Their bodies had intervened between The Shadow and The Harvester. There was another reason, also, why The Shadow did not fire.
That concerned the two men from the rear door. They had reached the conservatory. Viciously, they were aiming for Delka and Sir Ernest, when they heard a fierce laugh from the door of the living room.
They wheeled to see The Shadow, framed in the portal.
A roar rattled the conservatory window as guns blasted in simultaneous fray. Revolver bullets whizzed wide, from muzzles that were rapidly aimed. But the slugs that sped from automatics were straight and withering. Crooks staggered as they leaped forward to fight The Shadow.
One man toppled; the other still kept on. He grappled with his foes as The Shadow swung out to meet him. Gun dropped, the rogue had gained a dying grip. That did not help The Harvester. He had bounded to the front of the conservatory. Looking back, he saw two forms locked in fray. He did not recognize Lamont Cranston.
Nor did he have time to wait, to deal with this foe. He did not even have opportunity to aim at Sir Ernest or Eric Delka, who were rising groggily from the floor. The Shadow’s right-hand automatic blasted from above the shoulder of The Harvester’s dying henchman.
It was like that fight at the Moravia; but on this occasion, The Harvester did not choose to wait. Bullets were cracking glass panes all about him, as The Shadow’s shots sped close. Like Darryat, The Harvester’s dying minion was serving his chief.
Moreover, The Harvester had gained his swag. Shouting a wild order to others on the lawn, he snatched up the pigskin bag and dived off for the cluster of trees beyond the conservatory.
The Shadow wrested free of the man who clutched him. Leaping over the body of the other, he sprang out through the rear door to deal with a new quartet of fighters.
The men were scattered on the lawn. They saw the figure that appeared by the house wall. Dropping behind terracelike slopes, they opened long-range fire. The Shadow’s responses zipped the turf beside them. One man was hit; he writhed and rolled to better cover.
Delka, on his feet, was still “punch drunk.” Yet he managed to shove a revolver into Sir Ernest’s fist and point to the door through which The Harvester had fled. Together, they took up the chase. They spied their quarry; he had ducked past the clump of trees and was dashing for the front road.
“The phaeton!” cried Sir Ernest.
THE HARVESTER must have heard the shout. Pausing suddenly, he ripped quick shots at the car, which was scarcely twenty paces from him. Front tires delivered answering explosions. The Harvester had found the broad treads of the wheels.
Savagely, Delka and Sir Ernest opened fire. The range was too great; The Harvester was nearing the front hedge. He must have scrambled through a thicket opposite, for when they reached the roadway, he was no longer to be seen.
Shots still roared from behind the conservatory. Delka remembered the lone fighter. He decided that it must be Hervey. He told Sir Ernest to come back with him. Reluctantly, the latter agreed.
As they turned, a car roared into view. It wheeled into the driveway. From it sprang Sidney Lewsham and a squad of Scotland Yard men.
Delka gave quick explanation. Lewsham ordered his men to scour for The Harvester. Delka and Sir Ernest dashed back toward the house. Already a sudden change had marked the fray upon the lawn. The Harvester’s four minions, including the wounded man, had risen and were taking to mad flight.
Other cars had appeared beyond distant hedgerows. Through gateways were pouring new reserves from Scotland Yard. The sun was down beyond a wooded hill; revolvers were stabbing wildly from the darkened streaks of the rolling lawn.
The Shadow had ceased fire. Crouched by the house wall, he watched the spreading fray. The Harvester’s tools were too desperate to risk capture. They were fighting to the death, unwilling to surrender. Shooting point-blank at the Scotland Yarders, they gave the latter no alternative. Riddling bullets sprawled the thugs in flight.
The Shadow moved quickly from the wall. He hurried past the conservatory. Approaching men spied him as he circled for the trees. Delka and Sir Ernest heard their shots. Cutting through the conservatory, they watched the Scotland Yard men begin new chase. They caught but a fleeting glimpse of a figure that reached the trees.
The Shadow had found his knapsack. From it, he tugged his black cloak and slouch hat. With a slinging toss, he sent the knapsack up into the trees, where it clung, lost among the boughs. Donning the cloak, he seemed to dwindle in the gloom of the tiny grove. His figure had faded toward a hedge before the Scotland Yard men arrived.
Airplanes were coming from the sky, circling low about the lawn. One swooped downward and made a landing on a level stretch of lawn. Sidney Lewsham, arriving from the front, dashed over to talk with the pilot.
Dusk was settling, with searchers everywhere. Yet The Harvester had made a get-away with the pigskin bag. The hunt was becoming fruitless. Nor could men with flashlights uncover that other unknown whom they had seen heading for the tiny grove.
Yards from the house, resting by a hedge where searchers had just scoured, The Shadow stood enshrouded in his cloak of black. The twilight breeze caught an echo of his whispered laugh. That tone denoted satisfaction, even though The Harvester had fled.
For The Shadow knew more than did those frantic hunters. He knew that The Harvester’s game was not yet through. Too bold to risk mere oblivion, The Harvester would return. Then would The Shadow seek the final laugh.
CHAPTER XVII. DELKA FINDS A CLUE
IT was a gloomy group that assembled in Justin Craybaw’s study, a half hour later. Sidney Lewsham was the man in charge. He listened to the story told by Eric Delka and Sir Ernest Jennup. Then came the reports of others.
Cruising cars had found no one near the vicinity of the house. Airplanes had lost out through poor visibility. The one that had landed had risen again to lead the others back to Croydon. Darkness had covered The Harvester’s flight.
“We have facts,” decided Lewsham, “but they are not sufficient. Our only hope is this: The Harvester may have some hide-away close by. It is our task to find it.”
“I agree, chief,” put in Delka. “It is likely that swift work was done last night, when The Harvester supplanted Craybaw. Crooks must have been close. What is more; those gardeners came from somewhere near at hand.”
Upon sudden impulse, Delka went to the desk drawer. Yanking it open, he found crumpled papers. With a chuckle, he spread them upon the desk. Here were the notations that he had seen that morning.
“The Harvester wrote this!” exclaimed Delka. “Look! It’s like a schedule. What’s this? Twin Trees, two and one half; cottage, one.”
Looking about, Delka spied Hervey. The house man had been loosened from bondage in the kitchen.
Delka showed him the notes. Hervey’s eyes lighted.
“Twin Trees is a lane!” he exclaimed. “Two and one half miles from here. Let me see — the lane — yes, it is nearly a mile in length, with a cottage at the end of it.”
“Take us there,” ordered Lewsham. “At once.”
Leaving a few men at the house, the squads set out.
AS they passed along the road that led toward Hayward’s Heath, keen eyes spied the motor cars. The Shadow was counting the vehicles. He knew which must be the last, for he calculated that one car would be left at Craybaw’s.
The final car slowed for a turn. The Shadow gained the rear bumper. He rode along until the car had passed midway along the Twin Trees Lane. There The Shadow dropped away. Soon the automobile stopped.
Lewsham was spreading his men about, their object to surround the cottage. When the men deployed, The Shadow moved forward. He had an objective which he knew the others would skirt — the glade where he had met the dogs that morning.