Gray Fist

CHAPTER VIII THE SHADOW COMPLIES

GRAY FIST had delivered a home thrust to the heart of Worth Varden. That stroke had also been a home thrust to The Shadow. Gray Fist, the unknown fiend who planned great crime, had accomplished the seemingly impossible. He had left the evidence of his villainy — the corpse of Worth Varden — in the most inaccessible of all places: The Shadow’s sanctum!

The laugh had died from The Shadow’s lips. Silently, the black-clad warrior moved forward across the tufted carpeting. Like an unreal specter, he stood within the walls of his secret room — the chamber which was secret no longer.

Despite the fact that his sanctum had been invaded, The Shadow showed no trepidation. Well did he know that those who had brought Worth Varden’s body hither would not have dared to stay within these gloomy walls. The unreal atmosphere made the sanctum seem a trap. The Shadow feared no attack while he was here.

His interest lay in the note pinned to Worth Varden’s body. The hand that wore the girasol stretched forth and plucked the paper. The projecting portion of the knife blade sliced the gray sheet as The Shadow drew the paper sidewise. The Shadow raised the note and read its written lines.

This was not a doubled sheet. It was a single piece of gray paper, and its words were in a cipher. The Shadow’s eyes roved along the lines. A soft laugh came from the whispering lips. The writer of the note had anticipated that the reader would quickly solve the simple code.

The message, as The Shadow deciphered it, was direct and concise. Its legend showed that the writer had guessed the identity of the personage who would receive it. The message was as follows:

His burning eyes upon the gray paper, The Shadow, for the first time, read the name by which his formidable enemy was known. Gray Fist! This was the title of the superfiend whom The Shadow knew had brought death to Worth Varden — and probably to the missing racketeer, Seth Cowry.

IT was not the threatening tenor of the note that caused The Shadow to study the cryptic lines. The masterful brain was at work, thinking out the causes which had produced this message. The Shadow was summing up the menacing of Gray Fist’s threatening message.

The fact that his sanctum had been discovered was the basis of The Shadow’s reasoning. Tracing backward, The Shadow sought to learn how Gray Fist had penetrated to this hidden abode. There was only one possible way in which it could have been uncovered.

Some one, working for Gray Fist, had managed to follow the special wire that led into The Shadow’s sanctum. That wire came from the place where Burbank had been posted; Burbank, had he been given the opportunity, would have destroyed the connection. The deadened wire indicated that he had attempted to do so.

Therefore, Burbank’s work had been disturbed. Either the contact man had been captured, or had been forced to flee. But how had Burbank been discovered?

That was another question which The Shadow could answer. Either Cliff Marsland or Harry Vincent — perhaps both — had been discovered in the act of calling Burbank to give the contact man a report. Some prying eyes had learned the number of the telephone at which Burbank could be reached.

Therefore either Cliff Marsland, Harry Vincent, or both, might be in Gray Fist’s power. The fiend’s note indicated that they were. His statement, “you or those who serve you,” meant plainly that Gray Fist knew of the existence of The Shadow’s agents.

SO far as Rutledge Mann and Clyde Burke were concerned, The Shadow held no apprehensions. Those two were safe. Vincent, Marsland, and Burbank were the trio whose safety must be considered along with The Shadow’s own.

It was evident to The Shadow that Gray Fist must have a powerful group of mobsters under his control. They had figured in the capture of The Shadow’s agents. No amount of torture would force any of The Shadow’s men to admit a connection with their mysterious chief, but Gray Fist had evidently divined the identity of the master whom they served.

Gray Fist had made his first stroke to balk The Shadow. He had ordered the death of Worth Varden. That had come — so The Shadow supposed — after the discovery of the sanctum. Then Gray Fist had ordered Varden’s body to be placed within the confines of the black-walled room.

Why had Gray Fist inscribed his message in code?

A soft laugh was The Shadow’s answer to this question. Evidently Gray Fist’s mobsmen — the ones deputed to bring Varden’s body here — had not suspected the identity of the owner of the sanctum. Had Gray Fist written an uncoded threat to The Shadow, it would have been read by those who had brought Varden’s body.

As it was, the gangsters had simply carried a corpse to a strange place, and had left it there. Perhaps one or more of Gray Fist’s closest henchmen were in the know; but certainly the rank and file were in ignorance. That was proof of Gray Fist’s cunning. The menace of The Shadow rested heavily upon the small fry of the bad lands. The scheming fiend did not care to let consternation seize his lesser followers.

The order that The Shadow should appear in any character he chose was added proof that Gray Fist’s henchmen did not know that The Shadow was ready to meet their leader. The location of the place where The Shadow was to appear — the underworld dive known as the Black Ship — was definite evidence that Gray Fist had hordes of gangdom at his heels.

Here, within his sanctum, The Shadow was safe. He knew that Gray Fist would not have left men in this vicinity. Indeed, The Shadow had numerous artifices at his command, when he was in his sanctum. Gray Fist had acted wisely when he had decided to make no invasion while The Shadow was present.

Yet, in a sense, The Shadow was confined. He could not act from his sanctum. This place was useless, so long as Gray Fist and others knew its location.

THE SHADOW’S roving eyes looked about the room. A soft laugh rippled from The Shadow’s lips. The appurtenances of the sanctum had been untouched. Secret wall safes which contained The Shadow’s archives had been carefully avoided. Well was it for the invaders that they had not ventured deeply into the secrets of this grim abode! Unseen mechanical devices would have brought them doom, had they so dared!

By leaving his sanctum, The Shadow could begin a strategic campaign to meet Gray Fist. Yet if The Shadow sought darkness and tried to act through stealth, Gray Fist might underestimate his power. The Shadow knew that the safety of his agents was at stake. He knew that if Gray Fist regarded him as no threat, those men would surely die.

Gray Fist must know The Shadow as a menace; or else he must know that The Shadow was willing to accept his terms. There could be no middle course. Either Gray Fist, through fear, must continue to hold his prisoners until The Shadow was eliminated; or Gray Fist, through knowledge that The Shadow had accepted defeat, must be persuaded to release The Shadow’s men.

This was the problem that The Shadow faced. Minutes were passing — minutes that brought midnight closer. A great decision was burning within The Shadow’s brain. Never before had the superfighter been faced with a dilemma such as this.

The Shadow must strike or yield. His step must be made before the hour of midnight. The solemn laugh that The Shadow uttered showed plainly that he realized the urgency of this tremendous case.

The laugh ended with swift action. The Shadow moved to the wall. The light went out. A cloak swished in the darkness. A grim laugh rippled through the room, then died. Silence reigned; then came dull metallic clicks that seemed to creep mysteriously through heavy walls.

The Shadow had left his sanctum. For the first time, he was sealing this secret room so effectively that entrance would be doom to any who might attempt it. Should failure greet The Shadow in his encounter with Gray Fist’s minions, the secrets of the sanctum would be permanently preserved. Hidden bombs would utterly destroy The Shadow’s abode — with it, the body of Worth Varden.

Should The Shadow gain freedom from the toils which gripped him, he, with his own knowledge of the traps that he had set, could reopen the sanctum and gain new access to it. Whether or not The Shadow would ever return to this place depended upon his ability to cope with the vast dangers that lay across his immediate path.

Midnight was approaching when a strange shaft of darkness showed upon the lighted paving of a lower Manhattan street. The black patch moved along. It disappeared in darkness. It flitted beneath a new light, then merged with gloom once more.

The direction of the moving splotch indicated The Shadow’s destination. For once, The Shadow had complied with an enemy’s order. He was taking the only course which offered. He was traveling to the appointed spot, to the place, one block from the Black Ship, where Gray Fist’s minions would be waiting at the preordained hour of midnight!

Voluntarily, The Shadow was going into the very heart of the region where his enemies lay. He was facing the most desperate issue that he had ever encountered.

The Shadow was obeying the order of Gray Fist!