Death Clew

CHAPTER XIX. INTO THE NIGHT

Six feet lay between The Shadow and the men by the window. The brief struggle between Dudley Arment and Shakes Niefan had given The Shadow the final moments required for his entrance. Though Shakes had commandeered Arment’s body as a shield, The Shadow still possessed a slender advantage.

Shakes, as he was turning toward the door, had chosen the best course for his own protection. He was thrusting his gun beneath Arment’s left arm, so that he might fire at the door. Had The Shadow waited for a moment, he would have lost all chance to rescue Dudley Arment. To cope with Shakes Niefan, he would have been forced to fire through Arment’s body.

The Shadow knew this. He performed the unexpected. Seizing the short interval which still remained — the moments necessary for Shakes to fire— The Shadow sprang forward in a furious attack.

His left hand, picking the spot beneath Arment’s arm, shot straight for Shakes Niefan’s wrist. His right, dropping its automatic, caught Arment’s body and whirled it from the killer’s grasp.

Shakes fired. The hot tongue of the revolver flame seared the face beneath the cloak collar as the bullet blasted upward through the hat brim. The Shadow had turned the aim a fraction of an inch.

All mobsters feared The Shadow; but Shakes, a murderer to the end, forgot his dread. As his right wrist faltered in the viselike grasp, Shakes shot a hard blow with his left fist. It was a stroke that The Shadow could not parry.

The Shadow staggered as the punch landed below the hat brim. Dropping sidewise, he still managed to grip Shakes Niefan’s wrist, while his free hand caught at the arm which had loosed the drive.

Shakes sought to deliver another jab. The Shadow’s clutch prevented him. With both wrists clamped, Shakes gave a vicious twist. The Shadow’s cloaked form went backward against the window ledge.

Snarling, Shakes tried to force his enemy through.

The Shadow’s left fist relaxed. That action changed the killer’s purpose. With right wrist coming free, Shakes snapped backward and swung his gun directly toward The Shadow’s hidden face.

THIS was the move on which The Shadow had counted. As Shakes pressed finger to trigger, The Shadow’s hand tightened with a new twist. The gun barked. The bullet zimmed past The Shadow’s shoulder, into the window frame. Then, as the twist increased, Shakes felt his fingers loosen. His revolver clattered to the floor.

The killer straightened with new fury. As The Shadow twisted sidewise, to avoid the danger of the low-silled window, Shakes launched his body forward with terrific power. Catching The Shadow off balance, he sent the black-garbed warrior sprawling.

The fighters grappled as they struck the floor. Shakes saw a long black arm stretch out to grip the automatic which lay three feet away. With a quick kick, Shakes sent the weapon skidding across the floor, past the spot where Dudley Arment, half-dazed, was raising himself to one elbow.

Then, as The Shadow locked for another grapple, Shakes introduced a trick that he had learned from his old pal, Strangler Hunn. The fighters were half risen; they were equal in their grapple; but The Shadow’s back was toward the wall. With a furious thrust, Shakes hurled The Shadow’s shoulders forward. The slouch hat struck the wall. The blow, though glancing, was sufficient for what Shakes Niefan wanted.

As The Shadow slumped, with loosening grip, Shakes Niefan wrenched free. He dove for his gleaming revolver, which lay on the floor by the window. Pouncing upon the weapon, he swung as he arose erect.

Back to the window, he aimed for The Shadow.

The cloaked fighter had risen to his left knee, with his right arm stretched out as a support. His cloak had been ripped in the struggle; the tattered collar lay across his face. Above it, burning eyes peered from beneath the hat brim.

His lost automatic still lay beyond Dudley Arment, who, in turn, had weakened and slumped to the floor.

Shakes Niefan had been lucky, so far. He was out to kill before The Shadow could renew the struggle.

Shakes had his revolver swinging into aim. The Shadow’s automatic was far away from reach.

BUT Shakes had not reckoned with The Shadow’s methods. Never did The Shadow rely upon a single weapon. Shakes, unknowingly, had played into The Shadow’s trap. By freeing himself from The Shadow’s grasp, he had given The Shadow a better opportunity than his own.

The Shadow’s free left hand was swinging from beneath the folds of the black cloak. Shakes Niefan was too late. Before the forefinger of his steadying hand could press revolver trigger, the blackened muzzle of an automatic belched forth its message of retaliation.

The Shadow’s left hand was perfect in its aim. The force of the bullet seemed to send Shakes tottering backward. The killer’s arms flung upward. The revolver sped from nervous fingers. Shot close to the heart, Shakes lost his balance as he sprawled across the window sill.

The murderer’s body poised; then helpless and lifeless, it toppled on the brink. Head foremost, Shakes Niefan’s dead form went hurtling toward the courtyard, eighteen stories down. Into the darkness of the night, the murderer took the plunge that followed the death which he deserved.

A grim laugh sounded as The Shadow gained his feet. While his mockery whispered through the room, the black-garbed avenger glided forward and regained his first automatic. His burning eyes turned to the table. They saw the letter which Arment had read.

The laugh was repeated. This time, it came in a tone that told new understanding. One glance at the papers on Arment’s table: The Shadow knew the story. Gathering letters and papers together, The Shadow turned toward Dudley Arment.

The rescued man was seated on the floor. His hand was pressed to the side of his head. Still groggy from the blow that Shakes had given him, Arment was trying to regain his faculties.

Papers and letters swept beneath The Shadow’s cloak. The Shadow stopped and thrust his arm about Arment’s body. He raised the stupefied man to his feet. While Arment aided with faltering steps, The Shadow dragged him swiftly into the hall and swung the door of the apartment shut.

The door of the service elevator was open. The Shadow pulled Arment in the car and closed the door.

The elevator moved downward. Its drop was neatly timed. Five seconds after the departure of The Shadow and Dudley Arment, a regular elevator stopped at the eighteenth floor. Two attendants hurried to the door of Arment’s apartment and began to pound upon it.

FRESH air revived Dudley Arment as The Shadow brought the man to the rear street. Yet Arment was still a bit bewildered. Instinctively, he allowed himself to be led along by this stranger who urged him to more rapid pace.

Eighty feet brought them to the corner of the avenue. Stanley, drowsing behind the wheel, looked up as he heard some one stagger into the rear of the car. Then came Cranston’s voice from the darkness.

Hearing his master’s order, Stanley nodded. He started the motor as the rear door closed.

The window was shut between the front and the back. Dudley Arment, slumped in the comfortable cushions, found himself listening to a whispered voice that spoke in uncanny tones. Dully, Arment nodded his understanding. He clutched papers and letter that were thrust into his hand. Fumbling, he thrust them in an inside pocket.

A gloved hand rested on Arment’s shoulders. The other hand produced a small vial and pressed the bottle to Arment’s lips. The rescued man gulped as he tasted a biting, pungent liquor. Then came a burning as new vigor possessed him.

As the car stopped, a hand reached forward and opened the door. Hidden lips hissed their command in a voice that Dudley Arment could do naught else but obey.

“Go! Do as I have ordered!”

Dudley Arment stepped to the curb. His head was swimming; he saw the limousine pull away. Then the dizziness ended. The potency of The Shadow’s draught produced a swift effect. Dudley Arment steadied.

His hand pressed against his pocket. His lips became firm. He studied his surroundings and nodded as he gained the location. He hailed a passing cab and entered.

The voice of Lamont Cranston was sounding through the speaking tube of the limousine. Stanley nodded and turned at the nearest corner. In the darkness of the limousine, a slouch hat tumbled into the opened bag; gloves fell into the inverted hat; then came the folds of the discarded black cloak.

The limousine took another corner. It rolled past the entrance to the Hotel Morrisette. It drew up in back of Commissioner Weston’s big car. The door opened. Lamont Cranston stepped out. He ordered Stanley to await him. He ascended the steps of Roscoe Wimbledon’s home.

Lester Drayson, staring from the darkness of his hotel room, observed the arrival of Lamont Cranston.

He wondered why this new visitor had come.

Little did the watching fugitive realize what had happened at Dudley Arment’s. Lester Drayson did not know that he was soon to learn the power that The Shadow held!