Mardi Gras Mystery

CHAPTER IX. WITHIN THE SNARE

THE savage rage that gripped Urbin was proof that the crook had lost the surety upon which he had banked. It was plain that Needler must have scoured the apartment during his afternoon search; that he had departed, positive that Andrew Blouchet’s safe would reveal the wanted cash.

Once the safe had been opened, Needler had eliminated everything except the ebony box. Finding the black casket empty, he was spluttering with fury. Muffled oaths fumed from snarling, bandanna-covered lips. With a final epithet, Needler flung the ebony box to the floor.

Needler had shoved Andrew away from the safe. Turning toward the young man, the crook glared ferociously through his mask. Andrew had regained composure. Though he could not guess what had become of his wealth, he knew that its loss was to his present advantage. He had found his bluff backed. He was smart enough to push the game.

“Sorry,” drawled Andrew, in face of Needler’s rage. “I told you that the box was empty. I have nothing of value here—”

“I’ll take your word for it,” interrupted Needler, in a vicious tone. “But it’s not helping you any, mug! You’re not the bozo that I’m after, but you’ll do for practice. I’m not taking chances on a mug like you squawking to the bulls. It’s curtains for you anyway; for you and this boob who walked into trouble!”

Needler glared toward Harry Vincent as he completed the statement. A murderer by inclination, his thirst for a kill was spurring Needler. The fact that he had come to the wrong place — which Needler now believed — did not curb the would-be killer’s violence.

“Easy, Duvale.” Andrew was steady, though pale. “Murder won’t help you any.”

Needler’s answer was a snarl. He had put his gun into his coat pocket, in order to search the safe. He was reaching for the weapon, slowly and deliberately, while his henchmen kept Andrew and Harry covered. New alarm came to Harry. He realized that the snare had tightened.

Needler had been told not to murder Andrew Blouchet until he made the man talk. But that order had been based on the belief that Andrew held a secret store of wealth. Ring Stortzel — through Banjo Lobot — had specified nothing in case Andrew should prove to be a penniless victim. Since Needler had formed the conclusion that Andrew was of no consequence, the crook was following his own inclination.

Murder. It was coming — for both Andrew and Harry. To the latter, the threat was forcing action. With every muscle taut, The Shadow’s agent prepared for a spring the moment that he caught the glimmer of Needler’s gun. Trapped in the snare, without the presence of The Shadow, Harry was desperate.

Needler’s hand was coming from the pocket. One instant more, and Harry would have launched himself to the attack. But in that momentary interval came interruption. A sound made Needler turn. Something had thumped the door. The barrier was swinging inward.

Needler’s gun hand snapped from his pocket; but stayed itself, without raising its revolver. Harry Vincent tightened on the verge of a spring. Like Needler — like Andrew — like the two thugs — Harry stared toward the door.

Framed against the dull light from the hall stood a tall, stooped figure clad in artist’s smock and beret. The oddly clad intruder was facing toward the hall. His left hand gripped an automatic, which pointed toward the door to the balcony steps. The purpose of the gun was obvious. The smocked invader was holding Needler’s reserves at bay.

The artist had shoved the door inward with his shoulder. His head had turned to look into the room. His eyes were blazing from his pallid face; below, his right hand gripped a second automatic, with which he covered Needler and the two thugs. That big gun was wagging slowly, warning the trio not to move.

“Duvale!”

The cry of recognition came from Andrew Blouchet. He had been mistaken in his guess that Needler, the masked crook, was the mysterious artist. Andrew had jumped to a false conclusion and his words had misled Harry Vincent. Now, the agent knew the truth. Duvale was The Shadow!

IN this tense moment, a surge of thoughts swept through Harry’s brain. He understood the entire situation without the need of explanation. The Shadow, himself, had taken means of protecting Andrew Blouchet.

He had been on the ground before Needler Urbin.

The Shadow had taken on the guise of Duvale, before noon. Moving in, he had waited until Andrew Blouchet had gone out. The Shadow had then entered Andrew’s apartment; he had successfully opened the safe. From it, he had taken the ebony box.

Using the key on the mantel, he had opened the box and removed the money. But he had left everything as he had found it — except for the cash.

The Shadow had known that crooks would search. He had hoped that they would tap the safe, to find nothing of value. But Needler, entering later in the afternoon, had failed where The Shadow had succeeded. That news had come to The Shadow, through Harry. It had forced The Shadow to a new plan.

The Shadow wanted crooks to believe that Andrew had no money. Hence he had not interfered with Needler’s invasion. But The Shadow had arrived here before Needler. Again disguised as Duvale, he had lain within his darkened, locked apartment, until Needler had broken in on Andrew and Harry.

Then had The Shadow surprised the men in the hall. Silently, with threats of guns, he had come from the apartment opposite. He had forced henchmen back. Holding them with one automatic, he had hurled Andrew’s door inward, to thrust another weapon as a threat to crooks within.

As the focal point for two groups of crooks, The Shadow held a precarious position, despite the fact that he held the bulge. There was a reason, however, for his assumption of this dangerous post. Harry Vincent caught it, as his chief sped a glance in his direction. The door had blocked The Shadow’s view; he had been forced to pause after flinging open the barrier, in order to see how matters stood with Andrew and Harry.

The Shadow’s eyes flashed a signal. Harry stared quickly toward Andrew and gave a nod to his chief.

Harry saw what The Shadow wanted: prompt action from his agent. For although Needler and both thugs had swung toward the door, Andrew was not out of danger.

Harry was no longer covered by the thug who had watched him. But Andrew was in front of “Beef,” the underling whom Needler had deputed to watch him. Beef, in turn, was safe from The Shadow’s aim, with Andrew as a bulwark. There was a chance that the thug might first pump bullets into Andrew, should the battle begin.

Harry was a dozen feet from Beef, on a direct line with the fellow. Beef had forgotten Harry. Therefore, it would be the agent’s task to eliminate the ruffian who covered Andrew. Shifting slowly, Harry started a creep toward Beef, while The Shadow delivered a challenge that held all attention in his own direction.

A whispered, sinister laugh from the false, pasty lips of Duvale. A fierce throb of mirth that told killers they could expect no mercy. A defiant rise of merriment, that rose to a startling crescendo, then stopped abruptly, while ghoulish echoes followed in its wake. Evildoers knew their antagonist. The Shadow!

SOMETHING in the taunt drove vicious thugs to action. Needler’s gun snapped upward. So did those of the two thugs behind him. All were swinging toward The Shadow; but Beef’s gun changed direction as it raised.

Andrew Blouchet, spontaneous in action, had started a spring toward Needler, forgetful that a thug was located in back. That thug was Beef; he, too, was acting.

From his forward creep, Harry Vincent dived forward at the very moment of Beef’s swing. A human catapult, he struck the man’s right shoulder, bowling Beef sidewise before the thug could deliver his first shot. As he sprawled to the floor, with Beef, Harry heard the roar of opening battle. The Shadow had ended his delay while Harry was in mid-air.

The Shadow had taken a long chance, for Needler and the remaining thug were already tugging on their triggers. But The Shadow beat them to the opening shot; and the first blast from his automatic was delivered toward the thug who had held Harry covered. With that boom of the .45s, the masked crook staggered. His trigger finger quivered, useless.

The Shadow’s aim for the underling had given opportunity to Needler Urbin. Leader of the murderous band, Needler was the most dangerous of the lot. But here, again, The Shadow had counted upon a break. Andrew Blouchet had dived for Needler. Like Harry’s leap for Beef, Andrew’s was in time.

Fiercely, Andrew caught Needler’s right arm, just as the crook fired. Needler’s jolted gun spat wide.

With an oath, Needler twisted free and jabbed his metal-clutching fist against Andrew’s chin.

As Andrew reeled back, Needler aimed again. At the same instant, Beef, wresting clear from Harry, came up from the floor on one knee and leveled his revolver for the smocked figure in the doorway.

Simultaneously, harsh cries ripped from the hallway. Out there, two crooks had dropped their revolvers when confronted by The Shadow. Diving inward from the door of the balcony steps, they were regaining their weapons. These were thugs who had been behind the boxes on the balcony, along with Needler.

They knew that others would be coming up from the courtyard below.

Needler and Beef from one direction; two desperate killers from the other. Hard odds for The Shadow; but he was prepared. All that he had wanted was a split-second’s advantage. He had gained it.

The Shadow’s right-hand .45 spat jabs with machine-gun precision. It pumped four quick shots, as his hand flashed up and down with the recoil. His eyes were toward the room; his first two bullets were for Needler. In the interval of the second recoil, The Shadow’s aim swung slightly to the left and lowered.

The third and fourth shots tongued for Beef.

Needler doubled, his left hand thrust to his chest, his right hand pointed toward the ceiling, pressing the trigger of his revolver as if it were a starter’s gun. He was firing without thought of direction. The Shadow had clipped this desperate killer just in time.

BEEF fired one shot simultaneously with The Shadow’s turn in his direction. His aim, though hasty, might have been true; but an important happening ruined Beef’s only chance. A hand, speeding up from the floor, had clutched Beef’s wrist, to drag it sidewise as the thug fired.

It was Harry’s clutch; it came amid Beef’s attempt, and along with The Shadow’s shots. Beef rolled helplessly.

Harry grabbed for the gun that hit the floor.

Harry had come in from Beef’s right side, clear of The Shadow’s aim. Andrew Blouchet, half slumped to the floor, was also out of line when The Shadow made short work of Needler and Beef. All had happened within the space of two short seconds. But The Shadow had done more than down two murderers.

He had swung sidewise into the room as he was firing. With outstretched left hand, he had caught the edge of the doorway, using his unfired automatic as a catch to halt his move. Only the muzzle of that left-hand .45 remained visible in the hallway when a sudden barrage burst forth. The other thugs had reclaimed their revolvers. But they had no target other than the muzzle of a gun.

That lone mark slid suddenly downward as The Shadow dropped to the floor. Before the thugs could lower their aim, the pale face of Duvale thrust itself into the hall, less than two feet above the level of the floor. Flattened like a long-range rifleman, The Shadow blasted bullets at the snarling crooks in the hall.

The foremost attacker withered. The other spun about as a shot clipped his shoulder. With a howl, he dived for safety. Reeling headlong, he reached the balcony, bowling back three ruffians who were dashing up the steps.

Blindly, the wounded thug crashed the iron rail above the courtyard. Loose posts broke from supports of crumpling bricks. With a wail, the crook pitched outward, downward to the flagstones beneath. His writhing body rolled over; then lay still.

The Shadow had leaped out into the hall. With one gun, he knocked a light switch upward. Darkness blotted the passage, save for the space where a patch of glow came from Andrew Blouchet’s apartment.

Crooks, darting in from the steps, saw a white mass that sped sidewise, upward, like a fake ghost from a spirit medium’s trick cabinet.

They aimed for the whitened shape. Their bullets found nothing but the cloth of an artist’s smock, that plopped to the floor and flattened. The Shadow was through with the role of Duvale. He had pulled away the smock and flung it to one side. His black cloak was beneath. His right hand, with its nearly emptied gun, had carried folds upward, to hide his pallid make-up. Only his eyes were uncovered, while his left hand, just beneath them, loosed new shots from its deadly automatic.

Tricked crooks dived back to the steps. One thug, staggering, almost stumbled through the space in the rail. Then, by luck, he found the steps, lost his footing and went tumbling downward after those who had fled. The Shadow’s last shots echoed from the hallway. Swinging about, he made for the darkened apartment that he had occupied as Duvale.

Snatching up a slouch hat from beside the easel, The Shadow sprang through to a bedroom window and opened it. Peering out, he saw that the last reserves had surged through to the courtyard. The Shadow swung from the window. Hanging by one arm, he dropped to a muddy passage at the side of the building.

UPSTAIRS, in Andrew Blouchet’s apartment, a reeling man was snarling as he staggered toward the door. It was Needler Urbin, his gun gone from his hand, both fists now doubled to his chest. Out through the hall he staggered, while Harry Vincent and Andrew Blouchet, guns in their grasp, stared with amazement.

“Come!”

Harry gave the order to Andrew. Together, they followed to see Needler reach the balcony. Instinctively, the wounded crook took to the steps. They heard him sprawl and clatter to the bottom. Harry realized that The Shadow had departed; leaving a task to him and Andrew. Harry drew Andrew forward.

Below, Needler had sprawled into the arms of huddled henchmen. Harry, peering from the door, could hear the leader’s harsh gasp. Vicious to the end, Needler was trying to force a further fray on the part of these henchmen who did not know that The Shadow was their adversary.

“Blouchet — upstairs” — Needler’s gasp was faltering — “he’s got no swag — he’s not the guy! Rub him out, though — rub him out — then get back — get back to the hide-out. Wait to hear from — from a guy who will call up and—”

A venomous gargle came from Needler’s throat. The leader of the evil squad was dead.

With oaths, his followers turned toward the steps, ready for a mass attack. Harry Vincent opened quick fire. Crooks dropped back momentarily. Then, from the archway through which thugs had entered came new bursts of gunfire. The Shadow, with reloaded automatics, had blocked the path. The crooks were within a snare.

Andrew was beside Harry, both leaning outward, ready to stop an invasion of the stairs. Their shots told crooks that an upward drive would be futile. The Shadow’s barrage left no chance for exit. Wildly, the thugs scattered all about the courtyard. One smashed the window of an old storeroom and shouted for the others to seek the same shelter.

The Shadow’s shots had ended. Another thug cried out that the way was clear. While Harry and Andrew held their fire, the remnants of Needler’s crew dashed through the archway. Shrill whistles blared as they arrived. Flashlights focused gleams upon the entrance. Stub-nosed revolvers spat from two directions.

The police had arrived. The Shadow had left the round-up to the law.

Yet he had not departed. He had gained a tiny passage between buildings across the street — one of the spots where Needler’s covering crew had lurked. His automatics blazed a final hail of lead. Dropping their guns, crooks fled back into the courtyard, while police came dashing in to bag them.

The rogue who had found the storeroom was the only one that the bluecoats did not capture. He had dived into his hiding place. He had found a back window. Slipping out to the safety of a rear street, that one lone thug gained his escape. He was overlooked in the rush.

A hail from the balcony greeted the four policemen who were clicking handcuffs to the wrists of unwounded thugs. Andrew Blouchet was welcoming the law. Beside him stood Harry Vincent, smiling his confidence of the future.

For Harry knew that Andrew had accepted him as a friend. Together they had fought; and Andrew would give The Shadow’s agent credit, along with his tale of the mysterious Monsieur Duvale. It would be Harry’s part to support his new friend’s testimony.

There would be no link to The Shadow. Andrew thought of him as Duvale. Crooks who might have gasped the dread name were dead. Those captured below did not know with whom they had fought.

The Shadow, having dealt with crooks in their own snare, had departed into the night.

Cloaked in black, the master fighter was gone; and even his identity remained enshrouded.