Gray Fist s-48
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The Shadow's left arm fell. His right, dropping a spent automatic, swept a new weapon from beneath the maroon robe. The Shadow's form was weaving sidewise; Gray Fist's next bullet missed its mark. The Shadow's laugh resounded.
While a crimson splotch began to form an odd tint on the left shoulder of the maroon robe, The Shadow, wounded, loosed his automatic's fire at the only target which was before him: the body of Snakes Blakey.
Riddling bullets crumpled the shield that Gray Fist had taken. As Snakes Blakey's form collapsed, a rending scream came from behind it. Sprawling, Gray Fist dropped to the floor. His revolver jounced from his grasp. His form lay half beneath the corpse of Snakes Blakey.
Joe Cardona, dizzily confused, stood leaning against the wall. The sudden sound of muffled shots from without the square-walled room had no effect upon the detective. To The Shadow, however, they meant new battle.
Oblivious to his wound, disregarding the helplessness of his left arm, The Shadow sprang across the floor and pressed a hidden switch. The front panel rose. The Shadow leaped through it. Gangsters were in view.
Ruff Shefflin's reserve raiders had entered. Cowering Chinamen were resisting from the darkness of passages. They saw The Shadow. They heard his piping words in the Chinese language. They took him for their leader, Yat Soon.
THE automatic burst its thunderous shots straight into the ranks of the advancing gangsters. As mobsmen dropped, the Mongols, inspired by the action of the man they took for their leader, sprang forward to fire.
Mobsters broke and fled before the advancing Chinese. The brass barrier was dropping behind the false Yat Soon. Joe Cardona stared blankly at the closed panel. He could hear gunfire fading in the distance.
He knew that reenforcing gunmen had been stemmed.
Even yet, Cardona was in a daze. The fight had broken loose so suddenly that the detective had been unable to gather his wits. Joe had heard the laugh of The Shadow. It was a cry that he remembered from the past; from times when a being garbed in black had done yeoman service for the law.
But the only fighter that Joe had seen had been a maroon-robed Chinaman—the one who had gone forth from this room to repel a new attack. Joe knew that the sortie must have been successful.
Gun in hand, Cardona thought of his fellow prisoners. He looked toward Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, still propped against the wall. He motioned them to rise. Wearily, they obeyed. As the rescued trio formed, Cardona was prepared to leave this place.
Then, to the detective's startled ears came an unexpected sound. Cardona turned his gaze across the room. His eyes became fixed. He stood motionless at sight of the menace which had risen from the dead.
Chuckling hoarsely, Landis Glascomb was standing above the prostrate body of Snakes Blakey. The fiendish financier was gory with blood, but it had come from his henchman's body, not his own.
With leveled revolver, Glascomb was covering Cardona. The detective did not have a chance to raise the gun that he had wrested from a dying mobsmen. Cliff and Harry, too, were helpless.
Gray Fist still lived; his prisoners had not escaped his fiendish power!
CHAPTER XXV. THE TRIUMPH
"FOOLS."
Gray Fist chortled as he spat the word. The old fiend's face was livid. His looming hand, with the revolver in its clutch, formed a tight fist that threatened doom.
"You thought that I was dead." Gray Fist's tone was cold. "So did the other—the one who sought to rescue you. He has gone. Let him return. He will find the dead bodies of those whom he tried to save.
"I am Gray Fist. My enemies are within my clutch. I fear no one. My minions are dead. I shall find more.
I do not care if they are dead. You will soon be in the state which they now hold!"
Joe Cardona's hand was trembling. It was rising slowly. The detective dared not make a quick attack straight into the muzzle of Gray Fist's gun. The fiend, however, saw Joe's action.
Gray Fist was watching every one of the doomed trio. He was calculating in his manner. Numbed and groggy though they were, Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent could feel the menace of Gray Fist's stare.
This evil man, triumphant, was more to be feared than a host of gangsters. Gray Fist had battled with The Shadow. He, alone, had managed to wound the fighter who had worn the attire of Yat Soon. Moreover, he had tricked The Shadow. Gray Fist had fallen as though he had been slain. His ruse had been deceptive.
"One move"—Gray Fist's cold tone was addressed to Joe Cardona— "and you shall die."
The detective's hand dropped again. Gray Fist chortled. He held his finger on the trigger of his revolver.
"You shall die!" he repeated. "You—the first—before these others -"
Cardona saw a steady stare as the fiend ceased speaking. Cardona could not tell what caused it. Cliff Marsland, however, was able to throw a sidelong glimpse in the direction of Gray Fist's gaze.
Staring straight beyond Cardona's form, the fiend was watching a panel at the side of the room. The barrier was rising. Beyond it, however, was nothing but complete darkness. Confident that he held Cardona helpless, Gray Fist was watching. His gun, ready to fire beyond the detective, was waiting only until his eyes would see the form that he expected—the maroon-garbed figure of the false Yat Soon.
Gunfire had ceased from without. The Shadow, Gray Fist knew, could have reached this side panel through another passage. To strike, however, The Shadow would have to show himself.
IT was then that an instinctive thought came to Cliff Marsland. Well did the agent realize that his master, The Shadow, had played the feigned part of Yat Soon. Well did Cliff know how The Shadow could approach a scene of danger.
Though he saw nothing, Cliff realized that the blackness beyond the panel was not the darkness of a passage. That blotting gloom was caused by the form of The Shadow itself! The master had returned; before returning, he had donned his cloak and hat, which must have been waiting for him in some hidden spot outside this room!
Gray Fist was waiting for The Shadow. He did not know The Shadow had arrived. The Shadow was ready to open a surprise attack. One factor alone prevented him.
Joe Cardona was standing directly between The Shadow and Gray Fist! With the detective as a living barrier, The Shadow could do no more than wound Gray Fist. That would mean Cardona's doom, for Gray Fist would fire surely the moment that he realized The Shadow's presence!
Furthermore, one false move by Joe Cardona might place the unwitting detective right in the path of one of The Shadow's own bullets!
It was in this tense period of fleeting moments that Cliff Marsland lost the grogginess that had held him.
He knew that The Shadow could use his aid; yet a signal from The Shadow would also be a warning to Gray Fist.
It was the time for boldness, and Cliff supplied it. From complete immobility, The Shadow's agent leaped into swift action. With a rapid forward dive, his arms outstretched for a flying tackle, Cliff hurled himself upon Joe Cardona!
Cliff caught the detective low. The force of the plunge was terrific. Cardona, despite his stockiness, was bowled over by the force of Cliff's powerful plunge.
The action took Gray Fist by surprise. Had Cliff leaped at the fiend himself, Gray Fist could have delivered a fatal shot. But Cliff, by his unexpected action, hurled both himself and Joe Cardona below the level of the monster's aim.
For one split second, Gray Fist's gloved clutch wavered. Instinctively, the fiend was about to drop his aim. Then the menace of the open panel caught him. With Cardona cleared, Gray Fist resolved to fire at the blackness which he thought was the passage.
It was too late. The split instant of hesitation proved the turning point. As Gray Fist's finger drew upon the revolver trigger, a blasting burst of flame came from the panel. The Shadow's automatic delivered the shot which the master fighter had long desired to deal.
Gray Fist's fiendish face took on a hideous expression. The old man's body withered. It crumpled slowly to the floor like a caving s
tructure. It struck sidewise, and rolled over. The revolver clattered to the floor.
Gray Fist's left arm twisted beneath his body. His right, waving in a convulsive effort, reached upward, and remained extended. The gloved hand writhed. The fingers beneath the gray cloth tightened. The hand stilled.
Burning eyes from the panel were visible as they surveyed the dead form of Landis Glascomb. A spectral laugh issued from The Shadow's hidden lips. In death, as in life, Landis Glascomb retained the symbol of his boast.
The dead gloved hand was clenched to form a firm, tight fist. That clutched hand was the final statement of the fiend, Gray Fist!
CHAPTER XXVI. THE LAST LAUGH
THE death of Gray Fist marked the end of The Shadow's bitter fight. The last of his enemies had been eliminated. With Ruff Shefflin and Snakes Blakey dead beside their master; with the trusted crew of shock mobsmen gone, The Shadow had silenced all who had tried to hound him to his doom.
The laugh that echoed through Yat Soon's square-walled reception room remained in fading whispers after the closing panel marked the departure of The Shadow.
Joe Cardona, after his first surprise, realized that Cliff Marsland had aided in saving his life. While Joe and The Shadow's agents surveyed the dead form of Landis Glascomb, the panel at the rear of the room moved upward. The real Yat Soon stepped into view.
Cardona half believed that it was Yat Soon who had fired that last shot. He knew, at least, that the Chinaman was a friend. This invasion from mobland had not been to Yat Soon's liking.
The old Chinaman opened the front panel of the room, and made a friendly gesture toward the portal.
Cliff Marsland understood. He strode through the opening. Harry Vincent followed.
Joe Cardona's deliberation was but momentary. He realized quickly that it would be wise to leave this place. Yat Soon's private residence had been invaded. The Chinaman had played square. Joe was ready to give him the opportunity to remove the bodies.
A Mongol guard conducted the departing men through passages. Bodies of gunmen lay along the way.
Inspired by The Shadow—whom they had taken for Yat Soon—the Chinese guards had annihilated the reenforcing squad. That leadership which The Shadow had given had been his repayment to Yat Soon for the Chinese arbiter's fairness.
The lights of Chinatown were glittering in their usual galaxy when the rescued trio reached a corner near Mott and Pell. There Cardona, still half dazed and blinking at the glare of the lights about him, watched Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent take their way.
These men, like Cardona, had been prisoners of Gray Fist. There was no reason why the detective should hold them. Cardona, wondering what else to do, started for police headquarters.
Yat Soon's Mongols must have been working while Cardona traveled. By the time the detective had reached headquarters, word was there regarding slain gangsters whose bodies had been found on the outskirts of Chinatown.
The bodies were being taken to the morgue. Cardona resolved to go there and learn the details that might be given before he prepared a report that would fit the circumstances.
THEN came another call. A body, found in an obscure room near the bad lands, had been brought to the morgue also. It had been identified. The dead man, a knife blade deep in his heart, was Worth Varden.
The importer had been dead for several days.
Joe Cardona was puzzled. He felt that he could piece this case together, with the evidence in his possession. At the same time, he knew that certain phases would go unanswered. He wondered where the complete answer would be found.
Cardona would have known, had he been able to visualize a blackened room, lost somewhere in the hubbub of Manhattan. The silence of that place was ended by a click. The darkness was broken by the rays of a bluish lamp that focused themselves upon a polished table.
White hands appeared beneath the spectral glare. The right was moving; the left lay quiet. A shimmering gem—The Shadow's girasol— glimmered from a finger of the hand that was temporarily idle, because of the wounded arm above it.
The right hand gathered papers. It inscribed cryptic comments upon white sheets. All, handled deftly by The Shadow's right hand, went into a folderlike envelope.
The right hand wrote upon the container. The envelope was drawn away. A click marked the passing of the bluish light. A triumphant laugh resounded with defiant mockery throughout the blackened confines of The Shadow's sanctum.
The room which The Shadow had hermetically sealed had been reopened.
The Shadow had removed Worth Varden's body. Those who had learned the location of The Shadow's sanctum were dead.
The case of Gray Fist was ended. The Shadow's envelope contained its details. Facts that The Shadow had gained would be preserved for his perusal alone.
The complete story of Landis Glascomb, the fiend who called himself Gray Fist, would rest secure among the secret archives of The Shadow!
THE END
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