THE SHADOW FAILS
“The Shadow!”
The words burst from Tiger Bronson’s twitching lips. The figure in black did not move.
For one full minute silence reigned. The three persons in the room formed a tableau of living statuary.
This was the domain of Loo Look, but The Shadow had made himself master of the situation.
A low, hollow laugh came from beneath the brim of the turned-down hat. Tiger Bronson shuddered inwardly. Loo Look’s face retained its strained expression.
“Tiger Bronson,” declared The Shadow, in a voice that seemed the pronunciation of a judgment, “you sought to lure me to this place. I am here.”
The bluff-faced politician shifted uncomfortably.
“You have twice sought to injure me,” said The Shadow in his solemn, horrifying voice. “Twice before. This is the third time. Your efforts are impotent. Those who have thrice sought to injure me invariably suffer.”
Loo Look suddenly regained his composure. The Chinaman had been amazed and startled by the sudden arrival of The Shadow. Now his wits were at work.
His traps had been avoided; hence he had been surprised. But the wily Oriental possessed other threats.
He leaned backward slightly in his chair, and his elbow pressed a spot on the wall. So sly was his motion that it apparently escaped those eyes that were hidden beneath the black-rimmed hat.
“So you are The Shadow,” said Loo Look. “Who are you? How did you come here?”
The figure did not reply for a moment. Then came its words, in a low, quiet voice. They carried accusation.
“Three years ago, Loo Look,” said The Shadow, “you employed a clever man to design your passage from the house across the street. That man was an American. When he had completed his work, you murdered him.”
The Chinaman moved uneasily as the voice ceased.
The Shadow’s words were true. This mysterious avenger had revealed facts which Loo Look believed he alone possessed.
“I possessed that man’s secret,” resumed The Shadow. “I could have entered here at will. But I chose to remain away until the proper time had arrived.”
Slowly the black-cloaked figure moved forward until it hovered above the two cowering men. Then came a sinister laugh, as though The Shadow was mocking the helpless creatures who were before him. He moved back toward the door, and remained in the center of the room.
Tiger Bronson was shaking; but Loo Look had regained his calm when The Shadow stepped back. The cunning Chinese was expecting something to happen. A trace of eagerness appeared upon his face.
* * *
Then it came. On both sides of the room, panels burst inward, and two groups of rescuing Chinese precipitated themselves into the room.
They had come in response to Loo Look’s secret signal. Knives flashed in their hands as they hurled themselves at the figure of The Shadow.
But at the instant of the attack, the man in the black cloak had stooped toward the floor. With amazing skill and speed he slipped backward as he flung his cloak from above his head.
Loo Look, rising, saw him — a thin dark-clad figure with a black silk mask — as he slipped through the opening of the door and disappeared in the darkness of the passage beyond.
The Shadow had been too quick for his attackers. They had failed to cut off his retreat.
Dashing forward, Loo Look pulled the door open, and his men followed his pointing finger. They rushed into the passage, one after another, and plunged in mad pursuit.
Tiger Bronson rose unsteadily as he saw the grin on Loo Look’s face. The Chinaman went to a taboret, lifted the top, and produced a flashlight.
“Come,” he said to Tiger Bronson. “He cannot escape them. Only Woo Ting can open that panel — when he hears the signal. He will not open it now. He received the warning sign which I sent.”
Cries were coming from the passage as they reached the door. Then the staccato of rapid pistol shots burst from the gloom. Groans followed.
Loo Look stood stock-still, surprise upon his face.
“What does this mean!” he exclaimed. “My men had knives. Can it be—”
A Chinaman toppled through the door. His arm was bleeding as he fell at Loo Look’s feet. He uttered words in the Chinese tongue.
“He says the man is a demon,” called Loo Look. “A devil who lies in darkness, and is part of the night.”
One by one the remaining warriors of Loo Look staggered in from the passage. All had been wounded by The Shadow’s shots. From their garbled exclamations, Loo Look knew that they had failed in their quest.
The squatty Celestial counted his fallen men. Assured that they had all returned, he quickly bolted the door.
“He cannot escape this way,” he said, calmly. “The door is too strong.”
“But the panel at the other end—” objected Bronson.
“He may break through there,” admitted Loo Look. “That is where we shall wait for him.”
His men had been examining their wounds. Two of them, who had only been clipped by bullets, were bandaging their fellows. Loo Look motioned to them.
“Come,” he said.
Followed by Tiger Bronson and the two Chinamen, Loo Look led the way through the open panel at the right.
After passing through several small rooms, Loo Look pressed against a movable portion of the wall. A secret spring clicked, and they entered the opium den, where the thin Woo Ting stood, listening by the panel that was the entrance to Loo Look’s sanctuary.
The sound of thumping came from the other side. The blows became more violent. Tiger Bronson looked at Loo Look with a worried expression.
“He’ll break through,” he said.
* * *
Loo Look motioned the big politician back to a corner of the room, away from danger. He stationed his two men on either side of the panel. He drew a huge revolver from his robe.
He pointed to the bunks with an expressive gesture, as though asking Woo Ting if the opium smokers had been ejected from the premises. Woo Ting nodded.
Loo Look made another sign, and Woo Ting pressed a switch. The lights went out. The room was in total darkness.
Terrific thumping came from the panel. It ceased for a moment. Loo Look spoke tensely in Chinese. There was an almost inaudible click.
Tiger Bronson knew the sound. Woo Ting had opened the panel!
With a cannonlike roar, Loo Look’s revolver blazed into the blackness. The Chinaman discharged an entire volley directly into the space before him.
The noise reechoed. Then came silence.
Loo Look pressed the button of a flashlight; the gleam revealed a motionless figure lying before him, its arms extending into the room.
The squatty Chinamen bent forward with a cry of triumph. As he did, the figure’s arms came upward and seized him by the throat. Loo Look gurgled as he fell. His light dropped to the floor and went out.
Bronson realized the truth. The slight click of the panel had warned The Shadow. He had dropped to the floor below the line of Loo Look’s hasty shots.
Woo Ting came to the rescue. He pressed the switch that illuminated the room; but as he did, the tall man with the black mask had already emerged from the passage.
As the lights came on, he fell upon the two Chinamen who were pressing toward the entrance. He flung them aside, and leaped across the room.
Woo Ting dodged, and drew a long knife. But The Shadow’s objective was the light switch. He reached it, and pressed it. Again the room was dark.
Then began a fierce struggle in the blackness. The three Chinamen were grasping for The Shadow. Yet he constantly eluded their clutches.
Their goal was the light switch; he was defending it. Every time a hand reached for the spot, an arm swung from somewhere, and the man went down.
Tiger Bronson was not in the fight. He was at the other side of the room, trying to thrust his huge body into some safe corner.
Loo Look stirred in the passage. The Shadow had left him half unconscious. Now he was able to rise and to stagger forward. He hastened away from the scene of the fray, and reached the bolted door that led into his own room.
There he knocked: twice loudly; twice softly. One of the wounded men opened the door cautiously.
Loo Look staggered into his sanctuary, and sank, breathless, into a chair. He pointed to the door. A Chinaman closed it, and bolted it.
Loo Look glanced upward, and a gleam of triumph appeared upon his face. A light was shining in the frame. Some one was in the corridor that led to the house across the street. The Shadow, believing that Loo Look was incapable of action, was making his escape!
The squat Chinaman watched as the light went out, and another came on. This indicated the course of the fleeing man.
Loo Look arose. The second light went out; a third light came on. It was red. The others had been white.
With a grin, Loo Look pulled a switch. The red light was extinguished. Laughing with fiendish merriment, the Chinaman sank back into his chair.
The red light indicated that the man in the passage was above a secret trap. The pulling of the switch had dropped him into a deep pit below.
That ended The Shadow, so Loo Look thought. But had the squat Chinaman known the true state of affairs, his chuckle would have died on his lips.
For the man who had plunged to his doom was Tiger Bronson! The gang master had found an opportunity to escape from the opium den, while the fray was still in progress!
All was quiet now; the battle had ended abruptly after Tiger Bronson had fled. Three Chinese lay, half-conscious, on the floor. The outer door opened, and a thin, black figure crept into the corridor through which Spotter had come and gone.
The Shadow moved stealthily. He made a strange appearance, in his black, jerseylike clothing, with the silk mask over his face.
He stole along the corridor, and fell with suddenness upon the Chinese guard. A minute later, the man was bound with strips of cloth ripped from his own robe.
The guardian of the outer entrance was sitting quietly on a soap box when The Shadow dealt with him. He toppled backward with a sudden gasp, and struck his head against the stone floor. The Shadow did not bind him. That would have been unnecessary.
In the street, the tall, mysterious departer merged with the shadows of the buildings. From his pocket he drew a watch, and its luminous dial shone ghostlike in the darkness. A low exclamation followed.
The Shadow had entered the lair of Loo Look. He had met the enemy, and he had emerged the victor. Yet he felt that he had failed.
It was five minutes to nine — too late to reach the radio station!