The Shadow - Gray Fist Part 9

"Who is Gray Fist?"

The Shadow's sibilant question was timed at the moment of Preston's greatest weakness. It brought a pitiful, truthful gasp from the cornered lawyer.

"I don't know!" pleaded Preston. "I don't know!"

"You are watching others," announced The Shadow. "They, like Varden, are dupes of Gray Fist. I want their names."

For the first time, Preston hesitated. The Shadow followed with another order.

"Give me the list," he commanded. "It is in your desk."

Preston gasped. He did not realize that he had been talking of such a list when Cardona had left; that he had glanced toward the desk immediately after the detective's departure. The Shadow had heard; The Shadow had seen. The Shadow knew.

With a hopeless effort, Preston clutched the side of the desk. He had a wild desire to try to conceal the actual spot where the list was hidden.

The thought faded as Preston viewed The Shadow's burning eyes. With hands that shook so he could scarcely control them, Preston slid back the slide and pulled the list from its hiding place. He held the paper toward The Shadow. A gloved hand plucked it from the lawyer's grasp.

As Preston stared, he could see the burning eyes focused straight above the sheet of paper. The Shadow was watching while he read. There was no chance for Preston to make a break. Instinctively, however, the lawyer cowered along the wall, hoping that The Shadow's vigil might release.

A dozen names appeared upon the list that The Shadow scanned. They were the names of prominent men, arranged in alphabetical order. The name of Worth Varden was at the bottom of the list. It, alone, had been blue-penciled. That was significant. It brought a soft, chuckling laugh from the throat of TheShadow.

"You have watched all these?"

Preston laid his hand against the wall as he heard The Shadow's question. He nodded weakly.

"Who beside Varden," came The Shadow's cold tone, "has been marked for death?"

"None," gasped Preston.

The Shadow knew that the lawyer spoke the truth. He saw that Gray Fist's plans of crime had just begun. Worth Varden was the only victim who had tried to escape his clutch. These others were slated to aid Gray Fist in schemes of evil. Again, The Shadow scanned the list.

"Tell me," he ordered, "the hold that Gray Fist has upon these men."

"I do not know," returned Preston. "My duty has been to watch. I know only that they are in his power-like myself-like Varden -"

THE SHADOW'S laugh came as an eerie interruption. The sheet of paper fluttered from his hand. It seemed to project itself across the floor toward Ruggles Preston. Stooping timidly, the lawyer picked it up.

For a moment, he rose in challenging att.i.tude; then the sight of The Shadow's looming automatic reduced him to a new state of hopeless terror. Backing toward the window, Preston waited, fearing the next move that his terrible captor might ordain.

"You are Gray Fist's dupe," decided The Shadow, in his whispering tone. "Yet your name does not appear upon the list. Those men are to be aided, not condemned. You, however, are a henchman as well as a dupe.

"I shall investigate those men, now that I hold their names within my brain. I shall free them from the power of Gray Fist. It will be your task to aid me. If not in life, in death!"

The Shadow's ultimatum was an unreal whisper that echoed fiercely through Ruggles Preston's brain. The weird words were like projected thoughts that burned their way to understanding. With those words, Ruggles Preston felt the mastery of the new being that dominated him. Fears of Gray Fist were fading before the presence of The Shadow.

Yet, as he clutched the list of names nervously between his grasping hands, Preston felt a last surge of recollection. He had served Gray Fist-a terrible master whom he had never seen. Perhaps it was an instinctive desire to test the greater power of The Shadow that caused Preston to rise beside the window and snarl wordlessly before he accepted his new servitude.

The lawyer's profile was by the window. The look on his face was hideous. Evil at heart, Preston could not veil his thoughts. It was when he stared into the challenging eyes of The Shadow that his false courage faded. Preston's look of venom faded. Horror harrowed his features. His body shook; his lips trembled as his visage blanched.

"I accept!" cried the lawyer. "I shall no longer serve Gray Fist! You are my master. You-you-The Shadow -"

Preston's voice had risen to a hoa.r.s.e scream. It was the frantic utterance that came from uncontrolled lips. As the lawyer stood framed in the opened window, all the agony of his heart was visible. "I-I shall serve The Shadow -"

These were the final words that Ruggles Preston cried. As he delivered them, a bursting roar of gunfire came from the roof beyond the lawyer's window. Clutching his list close to his body, Ruggles Preston tumbled forward, dead!

Cries sounded from outside. They were answered by shouts from the corridors within the apartment house. Ruggles Preston had shouted his new peonage to the world. Listeners had heard it. A watching sniper had fired the shot that had ended Preston's life.

One more man had become a burden to Gray Fist. A menace to the plotter's plans, Ruggles Preston had paid the price. This was Gray Fist's answer to The Shadow!

CHAPTER XVI. THE LAST REFUGE.

AS Ruggles Preston fell, The Shadow moved with swiftness. The black-clad avenger was clear of the window. Only chance had placed Preston within the watcher's range. With the lawyer's body cleared away, there was a momentary opportunity for the snipers to spot The Shadow. But before they had a chance to act, The Shadow had gained the wall beyond the desk.

That shot had been a signal. Furious shouts were coming. Men were pounding at the door of the living room. The presence of new hordes gave The Shadow his complete inkling of the new situation.

Some one-and Snakes Blakey could be the only one-had carried the word to Gray Fist that The Shadow had left his hide-out. Gray Fist, the hidden supermind, had given a new order. He had commanded that watchers surround Ruggles Preston's apartment.

Mobsters had come while The Shadow was entering here. Summoned from the underworld, they formed a corps with which Gray Fist could meet The Shadow's only counterthrust. Well had the schemer planned. Gray Fist knew that the only weak point in his protective armor was Ruggles Preston.

The lawyer's message had been carried to Gray Fist. The fact that Preston was at home alone had caused Gray Fist to surround the apartment in the chance that The Shadow, supersleuth, had learned of Preston's ident.i.ty with Gray Fist's cause of crime.

Joe Cardona had left. The Shadow had arrived. Gray Fist's minions were now upon the scene. From within and without, fighters from the bad lands were here to reopen frenzied battle with The Shadow!

It was in emergencies such as this that The Shadow's swiftness manifested itself to the full. The window, with its outside snipers, offered a poor avenue of escape. The doorway, where men were clamoring, was also dangerous; yet it was the only way.

Nevertheless, The Shadow worked with fast-moving strategy. His body seemed to fade beside the wall.

Dropping to pygmy proportions, The Shadow gained the s.p.a.ce below the window ledge. His hand came up. Bursting shots sounded from his automatic as he fired into the night.

THE answer was a furious fusillade from the parapet of the roof opposite. While those shots were coming, The Shadow was in motion. With swift, circling speed, he rounded the room clear of gunfire. His hand grasped the doork.n.o.b while men from without were still discharging their futile shots.

This was clever deception. The mobsters on the other side of the door thought that the fight was at the window. Before they could realize the change, the door shot inward, and a ma.s.s of blackness hurtled upon them. A quartet of gangsters fell back before the spraying fire of The Shadow's automatic. Not a trigger finger answered. Snarling, the enemies went down as The Shadow gave them merciless lead. A fierce laugh expressed The Shadow's momentary triumph. At close range, where every bullet had a chance, he had allowed no opportunity for startled gunmen to reply.

He had loosed the full fire of the single automatic. The pistol hurtled along the floor as The Shadow swept another from his cloak. His right hand had done this damage. His left, like his right, was drawing an automatic also.

A fire tower was beyond. Its red light was The Shadow's goal. The door pulled outward as The Shadow neared it. The automatics boomed. A revolver-drawing mobster fell. The Shadow, springing through the opening encountered another who had leaped from beside the door.

It was the upswing of The Shadow's left hand that stopped the shot this fellow sought to fire. The swift stroke was more effective than a bullet. It sent the revolver hurtling off through s.p.a.ce beyond the tower.

The gangster, as he made a startled grapple, received the full force of The Shadow's right-hand gun.

Down went the ruffian. The Shadow had saved his bullet. It would be needed later.

Later was at present. As The Shadow swerved to take the steps, a shot resounded from the other end of the hallway. It skimmed the shoulder beneath the left side of The Shadow's cloak. A mobster, coming up the steps within the building, had fired at the closing door.

One burst from The Shadow's right-hand gun dropped the new arrival in his tracks. The gangster sprawled wounded on the floor. The Shadow, his own wound superficial, bounded down the fire-tower steps.

Again, the hounds had overrun the fox. To-night, The Shadow had vanished from the bad lands while mobsters were converging at the focal point where he had been. This situation was duplicated on a smaller scale. The mobsters sent into the apartment had hurried toward Ruggles Preston's apartment.

Clearing through their circle, The Shadow had gained free course.

When he reached the bottom of the fire tower, however, distant enemies were ready. Those on the next-door roof were watching. As The Shadow's form appeared in phantom shape upon the lighted sidewalk, a sniper aimed below.

The revolver bullet cracked the sidewalk close beside The Shadow. Up came the right-hand automatic.

Its bark announced the pa.s.sage of a well-directed bullet. The eager sniper, leaning from the parapet to deliver a second shot, received The Shadow's metal messenger in his unguarded arm.

With a hoa.r.s.e cry, the sniper sprawled forward, lost his hold, and plunged headforemost into the s.p.a.ce between the buildings. A second shot from the automatic made the sniper's companions drop to cover.

Lost nerve prevented them from saving their wounded fellow.

A CAR was parked a short way up the street. Swinging, The Shadow headed toward it. His piercing eyes saw a gun muzzle projecting from a partly opened window. While a waiting mobster aimed. The Shadow beat him to the shot. A swiftly-pointed automatic thundered while on the rise.

A shattering window-a hideous scream. A second gangster jumped out of the car on the street side, and ran for shelter. The wheel was deserted. The Shadow reached the door and yanked it open. Out fell the wounded form of the mobster whom The Shadow had picked off. The gunman's revolver clattered to the sidewalk with a rattling shower of gla.s.s.

The Shadow leaped to the driver's seat. Hoa.r.s.e cries were coming from in back of him. They spurred him to quick effort. The seized car shot from the curb, and whirled toward the nearest avenue. Looming from behind, a sedan suddenly took up the chase. The Shadow whirled his car southward. The sedan followed. Downtown was the course of the speeding cars-away from the scene of battle.

It was a strange, silent chase; yet one which was in keeping with The Shadow's strategy. By leading followers away from their fellows, The Shadow was luring them to a spot where he could strike. Less brainy mobsters would have opened fire. These did not. That fact gave The Shadow a clew to those within the chasing car: Ruff Shefflin and Snakes Blakey.

The sedan was swifter than the car which The Shadow had taken. But in his well-feigned flight, The Shadow overcame the advantage. Quick turns, cross-town cuts, disregard for traffic lights; all these were bits of The Shadow's strategy.

He was ready at any moment to pull out of sight; to be ready with the trick that mobsters had tried on him, an attack from ambush. Odds meant nothing to The Shadow. He was pretending flight in order to open battle to the best advantage.

As the car swung round a corner, The Shadow's left arm weakened. Blobs of blood were dripping on the window sill beside the wheel. With a twist of his strong right hand, The Shadow completed the turn.

He realized, however, that his tactics soon must change. The wound which he had received upon the fire tower was becoming troublesome.

Raucous shouts came from the sedan as The Shadow pa.s.sed a corner. The cry was answered by a honking horn. A second car, a rakish phaeton, had joined in the chase. Luck had turned against The Shadow. A chance patrolling car from the underworld had caught the signal from Ruff Shefflin's sedan!

WITH wounded arm, with doubled enemies against whom he might have to cope, The Shadow changed his plans. His car leaped forward, and took up such a pace that the pursuers had all they could do to equal it.

Then came a swerve. The Shadow picked a small side street, and shot his car into a thick patch of blackness. The headlights showed one brief glare. They were extinguished. The Shadow's form emerged from the car. It pa.s.sed into total darkness just as the pursuing sedan whirled into the narrow street.

The brakes tightened on the sedan. Mobsters dropped from opening doors and rattled a hail of bullets at the car which they had pursued. With the glare of headlights to aid them, they hurried forward and yanked open the doors. Flashlights showed the car was empty.

The phaeton had arrived. Behind it came a third pursuing car. The alarm had been given. New bands of mobsters were on the way. Ruff Shefflin ordered henchmen to swing around the block and beyond.

When he reached the car from which The Shadow had escaped, Ruff found Snakes Blakey there. The evil-faced sneak pointed to the blood on the sill.

"He got away, though," growled Ruff.

"Got away?" Snakes followed the snarled question with a laugh. "Got away? He didn't get far. Look down there!"

He drew Ruff beyond a turn in the street. Bright lights glimmered not more than two blocks ahead. For the first time, Ruff realized where the chase had ended.

"Chinatown!" he exclaimed.

"That's right," laughed Snakes. "That's where he's gone. That's where he'll stay a while. That's where we'llsmoke him out!"

"How?"

"Gray Fist will handle that."

There was confidence in Snakes Blakey's evil chuckle. Ruff Shefflin understood. The Shadow, wounded, would be forced to rest. That would allow time to act while he was still spent from the chase.

More mobsters were a.s.sembling when Ruff went back along the narrow street. With Snakes whispering instructions, Ruff barked his orders. Eager gangsters were ready with their services. Ruff sent them away like a general placing his troops.

Half an hour after The Shadow had entered the temporary safety of Chinatown, a cordon of mobsters had established themselves all about that well-confined district. Every alleyway was watched. No possible exit remained.

While hosts of the underworld awaited Gray Fist's action, The Shadow was effectually bottled up in the limited section to which he had voluntarily traveled. A new focal point had been found. Chinatown was under a secret quarantine of the underworld.

While Ruff Shefflin remained in charge, Snakes Blakey departed. The sneaky go-between was off to see Gray Fist. There, he was to learn the means whereby The Shadow could be trapped in his last refuge!

CHAPTER XVII. CARDONA'S CLEW.

EVENTS at the Mandrilla Apartments had not ceased with the departure of The Shadow. Gang land's invasion to that section of Manhattan had brought trouble in its wake.

The Shadow's quick escape had been gained before police had arrived upon the scene of gunfire, but uniformed men had come into sight a few minutes after The Shadow had driven away with Ruff Shefflin in pursuit.

Half a dozen officers came from different directions. A radio patrol car reached the scene. Frightened bystanders who had scampered to the shelter of doorways began to give their versions of the situation.

From these-and from persons who came from the apartment building - the police learned that the fight had been both within the Mandrilla and outside.

One searching policeman promptly found the body of the gangster who had toppled from the roof of the house alongside the apartment building. Two of his fellows entered the house and hurried toward the roof. Arrived there, they caught a glimpse of lurking snipers. The police opened fire on the snipers.

Meanwhile, others entering the Mandrilla encountered trouble on the stairs. A skulker shot at the first officer he saw. The policeman returned the fire. There were others here besides the ones whom The Shadow had downed, Moreover, a few of the dropped mobsters were still capable of fight.

As gangsters retreated up the steps, the advancing police realized that they were going into what might prove a trap. Wisely, they waited reenforcements. All the while, the gangsters were prepared to fight it out.

Somehow, the frenzy of the underworld persisted even here. The mobsters, not knowing that The Shadow had escaped, actually expected aid from Ruff Shefflin. They did not know that their leader had deserted them. If they had, surrender would have been their action. A sniping fight was going on upon the roof next door. In the corridor outside of the apartment where Ruggles Preston lay dead, a squad of gangsters was awaiting attack by fire tower or by stairs. One mobster entered Preston's apartment. Ignoring the dead body, he opened fire at the roof across the way.

This gave the police a key. They had located the hotbed of mob resistance. They did not know the full extent of the gunmen's power; so they played the safe and cautious game. They closed every exit, and waited for the outburst that might come.

THE Mandrilla Apartments had become a veritable fortress. The siege was under way; and as in all sieges where the attackers hold the key, the invading police prepared themselves for a sortie. They were anxious to confine the coming gunplay to the apartment building and the roofs close by it.

Shrill whistles; blaring sirens-these encouraged the police to wait. Had the gangsters been in greater numbers, the sortie would have come. But the mobsmen, in their hopeless belief of possible aid, were cautious, even though they knew that a cordon was closing about them.