Before Jarvis Raleigh could reply, Quarley raised himself upon his hands and knees. Groping in his pocket, the old servant yanked out his revolver. He faltered as he sought to raise it to aim at Stokes Corvin.
Quickly, the man at the door thrust his own right hand into his pocket. A revolver gleamed as he brought it into view. Late on the draw, Corvin was trying to beat Quarley to the shot.
Then came the interruption. From high above, a sinister laugh broke shuddering through the turret. All eyes went upward, their owners startled by that unexpected burst of mockery.
CLINGING to the crossbeams of the turret was the black-garbed form of The Shadow. Like a materialized ghost, this listening master had thrust his hand into the play.
While Stokes Corvin stood with leveled gun; while Quarley’s weapon pointed from his steadying hand; while Jarvis Raleigh was standing spectator to the duel, The Shadow, by his sinister, echoing taunt, had brought a sudden interlude before the coming climax.
Blazing eyes shone from above. They were the eyes of the being who knew; they were eyes that had seen the ways of crime. The eyes of The Shadow. No man of evil could face The Shadow without realizing the menace of that black-clad avenger.
A fierce cry came from Stokes Corvin’s lips as the man at the door swung his hand upward. With the eyes of The Shadow as his targets, Corvin pressed finger to trigger to deliver a shot that never came.
A roar from the turret. Aiming downward The Shadow balked Corvin’s shot with a bullet from his automatic. Stokes Corvin staggered as the shot shattered his wrist. Dropping his revolver, he backed, screaming, toward the outer door.
A fierce cry came from Quarley. Belated in his effort to beat Stokes Corvin’s aim, the servant acted now. Furiously, he fired at the backing form. Stokes Corvin staggered, swayed dizzily and sprawled face foremost upon the floor of the turret entry.
A hollow laugh came from high above. The Shadow’s weird mockery reverberated with ghoulish echoes. The Shadow’s taunt was one that marked the delivery of deserved vengeance.
Glowing eyes surveyed the body of Stokes Corvin sprawled upon the floor. The Shadow, through his timely intervention, had marked the man of crime who dwelt within Montgard. His bullet had laid Stokes Corvin open for Quarley’s frenzied shots.
Stokes Corvin, the man who had made a pretense of ferreting for crime, was actually the murderer who had sent three helpless men to their doom.
The Shadow, through his keen intuition, had gained the clews to Corvin’s evil game. He had come here to climax inside crime with vengeance.
The dying throbs of The Shadow’s laugh were tokens of retaliation. They also carried an ominous note of readiness for events that were to come.
Though Stokes Corvin, murderer, was dead, the finish to his game had not yet arrived. Jarvis Raleigh and Quarley, staring upward, saw to their amazement that The Shadow had disappeared.
Solid wall — solid turret above — where had The Shadow gone? They did not realize that the vanished fighter had chosen a strange, unknown path.
The Shadow was on his way to meet the next thrust of crime. The Shadow had learned another secret of Montgard. He expected danger from without as aftermath to that which he had ended from within.
The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XXI
THE FINAL FIGHT
A REVOLVER barked from the darkness in front of Montgard. Quarley, standing in the center of the turret, looked beyond the body of Stokes Corvin. As the servant stared, a second shot sounded. A bullet sizzled past Quarley’s head and flattened itself against the stone inner wall of the tower.
“Back, Quarley!” gasped Jarvis Raleigh. “Back, into the house!”
The owner of Montgard sprang through the inner door as he cried the warning. Quarley, backing stubbornly, placed shots from his revolver through the open outer doorway. The answers came. Advancing men from the darkness sent new bullets zimming into the opened turret.
Quarley’s delayed retreat brought misfortune. Had he obeyed Raleigh’s frenzied order, Quarley might have escaped unscathed. As it was, the outburst from the darkness proved too formidable. Quarley staggered as he neared the inner door. Twisting, the servant sprawled to the floor and dropped his revolver as he crawled toward the passage that led to the dining room.
Instinctively, Quarley chose this route because it led away from the front door. The center corridor was no avenue for retreat. It would be open to the invaders who had opened with their volley.
Jarvis Raleigh seized the revolver. Flat against the inner wall, the owner of Montgard held his ground. Suddenly, he stared wildly along the passage to the library, just as a man sprang into view from the library door.
Others had entered from the veranda. Fiercely, Raleigh fired. Two shots sent the invaders back into the library. Then the revolver clicked. The last bullet had been dispatched.
Dropping the emptied weapon, Jarvis Raleigh sprang toward the passage to the dining room. He grabbed Quarley and dragged the old servant toward that spot of security.
Momentary silence prevailed. Then came the growl of Mallet Haverly, from a spot just beyond the outer door. The racketeer had arrived with new cohorts to replace his former minions. Expecting shots from within, he was gathering his men for a rush.
Speedy Tyron was the little crook whom Jarvis Raleigh had seen at the library door. The lieutenant was there with part of the new mob. Like Mallet, he was waiting momentarily.
THE center passage of the old house was a gloomy, dimly lighted corridor. To all appearances it was empty. Yet something was moving in its obscurity. A stealthy figure had descended from the stairway.
The Shadow was creeping forward to gain the danger post — that meeting spot of three corridors from which Jarvis Raleigh and Quarley had fled.
As The Shadow, close to the wall, drew near to his objective, the signal came from Mallet Haverly. In through the front door dashed a trio of mobsters, swinging their revolvers.
Up straightened The Shadow’s form. Automatics thundered from the central hall. Hot lead seared the vanguard. These unexpected shots sent two mobsters sprawling; the third, stopping short in the center of the turret, was clipped as he aimed toward the spot from which the shots had come.
The Shadow sprang forward. Across the junction of the passages; into the turret; all the while his automatics were delivering their intermittent barrage toward the opening where the invaders must enter — the outer door.
Mallet Haverly, swinging in to follow his men, went down. A mobster toppled beside him. Other gorillas, seeing their companions fall, took to the darkness, seeking to get the range from a more distant angle.
The Shadow had foreseen this move. He swung back into the house, heading for the passage to the library. He gained his new objective just as shots broke loose from outside. A gorilla’s bullet skimmed the shoulder beneath the black cloak.
With gloved hands The Shadow was thrusting his automatics beneath his cloak. His black fists swooped forth, each with a new weapon. The action was accomplished at a timely moment. Speedy Tyron and a mobster had stepped into the passage from the library. Others were behind them.
The Shadow dropped as he fired. Speedy’s first shot whistled an inch above the black slouch hat. Bursts from the automatics. Speedy staggered; his companion sprawled. The Shadow sprang forward toward the doorway.
There was a reason for his attack in this direction. The gorillas out front had turned to meet new enemies. Shots had broken loose from a clump of bushes off beyond the house. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were joining in the fray. The Shadow’s agents were set to cover the front door as well as the veranda.