The tone startled the waiting agents. They heard it answered by a hollow echo. That told them the elusiveness of the eerie laugh. No one — not even the Apaches close at hand — could have guessed the exact source of the sound.
Again the laugh; this time with rising, eerie crescendo. A shivering tone more evasive than the first. A mocking thrust that brought cries of venom. Tricked, the Apaches responded as The Shadow had planned. In a trice, they turned the tables on themselves.
Electric torches glimmered everywhere, sweeping about the alleyway to reveal the stone walls of the cul-de-sac. The lights glittered from the tops of steps that emerged from cellar dens.
The beams spread; one glimmering ray shone suddenly upon a weaving figure that stopped like a frozen statue. Burning eyes glittered in the light. Again the laugh resounded.
With it came the burst of automatics. Big guns tongued blasts of flame from black-gloved fists. Bullets zimmed for the Apache with the telltale flashlight Instantly, that beam dropped to the ground. The Shadow was gone again, in darkness.
Apaches were springing forward, yelling their defiance, spinning their flashlights as they fired revolvers toward the end wall of the blind alley. Knives clattered against stones. Like bullets, they found nothingness. The Shadow had whirled away; his own guns roared their welcome.
LIGHTS went clattering. Yells turned to groans. The Apaches were The Shadow’s targets. Their lights made them his prey. Cursing, howling, they sprawled upon the paving of the alley while a living turret blasted slugs into their midst.
Transfixed by the amazing fray, Harry and Cliff came suddenly to their senses. They heard shouts behind them. They realized that the battle in the alley was but the beginning of the fray. Apaches were surging in from the street. Quickly, The Shadow’s agents turned to meet the attack.
Pumping hastily with their automatics, Harry and Cliff were suddenly bathed in the glare of new torches. For a moment, they were rooted. They dropped back instinctively, just as guns boomed and bullets sizzled past them.
Again they fired. From up the street came other shots; some Apaches swung in that direction. Then shots from the other direction, by the Cabaret du Diable. Those diverting blasts made up for the lapse of The Shadow’s agents.
Besides, the surge of Apaches hurtling toward them were men with knives; close-range fighters who were following the searchlight’s path. Harry and Cliff aimed valiantly; as they did, a form arrived between them. It was The Shadow.
An automatic roared its thunderous tenor, close to the ears of Harry and Cliff. Shattering glass — a howl — and the searchlight was gone. Sweeping arms hurtled Harry and Cliff aside. A cloaked shape sprang squarely into the cluster of knife-bearing Apaches. The agents could hear the thuds as automatics met blocking skulls.
Another flashlight glimmered. It showed a black shape twisting from grasping arms. A knife slashed. It cleaved a huge stretch of cloth. Clawing hands gripped The Shadow. Then Harry saw a diving form go rolling from the cloak.
An automatic stabbed upward as The Shadow struck the ground. An Apache howled, dropped his knife and fell. Then another shot boomed from beside Harry’s ear. The new light went out.
Cliff had used The Shadow’s method. He had picked off the Apache with that glimmering torch. But the fight had become a general melee. Men were everywhere, firing up and down the street. New flashlights were glimmering. The law had arrived. Delka was back with the agents, to rejoin Robeq.
AS Harry and Cliff sprang forward, the sweeping beams gave flickering flashes of amazing scenes. Just away from them, twisting to reach the far end of the narrow streets, Harry and Cliff saw the tall form of Herbert Balliol, an expected sight, since they had witnessed the loss of the cloak and hat.
They sprang to aid, bashing down Apaches who blocked their way. Then, as they grappled with mad fighters, they saw another figure across the street. An aiming, glaring fighter, whose face they knew, though they had never seen such a countenance before.
The countenance of Gaspard Zemba, leering above a gun muzzle that pointed toward the spot where Balliol was struggling. Once those fighters broke that gun would bark. Harry and Cliff were hopelessly unable to prevent it; for they were struggling too completely with their own adversaries.
But in that moment of terrific combat came a break. Leaping forward, recklessly sweeping in front of the police flashlights came another whose identity neither Harry nor Cliff could guess. His was a square-jawed face, with black hair above. A struggling Apache gasped the name:
“Robeq!”
The twisted figure of Herbert Balliol, stretched amid grapplers whom he was driving off with the pounding swing of one gun. The snarling, gloating watcher beyond, swinging suddenly to meet the new invasion of a square-jawed man who was on the forward move.
All three were face to face each in a situation of his own. The Shadow, Etienne Robeq, who battled for right, confronted by their enemy, Gaspard Zemba!
CHAPTER XIV
THE DOUBLE CAPTURE
HARRY VINCENT was a witness to the quick events that followed. He saw the chances that were lost. Deadlocked with an opponent of his own, Harry could not participate in the quick shifts that occurred.
He saw a long, aiming arm beneath the strained face of Herbert Balliol. He saw that pointing hand go up, struck by an Apache’s fist. Despite himself, Harry groaned, for with the Apache’s stroke, he saw the gloat on Zemba’s face, far beyond. He saw the gun beneath that evil visage, as it spat a single shot.
The Shadow’s chance was gone. Another gun was booming; that of the man who had sprung forward from the ranks of the law. Harry saw the grim, square jaw of Etienne Robeq. He was firing revolver shots at the leering face of Gaspard Zemba.
Instantly, Harry realized that fighter alone had ammunition; that he was aiming toward one whose last bullet was gone! The single shot had not stopped the newest entrant. The tide was turned!
In that moment, Harry would have sworn that all was up with Gaspard Zemba. That, however, was because Harry had failed utterly to size the situation. It was not until long afterward that he finally realized how badly he had guessed.
It was Eric Delka, farther back, who had sensed partially what might happen. He had called a warning to Robeq; but the man beside him had sprung forward despite it. Delka had seen a last surge of Apaches, spring up from walls along the street. They had recognized that agents were present. They piled upon their natural enemies. With that surge, revealing flashlights again went scattering along the cobblestones.
A complete black-out changed everything. In an instant, three faces were lost. The Shadow — Etienne Robeq — Gaspard Zemba — all were lost in total darkness. Then, as Harry felt the grip of the Apache who held him, he heard Cliff’s quick voice close by.
“Harry! Where are you?”
“Here!” Harry twisted and shoved the Apache squarely toward Cliff’s direction. “Take him out, Cliff!”
A gurgle. The Apache’s arms went wide. Cliff, who had just downed his own opponent, was speedy in his response to Harry’s plea. He had grabbed the Apache’s neck. Under Cliff’s choking grip, the rogue had given up the battle.
Harry heard the Apache thud none too gently as Cliff propelled him to the street. Then the two agents were together. Blindly, they dived for the spot where they had last seen the face of Herbert Balliol. Their one purpose was to save The Shadow.
Scuffling sounds. Harry gave a call. A warning hiss sounded in the darkness; a token that The Shadow was all right. Then, sprawling bodies stumbling, Harry and Cliff found themselves above a cluster of outstretched Apaches.