On the night after his first fight with Zemba, The Shadow had come to the caveau, to introduce himself as Zemba. He had used the three Apaches whom Zemba had discarded. He had given them the quest of discovering the one fact that he needed — the location of Zemba’s own headquarters!
The Shadow had talked with the Apaches as Zemba. He had watched them as The Shadow. They had worked out of the studio that The Shadow had given them. Finally, he had used the trio to capture Marlier and the guards, here in the Vraillard Palace. Zemba had never guessed what was going on. He had not even suspected possibilities until this moment of The Shadow’s appearance within the curtained doorway.
In the three-way medley, clever minds had worked cunning plans. Etienne Robeq had pretended to be The Shadow. Through that scheme, he had gained the aid of Harry and Cliff. Gaspard Zemba, passing himself as Robeq, had actually invoked the aid of the law and had been able to introduce false agents. But The Shadow had topped the game. Guised as Zemba, he had actually tricked Zemba’s own Apaches into aiding his destruction of the supercrook’s best schemes!
To Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, that part of the game was still puzzling. But they realized other facts. When they had gone from the Hotel Moderne to the Pension Grandine, The Shadow had been watching for them. He had seen them continue to the Hotel Princesse. He had found out that a Herbert Balliol was staying there. He had known that Balliol must be Robeq.
For only Robeq could have profited by pretending to be The Shadow. That game would have been useless to Zemba. Hence The Shadow had reasoned that Zemba could have chosen the role of Robeq. A possibility that proved to be fact. First, leakage of news from the prefecture had suggested its likelihood. Then had come the appearance of a man who claimed to be Robeq. The Shadow had long-since divined that the twist was a triple one.
Tonight, luck had gone against The Shadow. Through his three Apaches, he had cleared the way for invasion. He had counted upon Harry and Cliff. Robeq, unfortunately, had found them still at the hotel. Stepping into the game, Robeq had called the prefect. That had resulted in information reaching Zemba.
Reaching the Palais Vraillard, The Shadow had been too late. He had made no haste, for he wanted his agents posted. Sending agents, he had realized all that had happened. Talking with the unsuspecting Apaches, he had learned of the secret stairs up from the cellar. Arriving at his listening post, he had heard everything. He had opened the package that was supposed to hold a bomb. From it, he had brought his garb of black. That package had been a device to deceive the three Apaches.
ALTHOUGH he had foreseen developments, The Shadow had been unable to intervene. Matters would have proven confusing to the very men whom he had come to aid. Until the truth was out, The Shadow could not have acted. But now that Zemba had gained full control, the opportunity had come.
Even now, The Shadow could have waited; but he saw a chance that might not come again. Zemba had sent the false agents to the hallway. Robeq, Delka, Harry, Cliff — all were still capable to aid. Moreover, Zemba had forced the issue, by stating sudden suspicion regarding the guards who should have been on duty in the cellar.
This was a time that called for swiftness. Well did The Shadow meet the crisis. Thrusting himself through the curtained doorway, he had drawn attention by his challenging laugh. Zemba had turned; so had all others. Five helpless men were freed from menacing guns; for every weapon swung to greet The Shadow.
Automatics blasted their prompt message before a single crook had time to fire. Muzzles tongued spurts of flame that stabbed like fiery daggers. Four men were The Shadow’s targets. One was Gaspard Zemba; the second, the traitorous Sergeant Rusanne; the last two were false agents, who were still within the room.
Zemba and Rusanne sprawled simultaneously, while tugging at revolver triggers. They fell, firing uselessly and wildly, beyond heavy chairs that blocked further gunfire. The false agents, slower on the trigger, were spilled by the next blasts. One fired badly, peppering the wall beside The Shadow. The other did not fire at all.
The Shadow had ignored four others. They were the foreign spies, who had disarmed Harry, Cliff and the other prisoners. Those spies had thrown captured guns into the wastebasket and were fishing out their own instead. They were in the correct position for the mass attack which came.
Robeq and Delka were closest to the spies. Quick thinkers, they leaped forward to down those immediate foemen. Harry and Cliff were farther, but fully as spontaneous in action. They grabbed for the other pair.
Four pairs of fighters sprawled upon the floor; and into the fray came Monsieur Clandine. Having no antagonist, the prefect snatched the wastebasket. He yanked two guns from it and swung to aid The Shadow.
Clandine’s move was timely. The false agents from the hall were piling in with fury. The Shadow, sweeping forward to meet them, was quick with opening shots. Clandine joined; the agents fell back. Rusanne, who had been clipped in the left shoulder, bobbed up and snarled as he aimed for Clandine. The Shadow swung and blazed a shot that rolled the traitor to the floor.
A hiss from The Shadow. Clandine pounced over to aid struggling fighters. Delka and Cliff were being overpowered. Clandine used a gun butt to club the spy who fought with Delka. Robeq, hurling aside his own antagonist, piled to Cliff’s aid. Harry was subduing the man with whom he grappled.
DURING that action, The Shadow stood alone. He was facing the outer door, awaiting a six-man attack. He knew those false agents to be desperate fighters. Otherwise, they would not have joined the service of Gaspard Zemba. When they came, they would arrive en masse. This was their opportunity, while The Shadow stood unaided.
Oddly, the hands of The Shadow differed. The right one was gloved; the left was bare. No girasol glittered from his finger. He was like a statue formed of darkness except for that ungloved left hand. He was waiting for the danger that he knew was due.
Shouts from the hall. Six figures bounded into view. Like a phalanx, the uniformed fighters hurtled forward, revolvers barking as they came. Their object was to sweep through the open door; to riddle The Shadow, despite the cost of themselves. When the front men fell, the others would remain.
Automatics answered. The foremost agent sprawled before he reached the door. Then, from beyond the wildly barking guns came the crackles of new revolvers. While The Shadow waited, the false agents spread. Flinging themselves to the floor of the hall, they turned to protect themselves against an unexpected flank attack.
The three Apaches had arrived from below. The Shadow had counted upon them. They were attacking from the door of the stairs.
Georges and Bantoire had opened fire with their revolvers. The false agents had broken; then had dropped for cover. They had seen Jacques, between the other Apaches, ready with his submachine gun.
To the three Apaches, the uniformed men appeared to be ordinary agents. There was no opportunity for explanation. The Apaches were following orders that they believed had come directly from Zemba. Agents were their natural enemies. They were prepared to annihilate the squad.
The machine gun rattled. Jacques was spraying it while the false agents fired their revolvers. Bullets streamed against the walls of the hallway. Then the hail ceased. A widened grin spread across the pockmarked face of Jacques. He had exterminated the six false agents.
Georges was slumped upon the floor. Bantoire tottered; then sprawled. Jacques glared. Revolver shots, planned for Jacques, had reached the Apache’s comrades. Snarling as he started forward, Jacques was looking for another chance at massacre.
Within the beleaguered room, The Shadow waited. But while he watched the door, an action took place beside him. A figure was coming up from the floor. It was Gaspard Zemba. The Shadow’s first shot clipped the crook’s gun wrist. Zemba had lost his revolver; but he had lain waiting, in hope of future action. He had heard the clatter in the hall. He knew that the machine gunner might be one of his Apaches.