Circle of Death

CHAPTER XXVI THE FOCAL SPOT

FELIX TRESSLER was standing above the huddled form of Joe Cardona. Revolver in hand, the master fiend was ready to vent his vengeance upon the hapless detective. Yet in his gloating, Tressler showed serenity. He was confident that his minions had done their appointed work.

A man appeared at the door of the room. It was Perry Harton. The crooked manager raised his hands in excitement. He motioned to Felix Tressler.

“Put the gun away!” he exclaimed. “Police are everywhere below. Don’t fire a shot! Bring him to the roof!”

Tressler’s brow clouded. Then a look of understanding came upon his thick-set face. He leered as he dropped his revolver in his pocket. With powerful strength, he lifted Joe Cardona and carried the detective out into the passage. He followed Harton to the penthouse roof.

The sound of whistles was plain even at this height. There was hubbub in the streets below. The dull reports of occasional shots could be heard. Tressler dropped Cardona near an opening between two potted plants.

“Get rid of him!” suggested Harton. “If they find him in the street, he might have come from anywhere. That roof below — it will make it impossible to tell—”

“Good,” interjected Tressler. “Where is Mungren?”

The answer came in the appearance of the man himself. Logan Mungren arrived on the run from within the penthouse. He spoke breathlessly.

“It’s all open,” exclaimed Mungren, “They’ll find the way clear—”

“If there’s any of them left,” interposed Harton, grimly. “Those shots may be raising hob below.”

Felix Tressler stopped as he was about to lift up Joe Cardona’s body. He growled and dropped the detective. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut the ropes that bound the sleuth. He dragged Cardona to his feet.

“It won’t do to have those on him,” he asserted. “He’s going to look like he was in a brawl somewhere. This will do it—”

Joe Cardona was steadying himself against the parapet. He ducked suddenly as Tressler’s sentence ended. Joe was too late. Tressler’s massive fist clipped him on the jaw. The detective slumped, groggy.

“Now for it,” sneered Tressler. “Pick the spot, Harton. We’ll do this right.”

Harton motioned to Mungren. Together, the pair moved away a potted plant. A blinking glow outlined their forms. Felix Tressler stared; then laughed. It was the beacon sign, casting its glimmer to the penthouse roof.

“I left it signaling,” announced the master crook. “That’s just as well. This is the last time we’ll need it.”

Stooping, the bulky millionaire dragged Joe Cardona’s body toward the parapet. He paused for a moment. He rose to note the exact spot which Perry Harton was indicating. That was a shiny roof which showed projecting eaves a dozen flights below.

“Ready,” proclaimed Tressler. “Stand aside—”

“Look!”

THE frenzied ejaculation came from Logan Mungren. The crooked promoter was pointing back to the entrance to the penthouse. Silhouetted against the light from within was a spectral form that loomed like a creature from the vast beyond.

The Shadow!

Crooks, all three, these men had heard of that superbeing who battled crime. Yet until this moment they had not realized that his hand had played its hidden part against their schemes.

Felix Tressler, snarling, was the first to understand the truth. Keen in crime, he was equal in deduction. He knew now who it must have been that had stalked through the circle of death unmolested.

“The Shadow!” he hissed. “He — he was the one! He was in place of Rightwood!”

A mocking laugh responded. Its tone proved the correctness of Felix Tressler’s statement. The fiend and his lieutenants knew how completely they had been thwarted. Not only had The Shadow squared their circle; he had penetrated to their evil lair!

Hands were rising. Joe Cardona, lifting himself to a sitting position, stared. He saw why the crooks had cowered. In each fist, The Shadow clutched one of his famous automatics. He was one against three, but he had caught the trio without their guns!

Helpless before their superfoe, Tressler and his lieutenants made no move. They saw The Shadow’s figure move forward. They sensed the approach of doom. They, the trappers, were trapped.

Again that weird laugh. It sounded clear as it rose to a triumphant crescendo. Its mockery faded as The Shadow stepped out to the roof. Echoes seemed to return from the very air. Then, of a sudden, The Shadow wheeled.

From the penthouse came the burst of a revolver. A bullet whistled past The Shadow’s shoulder. Turned toward the passage, The Shadow blazed with both his automatics. Amid the bark of the guns, Felix Tressler cried in elation.

“They’ve come!” Tressler’s voice was thundering to the men beside him. “Now we can get him!”

THE fiend had given the answer. Those shots were coming from the patio by the elevators. Half a dozen minions of crime, remnants from the circle of death, had arrived by the service elevator.

Logan Mungren had opened the way. These men had assembled in response to the flashing signal of the beacon sign. Their footsteps in the patio had been The Shadow’s warning. They had seen him as he had turned. Silhouetted just beyond the penthouse door, The Shadow had been forced to meet their attack.

Despite the odds, The Shadow held a marked advantage. His foemen had dashed into the end of the passage. Their scattered shots were coming as they aimed. He held the half dozen all in one spot. His bursting fire took its toll. The first bullets ricocheted into the massed marauders; the later shots were aimed at scattering forms.

The bullets that returned were futile. The Shadow, weaving backward onto the roof, was a target that they could not pick. In one master display of rapid fire, the contents of The Shadow’s automatics felled the entire crew.

The instant that those guns were emptied, the automatics fell from The Shadow’s hands. Wheeling toward the edge of the roof, The Shadow whipped a brace of fresh weapons from beneath his cloak. His weaving form was moving backward toward the penthouse.

Quick though he had been, The Shadow had been forced to give opportunity to three while he disposed of six. Even before he turned, a bullet zimmed in his direction. Mungren and Harton had whipped out guns, along with Felix Tressler.

Roaring revolvers. They were hastily aimed. Yet such an advantage could not fail. As The Shadow turned to aim, a shot burst from Tressler’s gun. The black-garbed figure staggered. Mungren and Harton fired wildly at the toppling form. The Shadow shot headlong into the penthouse.

“Finish him!” snarled Tressler. “Finish him!”

The two men sprang forward. Felix Tressler dropped his gun into his pocket as he turned to seize Joe Cardona. The detective was rising. As Tressler’s bulky form fell upon him, Joe sprang upward.

The two locked in a grip. The advantage was with Tressler. He forced Cardona against the parapet. He tried to lift the detective’s body. Cardona put up a struggle. Gunshots sounded. Neither heeded them.

Logan Mungren and Perry Harton had reached the penthouse door. There, they had swung into plain view, confident that they had The Shadow helpless before them. That proved to be their final error.

As the two lieutenants aimed to riddle the huddled form of black, a single arm came up in front of a pair of burning eyes. The Shadow’s automatic roared within the echoing passage. Wounded, with one arm helpless, The Shadow still was steady in his aim.

Perry Harton collapsed before he could fire a shot. Logan Mungren pressed the trigger just as a bullet winged him in the body. He staggered and his shot sizzed through the brim of The Shadow’s hat.

THE struggle still persisted by the parapet. Joe Cardona was upon the brink. He was struggling against a powerful fiend. Though he fought back with all his might, his cause was hopeless. Cardona could not stay this fate alone.

The Shadow lay limp upon the floor of the passage. Then his figure moved. Laboriously it reached the door. It could move no further. With a last effort, The Shadow sprawled across the threshold. Lying on his side, his keen eyes saw the struggle by the parapet.

Cardona was on the very brink. He was gripping with his last and most futile hold. Seconds only kept him from the terrible fate that awaited him.

The Shadow’s good arm swung slowly. Its elbow steadied against the tiling of the roof. The automatic barked.

With that effort, The Shadow slumped. His body lay motionless. But at the same time, another felt the effect of the final stroke. Felix Tressler staggered. Cardona, clawing at the man’s shoulder, encountered dripping blood.

Joe did not know what had happened. He only knew that the struggle had become equal; that it was turning to his advantage.

Tressler faltered. Cardona, with a sudden surge of strength gained opportunity. He twisted Tressler back against the roof.

One of Tressler’s arms fell limp. Cardona dodged the other. While Tressler’s hand clawed at empty air, Cardona lunged against him. The result was startling. Tressler’s body gave. It toppled backward.

Cardona caught himself upon the parapet. He almost followed as Tressler’s body plunged. Staring, the detective saw the fiend’s form go hurtling downward. It struck against the sloping roof. Amid a shower of slate, it sped at an angle, as though on a mammoth slide.

The force of the fall shot Tressler’s form out through space, clear to the other side of the street. Whirling, the bulky body — now no more than a pygmy form to Cardona’s gaze — went crashing through the marquee of the old theater, shattering and splintering glass to fragments.

A blotch on the sidewalk; that was all that remained of Felix Tressler, the master fiend who had ruled the circle of crime.

WHILE Cardona lay panting upon the parapet, The Shadow had arisen. He was leaning against the wall of the passage in the penthouse. A door clanged. Footsteps sounded in the patio.

The Shadow turned, too weak to meet new enemies. His eyes blazed as he recognized the approaching men. Clyde Burke and Cliff Marsland had doubled on their trail. Police had hurried up to the hotel. This was the only outlet for The Shadow’s agents — an outlet of escape.

Cliff and Clyde heard the command of The Shadow’s whisper. They hastened to his aid. With one man on each side, The Shadow staggered forward. The trio gained the service elevator which the remnants of Tressler’s horde had used to reach the towering penthouse.

When Joe Cardona came into the penthouse, he found only forms of dead and dying crooks upon the floor. There was no sign of The Shadow. As Joe neared the fountain in the patio, a door clanged open. The second elevator had been pressed into service.

Inspector Timothy Klein was in the car. With him was Police Commissioner Ralph Weston, highest official of the force. They leaped forward to greet the detective. Their questions came with eager gasps. Detective Joe Cardona was the hero.

The circle of death was ended. All Cardona had to tell was the details. He knew that the credit would be his. Yet Cardona knew that all the glory belonged to the master fighter who had saved his life and left him here to gain the fame.

The Shadow had riddled the circle of death. He had reached its ruler, Felix Tressler. His shot had dealt the mortal wound which had enabled Joe Cardona to thrust the dying man over the parapet.

Aided by his trusted agents, The Shadow had departed. Recovered from his wound, he soon again would be prepared to wage grim battle against men of crime.

The Shadow had ended the circle of death!