Ku-Nuan reached the door; shot a look back toward The Shadow. He saw a troubled look upon the prisoner’s face. Ku-Nuan took to the stairs. Hasty in ascent, he did not move with his usual silence. The Shadow could hear the patter of the Mongol’s footsteps.
Instantly, The Shadow came to action.
HIS ankles were crossed, just as Ku-Nuan had tied them; the right foot was above the left. With steady effort, The Shadow wrenched his right ankle downward. It stopped beside the left. The binding ropes showed an immediate slack. The looseness of the ropes represented the difference between the thickness of The Shadow’s ankles and their width.
Swinging his feet to the floor, The Shadow forced the heel of his left shoe against the heel of the right. He was wearing shoes of more than ordinary weight. Though the lacings were tight, the thick leather gave the shoes a looseness. In a dozen seconds, The Shadow managed to force his right shoe from his foot.
That done, he doubled his right knee and worked his right foot upward through the coils of slackened rope. His next move was to replace his foot in the empty shoe. Coming to a standing position, The Shadow accomplished the task by forward pressure. His legs were completely loose; but he had no time to work upon the crisscrossed ropes that bound his wrists.
Already, The Shadow could hear Ku-Nuan coming down the stairs.
Seating himself upon the couch, The Shadow pulled his right ankle in back of his left, squeezing loose ropes between, to make it look as if his ankles were still bound. His left foot was in front of his right, the reverse of the original position; but The Shadow felt sure that Ku-Nuan would not notice.
Ku-Nuan was at the doorway. Looking into the room, the Mongol paused. He saw The Shadow upright on the couch; he noted the ankles of the prisoner. Before Ku-Nuan could detect that the bonds no longer held The Shadow’s legs, his attention was diverted.
His lips compressed to show a strain, The Shadow was tugging hard at his wrists, seeking to break the cords that held them clamped behind his back. That was enough for Ku-Nuan. With a triumphant snarl, the assassin bounded forward. He had his excuse to knife the prisoner.
AS Ku-Nuan loped forward with his hand upraised, The Shadow dropped back upon the couch, flattening his body on his tied hands. He was helpless, his body an easy target for the downward stroke that Ku-Nuan intended to deliver.
Had Ku-Nuan thrown the knife, it would have found its mark; but the Mongol, impressed by the ease of the attack, preferred to drive the dirk home with a thrust.
Had The Shadow freed his hands, Ku-Nuan could have met the move. He was looking for such possible resistance. But the stroke that came was different from any that Ku-Nuan had expected; and it arrived sooner than the killer could have believed possible.
Flat on his back, The Shadow shifted his right foot from behind the left. With terrific speed; he launched a gigantic upward kick just as Ku-Nuan reached a spot five feet from the couch.
The Shadow timed that shot to perfection. The heavy-toed shoe swooped upward, grazing Ku-Nuan’s chest. It caught the Mongol in his final leap, squarely beneath the chin. The speed of The Shadow’s kick, plus Ku-Nuan’s bounding advance, gave double force to the timely stroke. Ku-Nuan’s teeth clattered as The Shadow’s foot lifted him completely from the floor.
Ku-Nuan’s head jerked back; his arms went wide as his body launched toward the ceiling. The knife blade clattered to the floor while its owner was still in mid-air. With outsprawled body, Ku-Nuan landed flat on his back a dozen feet from the couch. The Shadow had kicked him senseless. Not even a gulp came from the Mongol’s jaundiced lips.
The Shadow came to his feet. He heard pounds from the stairs. Spark Ganza was coming down; he had heard Ku-Nuan’s crash. Kicking ropes from his left ankle, The Shadow leaped for the opened door. The barrier pointed inward; The Shadow gained its cover just as Spark Ganza appeared beyond it.
Spark saw Ku-Nuan flattened in front of the vacated couch. Quickly Spark shoved inward, with a leveled revolver in his fist. The Shadow saw the arm and the gun; he swept a high, left-footed kick for Spark’s wrist. The kick was accurate. Spark uttered a shout as his gun went flying from his hand, a dozen feet across the floor. Gripping his wrist, Spark saw The Shadow.
The prisoner was again on the move, dashing across the floor toward Spark’s lost revolver. As he wiggled his half-numbed fingers, Spark saw The Shadow’s back; he spotted the cords that still bound the prisoner’s wrists. The Shadow dived to the floor, rolling to plant his body on top of Spark’s revolver. Spark rasped an oath.
He did not need the.38 that he had lost. His thought was to pounce upon The Shadow; to grasp the helpless fighter’s throat and pound his head against the floor. Spark thought that he could forever silence this prisoner before The Shadow could loosen his hands in defense. Spark sprang forward.
The move was the very one The Shadow wanted. His roll to the floor was a trick to make Spark attack. The Shadow was on his right side; his right foot forward, his left retarded, as though in running position. Both feet were toward Spark.
As the thug dived for The Shadow’s body, he was met by a surprise jujutsu move. The Shadow’s left foot kicked forward, catching Spark’s legs. Simultaneously, The Shadow pulled his right foot backward below the left, hooking Spark’s ankles.
Clipped in a hard scissors-slice, Spark was toppled instantly. The force was great; the leverage tremendous. Spark took a long, oblique dive, striking the stone floor on head and shoulders before he could use his arms to break the fall.
THE SHADOW gained his feet. Looking at Spark, he saw the thug move feebly. Spark was completely dazed. It would be minutes before he could rise to action. Important minutes, those, for The Shadow had not forgotten Wardlock. He knew that the secretary must have gone to the second floor to telephone Malfort. Wardlock would be back soon, wondering why Spark was no longer on the stairs.
The Shadow kicked Spark’s gun beneath the couch. He could not use the revolver with his hands bound; there was no time to waste in picking it up. There was another object that The Shadow preferred: that was Ku-Nuan’s knife.
Stooping beside the unconscious Mongol, The Shadow twisted about and picked up the knife with his bound hands.
Carrying the knife behind him, he dashed for the stairs. He reached the ground floor; saw a door that led to the kitchen. With his toe, The Shadow delivered muffled kicks against the door. A few moments passed; the door opened. The Shadow saw Rennig.
Helmedge’s ex-servant had suspected danger from the knocks. He was holding a heavy brass candlestick in his shaky, upraised arm. He recognized The Shadow as the recent guest who had come to the house; but could not decide whether he was friend or foe. The Shadow’s peculiar disappearance had puzzled Rennig.
“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was commanding. “Cut these ropes! There are men here who intend to murder your master when he returns!”
The Shadow did not specify that Helmedge was already dead. That would have forced too much explanation. It was best to let Rennig think that Malfort was Helmedge, particularly since the disguised plotter had received The Shadow as a friend in Rennig’s presence.
Rennig planked the candlestick on a chair. He took the dirk and began to cut The Shadow’s bonds. He managed the first ropes; the only one that remained was a tight cord, knotted between The Shadow’s wrists. As The Shadow spread his hands, Rennig pressed the knife downward against the knot. His strength was insufficient to make the cut.
“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was a sharp one. “Press hard with the knife edge!”
As Rennig complied, The Shadow gazed toward the stairs leading from the second floor. He had sensed a possible approach; and his hunch was justified. From around the edge of the stairs came a glaring enemy. It was Wardlock, his moonish face flushed with excitement. The secretary held an upraised revolver.