Mox

CHAPTER VIII IN THE HOUSE

THE sedan rolled up at the side of the old mansion. The driver alighted and opened the door for Neswick. Neither man saw the figure that dropped from the rear bumper of the car. The Shadow melted into darkness.

Neswick was visible as the door of the house was opened. The Shadow, peering from the night, saw the ugly-faced servant who had admitted him. He also caught a glimpse of Neswick’s profile. The inventor was a man with sharp, determined features.

Beyond the space within the door, The Shadow saw the gloomy hallway that led to the stairs. The fellow who had driven Neswick from the station returned to the sedan and drove it to a shed in back of the house. This spot evidently served as a garage.

The Shadow knew that quick action was necessary. He also realized that the man who had admitted Neswick could not be Mox. It still lacked nearly a dozen minutes before midnight. That was the time when the blow would fall.

Circling the house and shed, The Shadow spied lighted windows at the other end of the second story. Pressing his form flat against the side of the house, The Shadow began an upward course.

Like a creature of the dark, he gripped projecting portions of the stone wall and reached the level of the second-story window. The closed sash was curtained; it was also locked. Noiselessly, The Shadow pried the fastening open with a thin sliver of black steel that he wedged between the portions of the sash. He raised the lower half of the window a bare inch.

With gloved hands gripping the sill, The Shadow peered into the living room. He could see the flare of the fire in the hearth. He observed the Dalmatian serenely resting in a corner. The dog did not sense the intruder’s presence.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Joel Neswick appeared, conducted by the second servant. The attendant informed the visitor that Mox would see him immediately. He walked out.

During the minute that passed after the servant had left the room, the sharp eyes of The Shadow studied the inventor more closely. Neswick bore the marks of genius. He seemed to be a meditative type of man, preoccupied with his own thoughts; at the same time he appeared capable of action at a critical moment. It was upon this that The Shadow based his plans.

Had Neswick appeared less capable, The Shadow would have entered to warn him. Instead, the watcher from the dark remained at his hidden post. He was ready to let this game continue until Mox, the murderer, had revealed his hand.

THE servant returned to inform Neswick that Mox was ready to interview him. It was not until the two had left the room that The Shadow moved. Slowly, his black hands raised the sash. His keen eyes peered about the room. His tall, lithe form came over the sill.

The coach dog raised its head. A low growl came from its throat. The burning eyes of The Shadow shone toward the dog. The Dalmatian settled its head between its paws, and blinked. The Shadow lowered the sash without noise.

Stealing to the door of the room, The Shadow peered along the hall. He saw the servant standing at a spot some distance from the room, with Neswick beside him. The hall was gloomy. It held opportunity for The Shadow.

Like a specter, the tall visitant eased toward the hallway. Momentarily motionless, his form was a blackened statue. Across the floor lay The Shadow’s shadow; its silhouetted profile wavered with the flickering of the lighted fire.

While The Shadow prepared to advance along the hall, a silent action took place within the room. The door of a cupboard — in a corner which had not been visible from the window — opened. From it came the hunched creature with the spidery legs, the dwarf whom Mox had called Sulu.

The cupboard was the hiding place of this evil wretch. Through a tiny peek-hole, Sulu had seen The Shadow enter. Reaching the floor, Sulu glared with venom. His spidery arms raised from his baggy blouse.

Despite the noiselessness of Sulu’s appearance, The Shadow sensed the creature’s presence. As the dwarf’s thin arms came up, The Shadow turned his head. His eyes, blazing over his right shoulder, glimpsed the evil monster.

The black cloak swished as The Shadow whirled; not toward the room, but out into the hall. Simultaneously, a long, thin knife blade whizzed through the air.

Aimed for The Shadow’s back, it missed its mark by the scant fraction of a second. The Shadow, turning back toward the wall, was saved from death.

The point of the swift blade penetrated the flesh of The Shadow’s left arm, just beneath the shoulder. A sharp stroke, but one which missed the bone, it pinned The Shadow to the wall.

The master fighter never faltered. The wound, though sudden, was no more than superficial. His right arm swung into action; an automatic blazed its reply to Sulu.

Chance saved the dwarf. The frame of the door intervened. The Shadow’s bullet, directed with only a narrow margin, missed the dwarf by inches. Sulu made a dive for safety.

The second shot from The Shadow’s gun clipped splinters from the woodwork, but, like the first, it could not get the hideous creature who was just outside its range.

Sulu had fled; The Shadow, still flat against the wall, turned his head along the hall. The servant was drawing a gun.

Neswick, looking vainly for the shots, and not observing The Shadow, happened to glance at the servant’s face.

In an instant, the keen-minded inventor knew that danger lay not with the one who had fired, but with the servant. He saw the hideous, brutal features of the man. He sprang to wrest away the underling’s gun.

The servant fired wildly, his bullet whizzed past The Shadow’s head. The Shadow’s finger was on the trigger of the automatic. It rested there. The Shadow could not fire, for Neswick had come between him and the servant.

A hand swung in the air. It held a revolver. The servant was swinging a blow for Neswick’s head.

The Shadow fired. A scream echoed through the hall as his bullet caught the descending wrist. The barrel of the revolver glanced from Neswick’s head. The servant, plunging to the floor with the inventor, scrambled wildly to pick up his dropped gun with his left hand.

The Shadow coolly used the interim. His automatic dipped into the folds of his cloak. With his free right hand, he gripped the handle of the knife which had pinned his left arm so mercilessly. He plucked the weapon from his flesh and threw it to the floor of the living room.

The servant had gained his gun. He raised it and fired with his unsteady left hand. The Shadow, his left arm at his side, was whirling as the shot went wide. His automatic came forth in his right. The evil servant sprawled as The Shadow’s next shot found a vital spot in his body.

THE roar of the automatic still persisted as The Shadow backed into the living room. His quick eyes turned in the direction which Sulu had taken. The dwarf had scampered to an adjoining room. The door was closed.

Blood, dripping from The Shadow’s wounded arm, formed a crimson splotch upon the carpet. The Shadow did not heed the wound. His quick glance saw the Dalmatian moving in the corner. The dog seemed restless, but it did not advance.

There was no danger here; the new attack would come from below. Pounding footsteps on the stairs told that fact. With swift stride, The Shadow advanced to met the foe. He reached the center of the hall as a servant thrust his head from the top of the stairs.

A revolver flashed in the foeman’s hand. Before the arrival could fire at The Shadow’s figure, he was met by the burst of the powerful automatic. The servant fired as he staggered. Half kneeling, he continued to shoot.

The Shadow had no alternative. His second bullet, directed with cool precision, found the man’s evil heart.

With his right arm, The Shadow encircled Neswick’s body. The inventor though not short of stature, was light. The Shadow stooped as he carried the man across his back, like a sack. With his unwounded arm encircling Neswick’s legs, The Shadow started for the stairs.

It was an amazing sight, this spectral, wounded fighter, carrying a half-stunned man to safety. Yet this deed was but part of The Shadow’s task. As he stalked through the hall, he whirled, to see that no enemy had appeared from behind. He reached the head of the stairs just as new footsteps announced the arrival of more minions of Mox.

Two henchmen came in sight as The Shadow turned in their direction. One was the driver of the sedan, returned from the garage; the other was another servant who had evidently been below. There was no chance for The Shadow to evade their gaze, nor to use the fading tactics at which he was so successful. His one advantage lay in his apparent helplessness.

It was this factor that made his enemies pause to aim their guns as evil curses came from their snarling lips. They saw the automatic in The Shadow’s hand, alongside Neswick’s knees; they did not think that the fighter in black could use it.

That was their mistake. The muzzle of The Shadow’s gun moved as of its own volition. Shooting almost from the hip, The Shadow blazed his challenge to these minions of Mox.

There was no vacillation in The Shadow’s response. Burdened, wounded, he had but one course to safety. His first shot downed the nearer of Mox’s men before the villain could fire his pointed gun. The second burst of the automatic sent the second plunging.

The first man, caught by a perfect shot, was dying. The second, dropped by more rapid aim, managed to fire as he staggered down the stairs, but his shots were high. Then his own plight made him forget The Shadow. Dropping his gun, he clutched at the banister and missed.

Screaming, he whirled headlong down the steps, until his body crashed against the wall at the bottom. The man lay still. The Shadow did not watch his fall. With a final twist, the black-clad victor made his last glance along the corridor. Seeing no one, The Shadow started down the stairs.

Blobs of dripping blood marked The Shadow’s trail. Unfaltering, The Shadow kept on, as he carried Neswick to the safety that lay below. At the foot of the winding staircase, The Shadow paused beside the body of the last ruffian whom he had conquered. He let Neswick’s form glide to the floor. The inventor, regaining consciousness, managed to rise and cross the hallway.

The Shadow watched him from the foot of the stairs. Then came the shouts of men outside. As The Shadow listened to this sound, he suddenly sensed another noise from above. Whirling toward the stairs, he spied a stooped-shouldered man who had come to view the havoc below.

Mox!

THE SHADOW knew instantly that this gray-haired figure with its beard must be the evil master of this house. A furious cackle came from the fiend’s lips as Mox spied the outline of The Shadow.

Up came the right arm with its automatic. The Shadow aimed at this monster, who had appeared, once he believed his minions had won the fray. A revolver glimmered in Mox’s hand, but the fiend ducked for the shelter of the upstairs corridor as he saw The Shadow’s automatic on its way.

Shots rang out; the first was from The Shadow’s gun; the second from Mox’s revolver. Results were nil. The Shadow, weakened by loss of blood, was an instant late in the swerving aim which Mox’s dive required. Had the villain not sprung for safety, he would surely have been slain.

Mox’s shot, made while in flight, went wide and high of The Shadow. The evil keeper of this lair had evidently recognized his enemy. He did not reappear while The Shadow remained in readiness.

Men were pounding at the door. Shouted commands were heard. The Shadow thus identified the arrivals. The State police who had been searching for the speedster had hurried hither at the sound of ringing gun fire.

With a sudden return of his swift activity, The Shadow swung from view. He did not take the stairs as the police burst through the door. Instead, he dropped to a sheltering place of blackness that formed an alcove underneath the stairway. This was the nearest spot that enabled him to make a quick disappearance. Even Neswick, bewildered in the hallway, did not witness The Shadow’s remarkable departure.

There was strategy in The Shadow’s action. At the very instant when the police burst into the lower hall, Mox appeared at the head of the stairs. The fiend believed The Shadow trapped between two fires. Instead, he was startled to find himself face to face with two policemen who were dashing toward the steps.

Mox fired. His second shot clipped a State trooper’s arm. The officer staggered. His companion returned the fire; with two others at his heels, he dashed up the stairs.

Quick, hasty shots resounded; then Mox, seeing three men moving to the attack, hastened down the corridor.

When the police arrived at the head of the stairs, there was no sign of the gray-haired enemy. Mox, like The Shadow, had disappeared. Two officers began a search of the second floor. The third returned to join his wounded companion below.

Neswick had started to the wounded man’s aid. Neither he nor the crippled policeman saw the phenomenon which occurred in the center of the hallway.

FROM his hiding place beneath the stairs, The Shadow moved forth like a ghost of the night.

A tall, gliding apparition, he gained the outer door. His tall form swayed as it reached the coolness of the night air. There, it seemed to regain its strength as it vanished in the darkness.

When next that form appeared, it was beside Harry Vincent’s parked coupe, near the railroad station.

Merging with the darkness inside the car, The Shadow rested behind the wheel. His right hand found a roll of bandage in a side pocket. Harry Vincent, engaged on missions which promised serious results, never neglected to carry such equipment.

The bandage formed a snakelike strip of white amid a mass of blackness as The Shadow bound his wounded arm. The task completed, the dark sleeve of the cloak dropped to obscure the bandage. A single hand — The Shadow’s right — gripped the wheel as the coupe pulled away.

A brisk reviving breeze reached The Shadow as he drove away from Darport. His work was ended for this night. His wound, though painful and extremely weakening, would be forgotten within the next few days.

Sulu, the hideous dwarf, had served Mox well tonight; yet the spidery servant had failed to accomplish the real task given him. He had merely made The Shadow’s fight more difficult.

He had not thwarted The Shadow’s saving of Joel Neswick. He had not prevented The Shadow from eliminating Mox’s henchmen. He had only managed to save his own hide, and to stop The Shadow from reaching Mox himself.

The Shadow, even then, would not have given up his quest but for the arrival of the State police. That episode had also played its part in the escape of Mox. The Shadow, however, had turned it to advantage. With Neswick rescued, he had played a quick game that had placed Mox face to face with the law.

Neswick’s story would be believed. Mox would be sought. His lair would be of no more use to him. Such were the developments that The Shadow had brought.

Oddly, his quick trip to Darport, which had brought the police pursuit of the speedster, had played a definite part in the culmination of tonight’s episode.

The Shadow had thwarted death at midnight. That was the great achievement. A sardonic laugh — tinged with a trace of weariness — emerged from the interior of Harry Vincent’s coupe.

The murderous career of Mox had been suspended. From now on, the villain would have but one main purpose: to destroy The Shadow. That was the thought that had brought The Shadow’s laugh.

The Shadow knew that a new struggle was commencing. His wits against those of a murderous supermind of crime. The law had intervened, but it would merely set the stage for the final drama.

The climax would be the next meeting between The Shadow and the fiend called Mox!