Cyro

CHAPTER XV OUT OF THE DARK

CROUCHING figures were springing from the stairways. Knives glimmered as evil faces leered. Wayson uttered a repetition of the warning that had come from Debeq.

“Apaches!”

As Wayson yanked open the door, he was bringing a revolver into view with his other hand. Cardona, too, had found his gun. Joe’s weapon spoke first. The nearer Apache dropped instinctively; his companion leaped for the side wall.

Knives sizzed through the air. One skimmed past Cardona’s ear and buried itself in the wall beside the door. The other fluked as the Apache threw it. It clattered along the stone floor of the hall.

Cardona fired again, as Wayson yanked him out into the court. Again the police lieutenant had made the proper move. A third Apache had opened fire from the stairway. His shots were wide as his revolver boomed through Debeq’s stuccoed hall.

As they reached the courtyard, Wayson and Cardona realized the full menace of the trap. Out from hazy lurking spots came new weapon-bearing enemies. In from the arched outer entrance surged a trio of killers bent to prevent escape.

As within, the first attackers were wielding knives, intent to kill with silence. But those behind them had pointed guns, ready to slay if their forerunners failed.

As they wheeled about to fire, Wayson and Cardona were hopelessly outnumbered. Worst of all, they were turning their backs upon the killers whom they had left within.

Directly above Debeq’s inner door was a balcony; above it was the first tier of a flat French roof. It was from the roof that a blackened shape dropped squarely upon the balcony. Extended arms swung over the rail. Two automatics roared as the Apaches surged upon Wayson and Cardona.

THE Shadow had arrived across the roof of Debeq’s house. His automatics awakened thunder as they echoed among the stone walls of the court. His fierce fire sprayed its messages of lead along a sweeping arc as he mowed down the men with knives.

The Shadow had found a perfect spot from which to deliver this counterthrust. But as he loosed his fire, the flames that tongued from his guns were a warning to the reserves. Up came the gun hands of the Apaches who guarded the outer arch.

The Shadow was swaying on the balcony. His moves were timed almost to his enemy’s action. Vicious killers fired. Their bullets flattened against the brick wall. While those slugs were thudding, The Shadow found a centered aim.

Straight into the blocking trio came The Shadow’s answer. Bulleted Apaches sprawled. Snarling as they fell, these products of the Parisian slums still tried to get their foe.

One dying Apache managed a shot that whistled through The Shadow’s hat brim. But the would-be killer had found his aim too late. A burst from an automatic ended his next vicious effort.

Wayson and Cardona were caught flat-footed, as their rescuer began his timely aid. Knife-thrusting Apaches fell as they surged upon them. Amazed, the two men found themselves firing at sprawling foemen. As they came up to aim for their further marks, the others, too, were dropping.

Two flanking Apaches had been clear of The Shadow’s range. They, too, were concerned with the attack from the balcony, swinging over to take aim at the foe above. Suddenly, they recalled their first objective. They whirled upon Wayson and Cardona.

Cardona nipped one with a shot from his snub-nosed revolver. Wayson dropped the second Apache with a perfect shot. As Cardona’s gun clicked empty, Wayson fired again, sprawling the man whom Joe had wounded.

“Look out! The door!”

Wayson wheeled at Cardona’s cry. The three Apaches who had remained in Debeq’s hall were surging forth as a reserve band. These ruffians had remained inside, to block off a retreat. Coming out after hearing gunfire, they had expected to find Wayson and Cardona dead upon the flagstones of the court.

Intent upon butchery, the first two Apaches were wielding the knives that they had previously thrown. Cardona, his revolver empty, sprang to meet the first attacker. He grappled with the Apache.

Wayson turned to fire upon the second killer. The Apache caught the lieutenant’s arm. Wayson stopped the knife thrust with a warding blow of his free hand. Like Cardona, he went staggering backward, wrestling with his foeman.

The third Apache came lurching out from beneath the balcony, seeking a chance to aim. A leer showed on his squinty countenance as he raised his gun. He did not know that a menace lay above.

The Shadow had swung clear of the balcony. He had aimed for the Apaches whom Wayson and Cardona had dropped. But he had not fired when he saw those killers fall. Swinging as he heard Cardona’s cry, The Shadow saw the two Apaches leap forward; then he spied the third scoundrel in their wake.

With a springing motion, The Shadow released his hold upon the balcony rail. A silent avalanche of blackness, he plunged through the air.

The aiming Apache heard the slight swish. The fellow uttered a cry as he looked upward.

THEN The Shadow struck. He hit squarely upon the Apache’s shoulders, flattening the fellow upon the flagstones. The Apache’s gun went scudding a dozen feet across the court. The Shadow, rolling free from his stunned prey, came to his feet in acrobatic fashion.

A knife-wielding Apache had made a wide stroke at Joe Cardona. The blade had ripped the detective’s sleeve. The Apache was poising for a fatal thrust, when The Shadow sprang upon him. Swinging an emptied automatic, the black-clad fighter dropped the Apache with a blow upon the skull. The knife blade, already swinging downward, went wide of Cardona’s struggling form.

Wayson, holding his own foe at bay, managed a shot straight for Cardona’s toppling foeman. The Shadow had stunned the Apache. Wayson’s quick shot reached the ruffian’s heart. But with that gesture, Wayson lost control upon the man with whom he wrestled. The lieutenant sprawled.

The Apache, sensing a new attacker, hurled himself upon The Shadow.

The Shadow had dropped his empty automatic. His gloved hand was beneath his cloak. Whisking forth, it produced a fresh .45, just as the Apache arrived. The weapon boomed.

The Apache screamed and gave a high leap in the air. His knife sailed from his upswinging hand. It whirred, flashing, above the level of the balcony; then came clattering in the court. But before the knife landed, its owner had sprawled dead upon the flagstones.

A shout from Cardona. The Apache whom The Shadow had flattened by his spring was rising and making headway toward the outer arch.

Wayson heard Joe’s cry. Rising to one knee, the police lieutenant took aim. A perfect marksman, he had the bead upon his one survivor of the Apache crew.

But before Wayson could press the trigger, a powerful arm came sweeping about his body, The lieutenant went sprawling sidewise. He caught the flash of burning eyes. He saw a black figure sweep to its feet and spin away.

The Shadow had stopped Wayson’s shot! The amazing rescuer had suddenly sprung to attack one of those whom he had saved. Cardona stood open-mouthed, as he witnessed The Shadow’s action. The last Apache was running free, his life saved by The Shadow!

THE Apache had passed the archway. The Shadow was whirling in that direction. His laugh rang, outlandish, through the court, as Wayson, foiled in his shot, came angrily to his feet. Maddened by The Shadow’s thrust, not realizing the full part that the cloaked fighter had played, Wayson aimed at the elusive shape.

Cardona flung himself to stop the police lieutenant’s aim. Joe’s action was unnecessary. Wayson fired a split-second too late. His bullet cracked the stone side of the arch as The Shadow, spinning with a final turn, went through to outer safety.

The courtyard was shivering with the echoes of a parting laugh. Cardona caught Wayson’s arm and stopped the marksman from attempting another shot. Persuasively, Joe argued.

“He rescued us,” stated the detective. “Let him go, Wayson! He dropped those killers when he was on the balcony.”

“But he stopped me from picking off the last of the crew—”

“He wanted to make a getaway himself. That’s why.”

Joe put the argument on the basis of a hunch. He knew the identity of that sharpshooting rescuer. He realized that The Shadow must have had some purpose in permitting the flight of the last Apache. His mention of a getaway seemed to convince Wayson. The police lieutenant nodded.

“Let’s see to Debeq,” he suggested.

THEY went into the house, to find the old Frenchman cowering, uninjured, in the corner. Debeq stammered his story. The rogues had entered, apparently intent upon robbery. They had bound and gagged him, a full hour ago. Debeq had sent no message to Wayson.

“It must have been a pal who tipped me to come here,” observed Wayson to Cardona. “Some friend that knew Debeq was in trouble and was afraid he’d be killed if the cops came banging in here.”

Cardona nodded his agreement. The suggestion seemed sound. Yet, somehow, Joe could not discard the hunch that this trap had been planned to thwart his search for Cyro. Nevertheless, Joe Cardona felt nearer to his goal.

He knew that The Shadow was in New Orleans. Once again that cloaked rescuer had intervened in Joe’s behalf. In New York, Cardona’s life had been saved by The Shadow. That master fighter knew well how to foil men of crime.

Rogues of the Latin Quarter had been eliminated. Lieutenant Wayson was examining dead faces. Police were arriving from the street, to back his belief that these were merely riffraff of New Orleans. Not even Joe Cardona was ready with the theory that they might be imported killers.

But Joe did have the hunch that these dead Apaches were minions of Cyro. If so, The Shadow, too, was on the master swindler’s trail. Grimly, Joe Cardona could see that success might lay ahead. The star detective was set to remain in New Orleans.