Gray Fist

CHAPTER XXV THE TRIUMPH

“FOOLS.”

Gray Fist chortled as he spat the word. The old fiend’s face was livid. His looming hand, with the revolver in its clutch, formed a tight fist that threatened doom.

“You thought that I was dead.” Gray Fist’s tone was cold. “So did the other — the one who sought to rescue you. He has gone. Let him return. He will find the dead bodies of those whom he tried to save.

“I am Gray Fist. My enemies are within my clutch. I fear no one. My minions are dead. I shall find more. I do not care if they are dead. You will soon be in the state which they now hold!”

Joe Cardona’s hand was trembling. It was rising slowly. The detective dared not make a quick attack straight into the muzzle of Gray Fist’s gun. The fiend, however, saw Joe’s action.

Gray Fist was watching every one of the doomed trio. He was calculating in his manner. Numbed and groggy though they were, Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent could feel the menace of Gray Fist’s stare.

This evil man, triumphant, was more to be feared than a host of gangsters. Gray Fist had battled with The Shadow. He, alone, had managed to wound the fighter who had worn the attire of Yat Soon. Moreover, he had tricked The Shadow. Gray Fist had fallen as though he had been slain. His ruse had been deceptive.

“One move” — Gray Fist’s cold tone was addressed to Joe Cardona — “and you shall die.”

The detective’s hand dropped again. Gray Fist chortled. He held his finger on the trigger of his revolver.

“You shall die!” he repeated. “You — the first — before these others—”

Cardona saw a steady stare as the fiend ceased speaking. Cardona could not tell what caused it. Cliff Marsland, however, was able to throw a sidelong glimpse in the direction of Gray Fist’s gaze.

Staring straight beyond Cardona’s form, the fiend was watching a panel at the side of the room. The barrier was rising. Beyond it, however, was nothing but complete darkness. Confident that he held Cardona helpless, Gray Fist was watching. His gun, ready to fire beyond the detective, was waiting only until his eyes would see the form that he expected — the maroon-garbed figure of the false Yat Soon.

Gunfire had ceased from without. The Shadow, Gray Fist knew, could have reached this side panel through another passage. To strike, however, The Shadow would have to show himself.

IT was then that an instinctive thought came to Cliff Marsland. Well did the agent realize that his master, The Shadow, had played the feigned part of Yat Soon. Well did Cliff know how The Shadow could approach a scene of danger.

Though he saw nothing, Cliff realized that the blackness beyond the panel was not the darkness of a passage. That blotting gloom was caused by the form of The Shadow itself! The master had returned; before returning, he had donned his cloak and hat, which must have been waiting for him in some hidden spot outside this room!

Gray Fist was waiting for The Shadow. He did not know The Shadow had arrived. The Shadow was ready to open a surprise attack. One factor alone prevented him.

Joe Cardona was standing directly between The Shadow and Gray Fist! With the detective as a living barrier, The Shadow could do no more than wound Gray Fist. That would mean Cardona’s doom, for Gray Fist would fire surely the moment that he realized The Shadow’s presence!

Furthermore, one false move by Joe Cardona might place the unwitting detective right in the path of one of The Shadow’s own bullets!

It was in this tense period of fleeting moments that Cliff Marsland lost the grogginess that had held him. He knew that The Shadow could use his aid; yet a signal from The Shadow would also be a warning to Gray Fist.

It was the time for boldness, and Cliff supplied it. From complete immobility, The Shadow’s agent leaped into swift action. With a rapid forward dive, his arms outstretched for a flying tackle, Cliff hurled himself upon Joe Cardona!

Cliff caught the detective low. The force of the plunge was terrific. Cardona, despite his stockiness, was bowled over by the force of Cliff’s powerful plunge.

The action took Gray Fist by surprise. Had Cliff leaped at the fiend himself, Gray Fist could have delivered a fatal shot. But Cliff, by his unexpected action, hurled both himself and Joe Cardona below the level of the monster’s aim.

For one split second, Gray Fist’s gloved clutch wavered. Instinctively, the fiend was about to drop his aim. Then the menace of the open panel caught him. With Cardona cleared, Gray Fist resolved to fire at the blackness which he thought was the passage.

It was too late. The split instant of hesitation proved the turning point. As Gray Fist’s finger drew upon the revolver trigger, a blasting burst of flame came from the panel. The Shadow’s automatic delivered the shot which the master fighter had long desired to deal.

Gray Fist’s fiendish face took on a hideous expression. The old man’s body withered. It crumpled slowly to the floor like a caving structure. It struck sidewise, and rolled over. The revolver clattered to the floor.

Gray Fist’s left arm twisted beneath his body. His right, waving in a convulsive effort, reached upward, and remained extended. The gloved hand writhed. The fingers beneath the gray cloth tightened. The hand stilled.

Burning eyes from the panel were visible as they surveyed the dead form of Landis Glascomb. A spectral laugh issued from The Shadow’s hidden lips. In death, as in life, Landis Glascomb retained the symbol of his boast.

The dead gloved hand was clenched to form a firm, tight fist. That clutched hand was the final statement of the fiend, Gray Fist!