Cyro

CHAPTER XXIII THE FINAL FRAY

THE SHADOW’S sudden attack had been brought about by Cyro’s change in plans. Dunwood Marr — as Cyro — had talked too much. He had said so, himself.

As Brilliard and Lence had arranged it with the supposed Larribez, the squad of water-front fighters were to enter and carry off the treasure. That would have left Marr and his two lieutenants in the house; Link Ruckert and his mob outside.

It had been The Shadow’s plan to drop the role of Larribez when he went to summon the seamen. Guised as The Shadow, sinister in his cloak of black, he had planned an unexpected return to catch Cyro and his lieutenants helpless.

That had been changed by Marr’s sudden shift. The big shot had sent Lence to call the mobsmen. He had retained the person whom he thought was Larribez. To meet Marr’s unexpected measure, The Shadow had also changed his campaign.

The scant time remaining before Lence’s return gave him no opportunity to change the character that he had adopted. Still masked as Larribez, he had swung into his own role; and the maneuver had caught Marr and Brilliard totally unready.

Timing the draw of his guns, The Shadow had sprung a well-calculated game. His purpose was to swing Marr and Brilliard upon him, giving them the thought that they might beat him to the shot. Marr showed surprising swiftness.

His first shot barked while The Shadow’s automatics were still on the move. A bullet sizzled close to The Shadow’s head. Marr pressed the trigger for a second delivery. That bullet would have scored, but for an intervention.

Reginald Exeter, tipped off by The Shadow’s nod, was plunging forward as Marr fired his first shot. As the fake millionaire fired for the second time, Exeter bowled him over. Tumbling across the treasure chests, Marr shot wild. His bullet lodged in the ceiling.

A split-second later, The Shadow’s automatics roared, straight across the space that Marr and Exeter had vacated. Tongues of flames, with them zimming bullets aimed for Raoul Brilliard. The Frenchman, slower than Marr, went down with guns unfired.

Marr was grappling with Exeter. Cardona and Wayson were leaping to aid him. Medbrook was hard behind them. But Marr had gained a break. Wrenching free from Exeter, he aimed a wild shot toward the far corner, where other saved victims still stood.

Exeter caught the villain’s wrist. Marr’s shot, directed for Alicia, went wide. Striking a glancing blow, Marr dropped Exeter. Springing away from other adversaries, he leaped for the door in the corner that led to the parlor passage. A fiend at bay, he wheeled to pump lead into his unarmed foemen.

The Shadow was waiting at the outer doorway. Men had been between him and Marr. In settling Brilliard, The Shadow had been forced to rely again on Exeter. Saving Alicia, the Australian had faltered. But The Shadow was waiting for a split-second break. It came.

Cardona — Wayson — Medbrook — all three were springing fiercely for the man whom they knew was Cyro. In their wild attack, they were hurdling the boxes of Spanish gold. That action broke their solid mass. A space opened between Wayson and Cardona.

The Shadow boomed two rapid shots with his left-hand gun. He picked that narrow opening, straight through to the corner from which Marr was aiming to deliver slaughter. One shot burned the sleeve of Cardona’s elbow. The second bullet singed close to Wayson’s shoulder.

With those shots, Dunwood Marr crumpled. The Shadow had found the target that he wanted. Vainly, Marr tried to clutch his revolvers. Struggling as he slumped, he aimed to kill. But before he could press a trigger, he was smothered. His guns clattered to the floor as three men pounced upon him.

THE SHADOW had wheeled from the doorway. He turned to an obscure spot in the further hall. As he disappeared, shots broke loose outside the house. The Shadow’s inside attack had been a signal for his reserves.

Tracy Lence was bringing Link Ruckert’s gorillas in through the back door when the shots started in the study. Off by a side of the mansion grounds lay the water-front crew that had replaced the band eliminated last night. It was this new outfit that opened the outside fire.

Guised as seamen, this band was composed of The Shadow’s agents. Ready for the signal, they arose and began a sudden barrage toward the skulking figures of Link Ruckert’s mob. Gorillas wheeled with oaths. They responded.

Side by side in ambush, a quartet of sharpshooters loosed their fire through the darkness. Cliff Marsland, Harry Vincent and Hawkeye — with them, a newcomer, Clyde Burke. A reporter by profession, Clyde was also a competent marksman.

Two others were with this sharpshooting band. One was Jericho; the other was Tabac, the lone Apache. Powerful in a close range brawl, Jericho was no target shooter. His job was to handle Tabac.

As the Apache snarled a warning to the mobsters, Jericho shot out a massive paw. Tabac had experienced one surprise when The Shadow’s agents had so suddenly revealed their identity. He was due for another.

Lifting the Apache from the ground, Jericho snatched him as a terrier would seize a rat. A knife went clattering upon a big stone as Tabac dropped it. Then the Apache plunged head foremost, as Jericho dashed him to the ground. Tabac lay stunned. Jericho dropped low beside The Shadow’s agents.

Scorching fire would have eliminated Link Ruckert’s mob but for the timely action of Tracy Lence. Realizing that something had gone wrong, Lence snarled from within the house. Link and three mobsmen went plunging through, away from the withering hail of lead.

Hard on Lence’s heels, they headed for the study. Their clatter was heard. Grabbing guns, Cardona and Wayson came swinging to the door. Medbrook and Emory found weapons to aid them. Shots burst from the defenders as Lence and his gang arrived in the hall.

CARNAGE was due. Wayson’s first shot sent a gorilla sprawling. Four against four, it looked like a bitter fight, with slaughter on both sides. Quick guns were barking as opposing forces aimed. Then, from the darkness of the front hall, came a flank attack.

Automatics thundered echoes beneath the broad ceiling. Startled mobsters, diving for cover, wheeled to aim at a vague figure which they saw weaving toward them in dim light. They knew The Shadow. Wildly, they fired point-blank for the foe.

Guns barked from the study. Shots that might have been beaten by the gorillas were coming in leaden hail, as Wayson and Cardona pumped bullets into the trapped mobsmen.

Link Ruckert sprawled while aiming at The Shadow. A gorilla fell as an automatic boomed. So did another, clipped simultaneously by The Shadow, Wayson and Cardona.

Tracy Lence went diving for the kitchen. With a twist, he aimed a parting shot for the spot where he thought The Shadow was located. An automatic flashed six feet away from Lence’s mark. Still twisting, the swindler staggered out through the kitchen. He reached the back door; then sprawled forward upon the ground, dead.

THE return of this lone foeman was good news to the advancing aides of The Shadow. Closing in to attack the mobsmen from the rear, they knew that further measures were unnecessary. Cliff, squad leader in this fray, stopped his companions with a sudden order.

Shots had ended from within the house. A strange silence hovered over all. Then the lull ended. From off beyond the house, on the side by the veranda, came the ringing cry of a taunting laugh.

Gibing, the grim mirth rose on the night air. Cliff pointed to a shrouded shape against the light hue of the palm trees opposite. The figure faded; but the laugh remained. Eerily, it broke with a fierce crescendo. It faded into whispered echoes that seemed to linger.

Cliff turned. The agents of The Shadow followed. They headed off from their side of the estate. The Shadow’s laugh was their signal for departure. It told that crime had been banished.

Frozen figures stood within the study. Danforth Gaudrin and Captain Emory were by the treasure. Reginald Exeter was holding Alicia in his arms. Royal Medbrook stood by the desk. Luke Gaudrin and Professor Babcock were still in their corner.

Lieutenant Wayson was at the doorway, square-shouldered as an equestrian statue. Beside him stood Joe Cardona. Like the others, the detective had stopped short at the sound of that chilling laugh.

Joe had a hunch that the real Jose Larribez would be discovered as a helpless prisoner — The Shadow’s present to the forces of the law. Joe was right. Like Tabac, who still lay senseless on the lawn, Larribez was due to be found, bound and gagged in his suite at the Hotel Bontezan.

But Joe Cardona knew something other than a hunch. He knew the author of that parting laugh; he understood its weird significance. Treasure had been restored. Lives had been saved. All by The Shadow.

And those whom the cloaked fighter’s might had rescued, were hearing the triumphant laugh of The Shadow!