a sardonic laugh, the black-cloaked master brought forth two vials. One contained a grayish powder; the other a black substance that resembled graphite.
Sprinkling these together near the bottom of the creviced wall, The Shadow produced a small bottle and poured a liquid upon the united powders. Springing across the room, The Shadow gained the entrance through which he had forced his way. He reached the passage beyond, and shut the barrier behind him.
Long silence reigned in the control room. Then came a dull but powerful blast. The chemical action of liquid and powders had broken the barrier through which Kwa had passed. Strong fumes subsided.
During that interval, The Shadow waited.
Pounding sounded from above. Cardona and his men were back at work. They were smashing down the heavy taboret. They had discovered the elevator opening in its center.
The eyes of The Shadow were peering through a narrow crevice. The slight opening closed as a detective dropped down through the hole from the ceiling. Another man followed. They called to those above. Cardona dropped through; then Markham.