The thug had opportunity. He turned his flashlight on The Shadow and saw the latter’s plight. On the floor were revolvers and rifles. Had the crook chosen one of those weapons, he could have dropped The Shadow in his tracks. But this thug had tasted the triumph of one slugging delivery.
The wrench was still in his hand. He wanted to use it again; to pound away until he had accomplished primitive murder. Wielding his improvised cudgel, the thug started forward in pursuit.
THE SHADOW had stumbled at the stairway. Twisting he had fallen back upon the steps. His left arm was moving slowly, numbed by the stroke that had glanced from it. His eyes stared upward, straight into the glare of the flashlight that was bearing down upon him. For the moment, The Shadow could not grasp the situation.
He knew only that the light was carried by a foe. His head slumped back against the steps. His right hand moved upward with instinctive action. His finger pressed the trigger of the automatic. The gun muzzle blazed its message; the .45 kicked back against The Shadow’s chest.
The driving thug jolted. A harsh cry came from his snarling lips. His surge carried him onward; but he was staggering as he reached The Shadow. The flashlight dropped from his loosening left hand. The wrench fell backward from his upraised right.
Gasping incoherent oaths, the thug clamped both hands against his stomach; then slumped downward and rolled on the floor.
The Shadow twisted about. Still clutching his gun, he groped for the steps. From above came the draught of cold air; the welcoming atmosphere of the deck.
Wavering slightly, tripping at intervals, The Shadow made his way to the clear. Crisp air was reviving; yet he slumped slightly as he sought his balance.
A lantern swung from an opening down the deck. One of the crew had come from below, hearing shots somewhere aboard. Savage oaths sounded from along the rail.
The Xerxes was alive with ruffians, instructed to remain above. They had thought that the shots were delivered by Partridge and Cray, doing murder below. But this lantern, indicative of a crew member, was their signal for a mass attack.
The riffraff surged forward. Swinging revolvers and blackjacks were the weapons with which they intended to beat down the helpless seaman. No need for shots, they thought. The sailor, however, thought differently. He had a revolver; he began to use it, firing blindly. Ruffians scattered.
Another lantern swung into view. A second seaman began a volley. This time, crooks replied. They opened a barrage; the sailors hurled away their lanterns and dropped to the deck. Dolver’s new allies were here in power; a score against a pair, they were ready to charge in and wipe out the two who had opposed them.
They had not reckoned with The Shadow. The cold night air had revived that fighter; the bark of gun inspired him to battle. As riffraff charged, The Shadow swept forward. His automatics blasted stopping shots into those advancing ranks.
Above the roar of battle sounded the peal of mighty laughter, The Shadow’s challenge to the outspread invaders. Spurting guns were the targets that The Shadow chose.
His swift shots found his foemen. They, in turn, were aiming; those who were wise laid low and watched for The Shadow’s gunfire. They jabbed revolver shots in reply.
SWISHING through darkness, turning, twisting The Shadow set a zigzag course that none could follow.
He was heading toward the bow; his laugh came as a new taunt as he dropped emptied automatics beneath his cloak and brought forth another brace of weapons.
Crooks fired blindly; again they heard the mockery from farther forward. Automatics spurted; then, once more, The Shadow zigzagged as he sought a new position.
As he fired from close beside the bridge, The Shadow wheeled suddenly. Two crooks were rising from a spot close beside him; they were picked members of the horde. Dim against the deck, they had some purpose here.
As he heard them clatter forward, The Shadow surged squarely against the pair, swinging his heavy automatics. His sweeping drives beat down aiming arms; for the pair had made a wrong guess in the darkness.
The Shadow drove new blows. One thug thudded; the other grappled. The Shadow delivered a single shot; the crook’s grip loosened. New shots burst from the deck as The Shadow spun away diving for the cover where the pair of foemen had been.
Dropping low in the darkness, The Shadow stumbled over huddled bodies. He had come upon the captured members of Jund’s crew.
Here in this vantage point, The Shadow waited. Huddled in darkness, he reloaded his first weapons while creeping figures rose and scurried along the deck.
Reserves were coming up the ladder from the scow. The Shadow did not try to stop them. He was holding off for time, seeking to save these captured men as well as those two sailors who were crouching somewhere, waiting. Until a new attack began, The Shadow chose to reserve his power.
EVEN as The Shadow waited on the deck, new events were starting below; happenings that were due to precipitate that delayed attack by men of evil.
In the strong room, Captain Jund and Dave Callard had been motionless during the fight in the hall.
Somehow they knew that their cloaked rescuer possessed the ability to fight lone combat.
They had steadily held Courtney Dolver at bay, with Lessing helpless also. But the sound of gunfire from the deck above had given cause for worry. Dave had suggested going up; Jund had given him the nod.
As Dave turned to leave the strong room, the unexpected happened.
Lessing sprang forward upon Jund. The captain met the attack with a pointblank shot. Lessing kept on, though crippled, bowling down Jund. Across the struggling forms sprang Dolver.
Dave wheeled to grapple with the archcrook. Dolver staggered him with a surprising punch that landed squarely on Dave’s jaw.
Jund rolled free from Lessing, who rolled groaning to the floor. The captain fired at Dolver; he was too late to clip the murderer.
Dave followed suit from the corner where Dolver had thrust him. His shots failed; Dolver had passed the turn in the passage.
Kicking a revolver in the dark, Dolver scooped it up and kept on. He gained the stairway and was halfway up in it when Dave and Jund arrived to fire wild shots along the passage. Again, their bullets failed to reach the supercrook. Dolver gained the deck.
The Shadow, from his vantage spot was watching down the river, where tiny lights were twinkling from close beside the water. He knew the meaning of those lights; they told of the approaching police boats.
Two miles away, it would be four minutes before they arrived.
The Shadow was holding out for that arrival; the change of circumstances, however, was destined to end his purpose. Courtney Dolver, coming out into the temporary silence of the deck, was here to command a devastating onslaught.
A sharp cry in the night to lurking skulkers, who needed only this order to turn them into demons. Upon that cry came the glare of flashlights and the bark of guns. Their numbers increased by new reserves, thirty murderous men were surging out from cover at the command of an insidious chief.
CHAPTER XXII. THE TRIUMPH
AGAIN, in reply came The Shadow’s laugh. Rising in the glare of concentrated lights, a spectral form rose suddenly to view. Into the ranks of evil attackers ripped bullets from formidable automatics. Each .45 was opening a fierce barrage.
Revolvers answered. Hasty shots zipped past that swaying figure whose mighty guns belched death.
Never had evil foemen met with such resistance.
As his left hand gun clicked empty, The Shadow hurled it through the air and snatched another from his cloak. A split-second later, his right hand flung its automatic and produced another weapon.