The Shadow - The Black Dragon Part 5

CHAPTER IX.

DEEP IN CHINATOWN.

EFFICIENCY was the watchword of Steve's new captors. When their car pulled into Chinatown they didn't park it on one of the narrow streets. Instead, Steve felt the sedan swerve, take a slight jolt over a low curb and roll in through a narrow opening, where a well-oiled door slithered shut behind the car.

Immediately, the stopping place became an elevator, its open platform descending to a stone-walled cellar. The car rolled forward, curved between two pillars and stopped beside a narrow door that showed a gloomy pa.s.sage leading underneath a street. Brought from the car by his two captors, Steve began to learn what underground Chinatown could really be like.

Steve was marched through what seemed an array of catacombs, some of the pa.s.sages looking more like pipes than tunnels. Always there were turns and devious angles, until Steve hadn't a glimmer of the direction that they followed. The trip ended in a steel door that slid aside to show a small elevator into which Steve was pressed.

Unable to determine the speed of the elevator's rise, Steve couldn't tell how many floors they covered. However, the ride marked journey's end, for when Steve was shoved from the elevator he promptly arrived in a small room furnished like an office, where an Oriental was seated at a desk. The seated man gave a dismissing gesture and Steve's captors retired.

For the moment, Steve thought that he was back in Li Huang's presence, but in a different setting. There was nothing Oriental about these surroundings.

The man at the desk was wearing American attire, instead of a robe. This might be a trick of Li Huang's, though curiously, Steve didn't entirely mistrust Li Huang.

Steve's deductions were still persistently blaming the girl, Ming Dwan, for most of his trouble.

Then Steve saw that the seated man was not Li Huang. Though Oriental, this man had an American manner; his face was rounded, with an owlish expression so utterly devoid of challenge that Steve felt he could handle this situation with ease. Instead of waiting for the man to speak, Steve lunged forward, intending to clear the desk and overwhelm the trivial man into submission.

Blackness met Steve halfway. A flood of it, that seemed like the engulfing depths of Li Huang's pit. Then he was whirling, faster than his brain could twirl, under the manipulation of something that could be described as a human tornado. When Steve did finish his spin, he was deep in a chair that seemed to be prolonging the merry-go-round ride.

THE blackness that had done it all a.s.sumed a human shape - that of a cloaked figure, which Steve didn't see, because it stood behind his chair.

Having come from nowhere, first as a living whirl, then a cloaked form, TheShadow carried the transformation still further. He removed his cloak and hat to become the complacent Mr. Cranston.

As Cranston, The Shadow was placing his black garments in a closet while Steve, slowly recuperating from his bewilderment, began to stare at the innocent Chinaman beyond the desk, wondering what kind of b.u.t.tons had been pressed to produce the miniature earthquake. Then, in between stepped Cranston, idly tendering Steve an open cigarette case.

"A smoke, Trask?" queried Cranston in an even tone. "You could use one, considering the strain your nerves have been under."

Steve started to accept a cigarette, then shook his head. Reaching in his pocket, he brought out his pipe and pouch. Lighting a cigarette himself, Cranston finished by extending the lighter to Steve's pipe bowl. Taking a few draws of Fenmore's special smoking mixture, Steve looked squarely at Cranston and said: "Your name is Cranston. I saw you up at Fenmore's house."

"Quite right," Cranston acknowledged. He gestured toward the desk. "And this is Doctor Roy Tam, a Chinese friend of mine who is very desirous of curbing the activities of the Black Dragon."

Dr. Tam leaned forward on his folded arms.

"We regret the measures necessary to bring you here," spoke Tam in precise English. "The Shadow would have preferred that you remain in the cab which he provided. Fortunately, the driver foresaw that you might not -"

"So he notified Dr. Tam to intercept you," put in Cranston. "It would be dangerous for you to remain at large, Trask."

Steve didn't see it that way, and said so, adding that he could have dodged the police indefinitely, if necessary.

"We were not speaking of the police," put in Tam, politely. "Your danger lay from the Dragon Clan. My men kept you from falling into the hands of your former friend, Li Huang."

Steve turned a startled glance to Cranston, who nodded calmly and gestured back to Dr. Tam, who said: "The Shadow informs us that Li Huang attended a meeting of the Dragon Clan this evening and was deputed to deliver the next death token, by order of the Black Dragon. Fortunately, Ming Dwan will inform us of Li Huang's moves."

Steve's thoughts whirled anew, only to arrive on an absolute balance. It was as though his spinning recollections focused upon a single tangible fact that proved the truth of Tam's words. Indeed, the thing was so tangible that Steve could actually grip it - the tiny jet dragon, in the pocket where he had just shoved his tobacco pouch!

The Shadow had returned that token, and The Shadow was certainly Steve's friend. But, so far, Steve had overlooked the mechanics of the operation, taking it that The Shadow had simply plucked the dragon from thin air. It was hearing Ming Dwan cla.s.sed as an ally that made the truth strike home.

a.s.suming Ming Dwan to be a friend, facts fell into a new line. It was the girl who had dropped Steve to a rough but ready safety. The click he'd heard while waking in the pit must have been caused by Ming Dwan leaving after a preliminary visit, carrying the black dragon found in Steve's pocket so that Li Huang would not find it!

Those warning glances from Ming Dwan had stopped Steve from giving himself away. Later, her shots at The Shadow and Steve had been purposely wide. Shewas merely preserving her status with Li Huang in pretending to stop the fugitives.

The proof of all this, the one point that Steve had so blindly overlooked, was the incident in the opium den.

There, Ming Dwan had stopped at the booth from which The Shadow later emerged to Steve's rescue. Then, only then, could the missing dragon token have reached The Shadow, delivered by Ming Dwan!

"You spoke of the police," remarked Cranston, his calm tone chiming with Steve's sudden vindication of Ming Dwan. "Suppose we let the police speak for themselves."

Tuning in a radio that stood on Tam's desk, Cranston picked up a garble of police reports to which Steve listened, horrified. The man hunt was on in full, its object Steve Trask! Not only was Steve wanted for the murders of Miljohn and Pendleton; the law had added another charge.

Boldly, Steve had summoned unknown killers to an attempt upon the life of Carlton Sauber, on the threshold of the importer's own home, with the police actually on the scene. Failing in the murder thrust, Steve had escaped with the aid of the a.s.sa.s.sin crew that served him. When last seen, he'd been wearing handcuffs that might still mark him as the wanted killer.

Sagging back in his chair, Steve rubbed the wrists that still ached from the manacles he'd worn. He looked helplessly from Tam to Cranston, and received calm glances in return. As he turned off the radio, Cranston casually remarked: "I think that Trask would like to be your guest a while, Dr. Tam.

Meanwhile, I can use my influence with the police commissioner to straighten matters as they should be. I am sure The Shadow would approve."

Dr. Tam bowed profoundly as he pressed a b.u.t.ton, summoning servants to show Steve to his quarters in this safe refuge deep in Chinatown.

THE swiftness with which the Dragon Clan could move was proven when The Shadow left Tam's stronghold. Moving through dark alleys, The Shadow was quite unseen, for he had once more obliterated the ident.i.ty of Cranston under the cloak and hat that blended with the shrouding night. But The Shadow could see skulking creatures in the darkness which he navigated so invisibly.

Bold skulkers, servers of the Black Dragon!

Police cars were about, their searchlights appearing suddenly to cut unexpected swaths along the narrow streets. Always the skulkers tumbled like phantom tenpins into alleys, doorways, or bas.e.m.e.nts, to avoid those revealing beams.

The Shadow, too, was shifting away from each sudden glow. In avoiding one sweeping searchlight, The Shadow suddenly thrust himself into an unprepared snare.

Side-stepping into an alley as a police car wheeled past, The Shadow came right into the midst of some dragon lurkers who were about to issue forth.

This time, half a dozen hands were upon him, all sensing the texture of the black cloak that they could not see. Not for an instant did they hesitate.

Like goblin claws, half of those hands clung to The Shadow as he tried to wheel away. Even as he whipped guns from beneath his cloak, free hands were swinging knives at the blackened ma.s.s that represented The Shadow.

Only the circling stroke of The Shadow's gun hand prevented the bladesfrom driving home. But in the whirl, The Shadow lost his footing. Knives went clattering as The Shadow sprawled, but other attackers were pouncing on their prey, slugging hard with revolvers. The Shadow's only respite was the lack of gunfire. The Dragon Clan were fearful of clipping one another; likewise they knew that shots would bring police.

Few fighters other than The Shadow could have risen amid such a slugging hail. He managed it, but could only partially ward off the gun swings. Reeling out into the street, The Shadow was blindly seeking a wall against which he could brace his back. Hard after him came the murderous pack.

Grabbing at a corner, The Shadow missed. He stumbled across a curb, but turned his stagger into a lurch across the street to a big car parked there.

The pack overtook him as he wrenched the door open. Twisting about, The Shadow did a backward drop to avoid the pounding weapons; at the same time, he used his other hand to stab shots with an automatic.

Spurting upward, those shots found no human targets, but they made a.s.sailants dodge. Moreover, they were the summons that the Dragon Clan had restrained themselves from giving, the thing that would bring the patrol cars.

His senses slipping, The Shadow had scored a last moment stroke. Weakly, his lips throbbed a laugh.

FEEBLE was that laugh compared to the glee of the Dragon Clan. Half a dozen hands slammed the door shut to hide the flopped form of The Shadow. Like a thing released, the big car roared away through the narrow streets, unstopped by the converging police.

For the officers in the squad cars identified that long-built vehicle as the commissioner's own official car! They did not know, as did the Dragon Clan, that two such machines were roaming Manhattan this night. No wonder scattering a.s.sailants were gleeful. This murderous tribe had dispatched The Shadow, half stunned and helpless, straight to their master, the Black Dragon!

It seemed an inglorious finish to the saga of The Shadow, this choosing of a way out that enemies took as a play into their own hands. But the sequel produced a different story.

The real climax was when Commissioner Ralph Weston arrived at his unofficial headquarters, the exclusive Cobalt Club. Alighting from a cab, Weston saw his official car parked by the curb. Purple-faced, the commissioner approached the chauffeur.

"So!" stormed Weston. "This is where you came! I don't blame you for leaving Chinatown when the gunfire started, but why didn't you wait when I shouted after you?"

The chauffeur blinked, bewildered. At that moment the rear door opened and Lamont Cranston, pale but composed, stepped to the curb.

"My fault, commissioner," said Cranston. "I was looking for you in Chinatown when the trouble started, so I commandeered your official car and had the chauffeur bring me here."

Mollified, Weston went into the club with Cranston, whose wan lips showed the traces of a smile. Well did The Shadow know why a certain car hadn't stopped at the commissioner's shout. The commissioner had seen the wrong vehicle, theimitation of his own official car.

As for the Dragon Clan, they'd made the opposite mistake. They'd packed off The Shadow as a gift to the Black Dragon, not in the replica official car, but in the original that belonged to Commissioner Weston.

Even in sagging state, The Shadow had seen the difference and made the most of it. Like his rival, the Black Dragon, The Shadow was skilled at taking a quick way out when occasion demanded. Now they were due to meet again on equal terms: The Shadow versus the Black Dragon!

CHAPTER X.

DEATH'S REAL TOKEN.

SAVAGELY, Steve Trask flung the newspaper upon Tam's desk and glared at the placid Chinese doctor. Tam's quiet eyes invited comment, so Steve gave it.

"Still they're hounding me!" Steve yelled. "Can't they get it through their heads that I didn't murder Miljohn or Pendleton - that one was my best friend, the other a man I never saw?"

"Time will bring your vindication," replied Tam. "The Black Dragon has composed a noose of his own coils. The Shadow is waiting for it to tighten."

Steve's glower lessened; his eyes showed interest.

"You have forgotten that Li Huang is to deliver a death token," reminded Tam. "When that happens, The Shadow will know the ident.i.ty of the Black Dragon's next victim, and will move to prevent crime."

"I haven't forgotten Li Huang," retorted Steve, with a new surge of impatience. "He's only an intermediary anyway. He won't take a hand in murder."

"Others will," a.s.sured Tam complacently. "At least, they will attempt it.

Whoever their victim, The Shadow will protect him and deliver them to the law.

From the lips of such culprits, the police will gain clues to the Black Dragon himself."

"And if they won't talk?"

"The Shadow will personally provide the needed clue. Such is the way of Ying Ko, The Shadow."

Tam's solid confidence took effect on Steve. After all, Tam had as much at stake as Steve himself, and Tam had been fighting the Black Dragon a long while.

Though pa.s.sive, rather than active like The Shadow, Tam had been equally successful.

Every time that the Black Dragon had tried to gain a foothold in Chinatown, Tam had stopped him. Tam's system was to warn important Chinese whenever the Dragon sought to dupe them. As a loyal, solid race, none could match the Chinese. The Black Dragon hadn't been able to influence a single important citizen of Chinatown.

That was why the Black Dragon had planted Li Huang to pose as a retired Chinese merchant. But Li Huang hadn't fooled Tam nor anyone else. They knew he was an import from Manchukuo, long a sphere of j.a.panese influence.

Dr. Tam had let Li Huang stay in Chinatown, so that he could be watched as an index to the coming moves of the Black Dragon; and so far Li Huang had been deceived by that policy. By fooling Li Huang, Dr. Tam had likewise kept theBlack Dragon unaware of the true situation.

Steve was rising and turning toward the door, when another thought struck him. Turning, he questioned: "How is Cranston making out with the commissioner?"

"Very well, I understand," replied Tam. "He just phoned me from Fenmore's.

They expect Sauber there to discuss the Black Dragon question. Cranston may learn much of value to our other friend, The Shadow."

That sounded good to Steve as he returned to his room in a corner of Tam's commodious house. Steve would have liked to attend that conference. He wanted to press the claim that Sauber had called the Dragon Clan to the attack, with Steve as the intended victim, instead of matters being the other way about. Steve felt that Fenmore would believe him.

With that thought, Steve started to fill his pipe, only to find that he'd used up all of Fenmore's tobacco. So Steve opened the tin of his own, which he still carried in his other pocket.

THE conference at Fenmore's was producing some results. Behind his big desk, Fenmore was receiving papers that his secretaries handed him and was pa.s.sing them alternately to Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona, for comparison with their own reports.

Beside the desk, Sauber was watching, chin in hand, his quick eyes darting glances from beneath their bushy brows. At times, Sauber beckoned to a dapper man seated near him. In an undertone, Sauber asked for the papers which the dapper man supplied from a brief case.

"I have inquired among friends who know the Orient," declared Fenmore.

"These letters const.i.tute their confidential replies. They all agree that the Black Dragon is the t.i.tle given the leader of a clan that bears the same name.

It is an organization of many heads; each chapter of the insidious clan has its own Black Dragon."

"That tallies with our reports," put in Cardona. "There's a Black Dragon right here in New York, running the local outfit. What puzzles me is why the outfit is only picking on people who have come back from the Orient?"

"These letters explain that point, inspector," declared Weston, referring to some of Fenmore's correspondence. "When a marked man leaves the jurisdiction of one Black Dragon, he becomes the property, so to speak, of the next."

"Now we're getting somewhere!" enthused Cardona. "Fellows like Miljohn and Pendleton landed back here with a lot of dough from the Orient. Miljohn admitted it, but Pendleton pretended to be broke. It made no difference; the Black Dragon was ahead of them. The boss of the New York bunch told them to deliver - or else!"

"It was 'or else' with Miljohn and Pendleton," agreed Weston. "But there must be a lot of cases where frightened men delivered, perhaps to the extent of millions. How about it, Sauber?"

Jerkily, Sauber thrust his own batch of letters into Weston's hands. They were old letters from Sauber's former correspondents in the Far East.

"Read those," suggested Sauber. "You'll find complaints about a lot of things, but no mention of a Black Dragon." "But surely, Sauber, you must have heard -"

"I've never been in the Orient, I tell you!" Sauber's tone became an excited pitch. "Why should I know anything about the Black Dragon, if there is such a thing - or person?"

Sauber's half-scream awoke Cranston, who was deep in one of Fenmore's comfortable chairs. Opening his eyes lazily, Cranston saw Weston impatiently thrust the letters back at Sauber, who took the gesture as an insult and flung the papers in a fluttering stream across the floor. Cardona came to his feet and thrust himself between the two men, whereupon Sauber's frenzy ceased.