The Shadow paused with a smile.
“Perhaps,” he added, “I should let you see the word for yourselves.”
The cloth spread over his left arm, The Shadow used his right hand to finger the dials. Shifting, he pressed Major Rowden to one side; Malfort, unhindered, bent closer. The Shadow turned the dials until they formed the word:
BQJND
“Not quite the word,” he remarked. “Just a tiny change to each dial and then -”
With deft fingers, The Shadow touched the dials in regular order. He moved each a single letter: the first two dials to the right; the third and fourth to the left; the last to the right. The combination spelled the key-word:
CRIME
THE SHADOW’S hand was on the knob, to lift it. Malfort’s gleaming eyes showed sudden rage. Wheeling away, the master crook ripped off his wig with one hand; his other fist went to his pocket to pull a revolver. His lips were opening to deliver the command for death.
The cry did not come. The Shadow had moved as swiftly as Malfort.
Flinging the black cloth over his head, The Shadow pulled the knob upward. With the same move, he twisted sidewise; bowled Rowden and Peju backward as he sprang away from the chest. Simultaneously, a sighing puff broke from the coffer. A cloud of greenish vapor spread with a blast that befogged the entire end of the room.
Cloudy, sea-green moisture splashed the silver dragon tapestry, penetrating its thin cloth. Writhing mist enshrouded The Shadow and Kenneth Malfort. Rowden and Peju were caught in the bombing spray. They staggered away, gasping, coughing. The Shadow’s coffer had delivered an explosion of tear gas – harmless unless received directly, but certain in its purpose. That vapor incapacitated every one who inhaled it. Similarly, the gas watered all eyes that it contacted.
Choking cries came from the wall. Maddened thugs ripped the tapestry away. Caught in a confined spot, they had taken the full effects of the gas, for they had been looking straight toward the chest. The thin cloth of the tapestry had not saved them. They staggered into the room; they rolled about, forgetting their revolvers as they clamped their hands to their stricken faces.
The vapor settled, leaving choking men in its wake. Rowden and Peju had taken it like the thugs; but their plight was less, for The Shadow had shoved them from the danger spot. The Shadow, himself, had avoided the tear gas by twisting the black cloth about his face. Eyes shut, breath held, he counted the seconds while the vapory cloud waned.
His hands unfolded the cloth about his shoulders; it settled, to form a cloak. From it, came a slouch hat that The Shadow clamped upon his head. Opening his eyes, The Shadow delivered a sinister laugh that gasping men could hear with new terror.
Garbed in black, The Shadow pulled automatics from beneath his cloak. He was master of the scene, ready for all comers. Coughing, weeping enemies, would find their only course to be surrender, as soon as they could draw their hands from their faces in order to raise their arms.
THEN came an unexpected challenge, from twenty paces distant. A cough changed to a vicious cry. The Shadow looked to the anteroom. There was Malfort, head raised. Half choking, he was aiming a revolver.
Malfort had dived away from the outpouring gas. Head buried in the wig that he had snatched away, he had made the hall, only partly overpowered by the tear gas. He had recovered sufficiently to attempt battle; nevertheless, The Shadow saw him falter as he aimed.
The Shadow swung an automatic to cover. As he did, a new sound struck his ear. It was a ploppy thump from the other direction – behind the curtains of the inner hall. As Malfort choked, The Shadow ignored him. Swinging about, the cloaked fighter faced the curtains.
Draperies had spread to show a fiendish yellow face; a knife glimmering from a clawish hand above it. It was Ku-Nuan; the killer had scaled the roof of the hotel, to open the trapdoor of the penthouse and drop through. His hand was driving downward; his blade was already on its way, although his fingers still touched the handle.
Had The Shadow stood his ground, the dirk would have found him. Instead, The Shadow faded toward the floor. Only his right hand remained motionless, like a fixed pivot on which his body turned. The knife blade slithered past The Shadow’s left shoulder, cutting the cloak, dirking the flesh beneath it. Steady, The Shadow’s right forefinger pressed a trigger.
Ku-Nuan had stopped at the end of his throw. He was in that position when the bullet reached him. The murderous Mongol shrilled a hideous scream as he jolted backward. He wavered, his evil face contorted, then withered to the foot of the spread curtains. Dark draperies settled above Ku-Nuan’s corpse.
Shots from the anteroom told that Malfort was active. The master crook was pumping bullets toward The Shadow – his first shots wide, for he, too, had been deceived by The Shadow’s fade. The Shadow swung about, raising his left arm. It faltered; for Ku-Nuan’s dirk had cut deep.
Malfort cleared his eyes with a quick blink. He took positive aim as The Shadow’s right hand swung upward. Fingers were on triggers; this was the moment of a final duel. One finger pressed an instant sooner. That finger was The Shadow’s.
Malfort wavered; yet his gun held its aim. The Shadow was ready with a second bullet; but he found no occasion to deliver it. An elevator door clanged open. Two guns barked shots at Malfort’s unsteadied form. The master crook slumped forward, dead. The Shadow’s agents had arrived.
FROM the open elevator shaft, there was sound of gunfire in the lobby below. The Shadow reached the anteroom; he heard Harry Vincent report that the police were riding up in a second elevator. The inside crooks had been beaten in sharp fray, begun by The Shadow’s agents. An arriving officer had dropped Barthow behind his desk, just as the clerk was aiming for the elevator that The Shadow’s agents had taken.
The Shadow looked toward Major Rowden. He saw that the emissary from China had shaken off the effects of the tear gas. Major Rowden had drawn a revolver, to cover the thugs who were still choking on the floor. Peju, too, was fit for action. The Siamese, though blinking, was probing the floor to gather up the guns that the crooks had dropped.
The Shadow boarded the elevator with his agents. As Harry clanged the door, they heard another elevator door open. The police had reached the penthouse. Cliff pulled the lever, to drop the elevator groundward. The Shadow ordered a stop at the second floor. He knew an outlet from there, that would avoid the lobby.
Outside the Maribar Hotel, police were forming their cordon. The Shadow’s work was done; the rest belonged to the law. Major Rowden could explain the cause for crime; the reason for the mystery chest that was weighted heavily with lead, to carry gas instead of gold.
Harry and Cliff gained the taxicab, waiting behind the hotel. The Shadow stood alone upon the street, watching the approach of a patrol car. He sidled to a passage beside an old garage; there he stood, while the passing lights failed to display his motionless form.
A laugh from darkness made the patrol car stop. The officers blinked, wondering from where the taunt had come. There was something uncanny in that note of victory that seemed to issue from a space beyond.
The mockery told The Shadow’s departure – his triumph over the insidious schemes of Kenneth Malfort.
