ON THE TORTURE RACK
THE eyes of Foy opened. They were wide, and they gleamed in the light of the lantern — gleamed as Ling Soo had never seen them gleam before.
An instant later, that flash was gone. The yellow lids were half closed, in the manner of Foy.
Before him, The Shadow saw the merciless form of Ling Soo. Then The Shadow looked upward, and his half-closed eyes took in the strange surroundings. His keen brain, usually alert, was working slowly for the moment.
The strain upon the wrists was great. The Shadow, brought to full wakefulness by pain, began to sense the hopelessness of his predicament. In this terrible position, escape belonged to the realm of impossibility.
Ling Soo’s cackling laugh echoed in the gloomy compartment. The master of the Wu-Fan was gloating. He spoke to his false henchman, Foy, and his words were filled with sinister significance.
“Why did you betray?” This question was in Chinese. “Tell me why — or you shall know the torture.”
The hanging man did not reply.
“Your misery will be long,” declared Ling Soo solemnly. “Speak! Tell the truth of your perfidy. Then only shall the torture end.”
The sullen lips of Foy did not move.
“You let our enemy escape,” gloated Ling Soo, “but that shall not save you. He was overpowered — perhaps he is dead at this moment. I am to perform the duty that was to be yours. Our plans shall prevail — in spite of your treachery, Foy.”
The words had no effect upon the prisoner.
“You will not speak?” Ling Soo’s question was malicious. “Then know the torture! Your senses have been gone. You have not felt the great pain yet. Unless you speak now, I shall depart. You shall suffer while I am away.”
The eyelids of Foy were narrow and defiant.
“You have had your choice,” said Ling Soo calmly. “I go. If you cry out — it can do you no good. Our friends, only, are here.”
He hung the lantern on the wall. He stood, squat and glaring, by the open door to the next compartment. The shadow of Foy, long and fantastic, spread across the floor. Ling Soo had no time for shadows.
“Remember,” came his cackling, singsong tones, “you are in the rack of torture. The rack from which no man can save himself!”
With that, Ling Soo was gone. Leaving the lantern so its glow would remind Foy of his hopeless position, Ling Soo closed the door.
As an instrument of agony, the Chinese torture rack was one of the strangest and most formidable devices in all the world. It brought slower pain than did the infernal creations of the Middle Ages, but its work was sure.
Ling Soo had spoken the truth when he had praised this Oriental contrivance; but he had been in error when he had said that escape was impossible. Some years before, one man had managed to extricate himself from its toils. The American, Houdini, had allowed himself to be fastened in a Chinese torture rack and had worked his way free after long and strenuous efforts.
There had been only one Houdini — a master of his art. Strong and powerful, he had used his amazing ingenuity to its utmost in that escape. Now The Shadow, weakened from his terrible fall into the hold of the ship, was confronted by the same problem that had taxed the skill of Houdini.
With The Shadow, it meant life or death. Unless his mighty mind could divine the only possible way of overcoming the hold of this machine, unless his weary muscles could respond to the efforts that were demanded, The Shadow would perish!
Time, too, was short. The Shadow, with wired ropes about his wrists, had been restrained while unconscious. He had gained no opportunity to fight against the bonds when they had been placed upon him.
His arms were already wearied from the strain which they had undergone. For he had dangled long before his consciousness had returned to him!
There he hung. His fingers could not reach the knots upon his wrists. They were more than a foot below the cross beam of the rack. It was humanly impossible to move upward. Nor could his feet avail him, for they barely touched the floor!
Buried alive in the hollow of the deep-set Chinese junk, The Shadow faced the most terrible situation in his long career.
Free, he could struggle against odds that were seemingly unconquerable. Bound with ordinary restraints, he could fight his way free. But he was now in the grasp of the powerful device that was the greatest machination ever designed by a subtle, Oriental mind!
Could, The Shadow meet this formidable test — the one that Houdini alone had undergone successfully?
His motionless, hanging body, with its still shadow stretched across the floor, betokened complete helplessness. The longer that it remained in that position, the more The Shadow’s strength would dwindle. That was the most sinister factor of this horrible Chinese torture rack.
At last, The Shadow moved. In the silence of that room, broken only by a soft lapping of tiny waves against the wooden sides of the Pung-Shoon, the hands of The Shadow clutched above his head. Futilely at first, they finally succeeded in gripping the rope that led to the beam above.
BUT the fingers, alone, could afford no aid. Although they worked with supernormal strength, they did not raise the body a fraction of an inch.
The fingers did not seek that impossible task. They were twisting at the rope. The dangling form began to sway. The toes added to the sidewise motion. Grazing the floor, they added to the swing.
The action was prolonged and tedious. The fingers, gripping, worked from above. The feet raised slightly from the floor each time the body moved gently to one side. As it went in the opposite direction, the feet, stretched toes downward, added an impetus.
Inch by inch, the motion increased. Each swing was longer, now. Fingers and toes, working together and using every possible effort, were increasing the momentum.
Tedious though it seemed, The Shadow was gaining what he desired.
His body was swinging like a living pendulum!
What was the purpose of this amazing action?
It could not strain the stout rope. That was too firmly fastened. Ling Soo had left naught to chance. Seemingly, The Shadow was expending tremendous effort — all in vain!
Yet the pendulum swing kept on, while the grotesque shadow on the floor followed back and forth beneath the glow of the single lantern.
Wider — longer were the swings. Off to the right, The Shadow’s foot almost touched the upright post on that side. Back went the swing; the left foot just touched the other post.
The wild swings still increased. Then came the final one, that served The Shadow’s purpose.
The right foot, stretching to its utmost, went barely past the upright post. The extended toes were just beyond that spot. With uncanny skill, the tip of the foot caught the post and stopped the swing.
The body did not return across the floor between the posts. Instead, the foot made the utmost of its momentary hold. It squirmed and worked until the ankle was beyond the post. Then, with the body moving upward, the knee made its grip. The left leg had joined in the work now.
Inch by inch, The Shadow’s lower limbs were climbing to the top of the upright post!
The objective was reached. The Shadow rested. His body, doubled, was beneath the crossbeam. His knees gripping near the joint of the upright post, were taking the strain from those tired wrists and arms.
Now The Shadow writhed in superhuman effort. Difficult though his first action had been, the present task was stupendous.
Twice he failed; but on the third time, with a mighty lunge, he urged his body to the top of the crossbeam. Poised there, balanced on the beam, his body was relieved of all burden. His hands, coming up with him, were pressed against his tired form.
One obstacle yet remained — those tightly knotted ropes, with wire bindings.
How could The Shadow work against them? His hands were helpless. His muscles were tired to the utmost. The straining wrists seemed scarcely capable of further action. Their strength was gone.
With elbows gripping the sides of the upright beam, The Shadow steadied his body. His head bent forward. His lips were against those binding ropes. With his teeth, The Shadow attacked the knots!
HE did not strive to undo the twisted bits of wire. The cord, with its knots, was the real force that held the wrists so tightly clamped together. Each tug that The Shadow made — each grip that his teeth supplied — served to weaken the strong knots.
They loosened gradually. The wires kept them from coming further undone. But now the wrists were aiding. The rest that they had received had afforded them new strength.
They spread and pressed, forcing the wires to the sides of the knots. The knots tightened; but the wrists had gained a slack!
Again, the teeth worked while the wrists rested. Once more the knots were slowly loosened. Then came the sharp tug of the straining wrists. The slack increased; but the binding wires now held with a tighter grip.
The wrists moved backward and forward. The ropes chafed them raw. They twisted and turned until finally they rested side by side, with a hand upon each forearm.
The Shadow’s legs were holding him now. Each time he tugged with his arms, his form nearly toppled from its perch. At last, when strength seemed gone, the amazing man rested for a moment; then gave a final, mighty pull, his bound arms traveling in opposite directions.
The right arm came free! Its wrist was out of the bond!
But the sudden release had thrown The Shadow’s body to one side — toward the front of the torture rack. His knees lost their hold. The right hand clutched for the crossbeam too late. With his left wrist still tangled in the loop, The Shadow plunged toward the floor.
It was the left hand, seizing the crossbeam as it passed, that broke the fall. Momentarily, The Shadow hung poised; then his fingers slipped away.
The cord came taut as the left arm fell; the wrist, now held only by a large, loose loop, wrenched free. The Shadow caught himself as he landed on his right side.
He lay there, a strange figure in the guise of Foy. His face was streaked with blood. His wrists were raw. His lips were bleeding from contact with the binding wires. His strength seemed gone, as he breathed heavily and did not seek to move.
The Shadow had accomplished the seemingly impossible! He had escaped from the Chinese torture rack! He had duplicated the feat of the great Houdini, under the most difficult of all conditions!
But what was the result?
His form was motionless. Was he lapsing back into unconsciousness? Had all his strength been spent?
Time was short. The Shadow was in the hold of a strange ship, manned by a hostile crew! What hope could the future hold for him if he did not act now?
Minutes ticked by. Long, silent minutes, as hopeless as those that The Shadow had spent on the torture rack. For then, The Shadow had been active. Now, he was motionless.
The limit of his time had come. Footsteps sounded without the closed door. Hands rattled at the barrier.
The Shadow stirred.