With The Shadow’s intervention, Herrando had immediately feared the consequences of the riot that he had begun. With a quick gesture to Cassalta and Bolano, he had gained the long flight of stairs, and the other two had followed him.
Upon the balcony, the three were waiting. They were alone, for there was another exit from the second floor; and all upstairs had taken it. The trio remained, with revolvers in their grasp, awaiting a moment of opportunity.
Carter Boswick, back against the wall below, did not offer the suitable target that they wanted, but a strange freak of chance brought him into range.
As the last of the departing patrons were scurrying from the rear doors, whistles sounded from beyond the gate outside the patio. The shrill sounds signaled the arrival of the police.
Carter Boswick, acting upon impulse, sought a quick exit. He sprang to the stairs, and hurried upward, at the same time calling out a warning to the black-clad rescuer at the outer door.
THE SHADOW’S eyes gleamed as they turned upward. He saw Carter Boswick’s intention, and realized that the American was trying to show him a way to safety. The Shadow’s laugh resounded through the room, a burst of triumph that rang out in the face of danger.
To The Shadow, the invasion of the police was no more a menace than the flight of the panic-stricken cowards who were now scurrying through the doors beyond. But there was a note in The Shadow’s mirth that betokened more.
His keen eyes saw that Carter Boswick, who thought himself safe, but feared for The Shadow, was actually the one who was about to encounter danger.
Three figures were rising to block the young man’s path. Foremost was Herrando; behind him, ready to join in the assassination, were Cassalta and Bolano.
As he faced the top of the stairs, Carter Boswick stopped short. Almost before his eyes was the gleaming muzzle of a revolver. Herrando, leaning coolly upon the newel post of the balcony balustrade, was about to deliver a fatal shot.
Carter’s gun was in his hand — the weapon that he had seized from the ruffian whom he had downed in combat. It was too late to use it now. He had run into certain death. The barrel of a threatening revolver scarcely a yard from his face; The Shadow, his rescuer, rods away, by the outer door!
Instinctively, Carter was sure that The Shadow could not aid him now, due to the distance of the range. The same thought had occurred to Herrando. It accounted for the South American’s boldness.
But neither Carter nor Herrando had reckoned with The Shadow’s might.
In that moment of tense suspense, when Herrando’s finger wavered on the trigger, The Shadow’s right hand acted. The same hand had raised its automatic in time with the lifting of the head above it. The automatic spoke. One single shot.
Herrando’s body twisted. A cry came from the assassin’s evil lips. His murderous form toppled against the balustrade. The ornamental parapet failed beneath his sagging weight. Decayed wood crackled; the rail broke, and Herrando shot forward with a wild shriek, plunging headlong to the floor below.
The Shadow’s thrust shattered the morale of the other two villains. Cassalta and Bolano did not wait to learn of Herrando’s fate. The unexpected stroke was proof of The Shadow’s power, even at this distance.
Carter Boswick, raising his revolver as Herrando fell, was also a menace close at hand. Instead of raising their guns, the two South Americans plunged madly into the doorway of a room behind them. Carter Boswick fired futile shots at their retreating forms.
With the foiled assassins gone, Carter looked below to see what The Shadow was about to do. He saw one black arm raised; he noted the pointing finger that bade him to follow the route which the fleeing pair had taken. Carter hesitated a moment; then, as the stern finger continued to point, the young man obeyed.
He found that the room into which his enemies had run had an opening to an outside corridor. He followed this and came to a stairway. It led him to an outer doorway on a narrow, deserted street.
This was the way that all upstairs had taken. No one had remained in the vicinity. No police had arrived here as yet. Pocketing the revolver, Carter Boswick moved rapidly along, confident that he could find his way to the Southern Star unmolested.
BACK in the main room of the old Barcelona Club, The Shadow stood alone. The iron gate was clanging as police sought to break their way into the patio. Calmly sliding his two braces of automatics beneath the folds of his cloak, The Shadow moved among the tables until he reached the spot where Herrando lay.
The murderous villain was dead. The Shadow’s timely shot had not killed, for it had been designed to prevent Herrando from using his own weapon, and The Shadow had picked the man’s right shoulder as the most accessible spot. But the plunge from the balcony had finished The Shadow’s work. Herrando’s neck was broken.
A terrific clang came from the distance as the iron gate broke before the attacks of the enraged police. The Shadow’s laugh seemed to join in the echoes of the clatter. There was a reason now why The Shadow did not want his presence known to these invaders.
With strident mirth still ringing from his lips, the black-garbed fighter stooped and picked up the body of Herrando as one would lift the form of a small child. With his burden slung across his shoulder, The Shadow strode through one of the farther doorways.
When the police arrived, a minute later, they found the hall deserted, save for a few wounded ruffians who still lay among the tables. These were attackers whom The Shadow had crippled so effectively that they had been unable to join the others in hasty flight.
The Shadow, himself, was gone, leaving no token of his departure. Somewhere amid the narrow streets of old Havana, he was carrying away the dead body of the final victim.
The Shadow had prevented assassination tonight. In so doing, he had defeated a horde of Cuban apaches, and had spread terror among the evildoers of the island’s capital.
The Shadow’s work was not yet ended. He had not prevented the danger that was due to come. How the intended murder of Carter Boswick could still be thwarted was the next problem that The Shadow must meet.
Carter Boswick might believe himself safe aboard the Southern Star. The Shadow knew that the menace still hung over the homeward-bound New Yorker. When danger ruled again, The Shadow would meet it, by craft as well as might.
CHAPTER VI
THE SHADOW’S STRATEGY
THE Southern Star was plowing northward. The first night out of Havana, new passengers were making friends, and old ones were renewing acquaintances. Only the more experienced seafarers were in the smoking room, however, as the weather was rough, and the rolling of the ship was none too pleasant.
Two men — apparently chance acquaintances — were seated in a corner of the smoking room. One was Cassalta; the other Bolano. Each had picked up his ticket without reporting to Stacks Lodi. This was their first meeting, and they had not yet interviewed their chief.
Bolano was raising a glass of liquor to his lips. Suddenly be stopped, and his hand trembled. Cassalta looked in the direction of his companion’s eyes. There, approaching the table, was their fellow villain of the night before — Herrando.
Both the seated men repressed gasps of astonishment as Herrando joined them. They noted that their returned comrade was pale; that his right arm was held stiffly at his side. But he smiled in the villainous fashion of Herrando.
“You thought I was dead, eh?” he questioned, in Spanish. “Well, comrades, you were wrong!”
“But you were shot.”