The Chinese Tapestry

CHAPTER XXII. SPOILS RECLAIMED

THE SHADOW had entered the museum by the route that he had chosen before. Delayed by his trip to the Coronado Apartments, he had not arrived until events in the Chinese Room had neared their climax.

He had heard the finish of Mark Eldreth’s tirade; then had come the muffled explosion that had shattered the pedestal of the Manchu statue.

From that moment, The Shadow had waited, vigilant. He had known that crooks were due for a surprise; he had chosen the approaching moment as the proper time for action. Opportunity had come. The Shadow had taken it.

Hype Mellick, alone, had gained knowledge of The Shadow’s presence a brief two seconds before the moment when The Shadow had planned that all should learn of his advent.

Before crooks could guess why Hype stood startled and transfixed; a weird sound burst from the opened doorway. The taunt of a sinister laugh rang out in strident challenge. Astonished at the burst of sardonic mirth, every man in the Chinese Room wheeled toward the source of the mocking cry.

Mark and Singledon spun about together, holding their leveled revolvers. Hype was holding his .38 lowered in his right hand. Impelled by the emergency, he brought the weapon upward.

Zack Ruggey was stooping as he beckoned to his henchmen. He whirled about as he heard The Shadow’s gibe. Like the others, Zack sought to gain quick aim at the shrouded figure in the doorway. As for the thugs within the passage, two had already thrust their heads and shoulders up into the room. They were holding guns; but their position placed them at a disadvantage. They were the last to aim.

Boldly, openly, The Shadow had made himself the target of murderous revolvers. His deed, however, had been wise as well as timely. The very cadence of his laugh had brought every killer toward him; thus had The Shadow made the crooks divert their aim from helpless, contemplated victims.

Though his foes were several, The Shadow held the upper hand. His guns were ready, while those of enemies were wildly on the move. Moreover, The Shadow had counted upon the prompt aid of the men whom he had released. Events broke as The Shadow had anticipated.

REVOLVERS barked, while automatics spurted. Crooks jabbed their opening shots as The Shadow began his fire. But the first bullets from the revolvers were dispatched in haste. They cracked the stony walls beside the doorway; they clanged the brass of the half-opened door itself. The Shadow’s guns, in contrast, were aimed straight for living targets.

Hype Mellick and Zack Ruggey first. Both were straight ahead, Hype at farther range. The Shadow’s left-hand gun was tilted higher than the right. Both weapons were perfect in their aim. Hype tumbled forward, snarling, as he pumped useless, hopeless shots. Zack sprawled as he fired wildly.

The Shadow’s left gun swung to the left, for Mark and Singledon, while his right-hand weapon aimed downward toward the exit of the underground passage. Shots were coming from both directions. Mark and Singledon had opened fire; so had the crooks in the hole below the statue.

As he fired again, The Shadow sprang forward, downward from the steps. Revolver bullets whistled high; The Shadow’s laugh was mocking. Mark and Singledon were springing forward from the left; the crooks in the opening were bounding upward. The Shadow’s automatics delivered withering shots.

One stream of bullets nipped Singledon, who was ahead of Mark. The attendant’s body stopped the hail, blocking The Shadow’s aim at Mark. The slugs from the other .45 sprawled the pair of thugs who were clambering from the hole. Others appeared behind them. The Shadow aimed both automatics toward the newcomers. Wild-eyed thugs dropped back to cover.

The Shadow had no further need to deal with Singledon and Mark. He had dropped the attendant; already, Dave Kelroy had jumped forward to wrest the revolver from Singledon’s loosening fist. As for Mark, two men had pounced upon him. Inspector Romson and Colin Eldreth had gripped the master crook’s gun arm and were lurching Mark about the floor

For a moment, the blast of guns was stilled. Then, from underground, came muffled barks of other weapons. Crooks had decided on a getaway. They were meeting with opposition at the farther end of their subterranean passage.

SILENTLY, The Shadow was backing toward the steps; he calmly placed his automatics beneath his cloak. His hands drew out a brace of fresh weapons while the noise of underground gunfire came closer.

The rescued prisoners formed a rigid tableau. Mark was tight in the grip of Romson and Colin. Dave was standing with Singledon’s revolver. All had reached a spot just beyond the tilted Manchu statue. Past them were Dryer and Lestman, too amazed to move.

Barking revolvers, muffled, told that the trapped crooks were coming back in this direction. The Chinese Room was their only outlet. Yet the forms upon the floor: Hype, Zack, Singledon and the two thugs — those were proofs of the fate that new criminals might expect.

When the surge came, it was sudden. Thugs en masse bobbed from the hole in the center of the floor.

Those ahead were thrust upward by the ones in back of them. Guns glimmered in the fists of the first pair, the vanguard of a dozen desperate criminals.

Aids of The Shadow had entered the house from which the crooks had burrowed their tunnel. Blocking the pathway, valiant fighters had stopped the getaway. The thugs had chosen the only course. They were prompt to regret their choice of the Chinese Room.

The only foe whom they could see was The Shadow; for he held the door, while the rescued men were beyond the leaning statue. Thrust upward from the outlet of the tunnel, the first two crooks tugged at the triggers of their revolvers. Ready-aimed, they fired as The Shadow performed a sudden, sidewise fade.

Elated oaths from snarling lips. Crouched on the floor, the two thugs thought they had gained a hit. They were wrong. From the blackness of The Shadow’s cloak front, two automatics spoke their deadly thrusts. At the same time, the two thugs bounded upward. Thrust clear by their companions, they staggered against the heavy bronze statue.

From the floor came upraised hands, gunless. Below, muffled guns were delivering new staccatos.

Coming crooks had seen the fate of their companions who had tried to down The Shadow. They knew that further fight against such a foe was useless. The sound of gunfire below told them that all hope of retreat was ended.

One man alone was roused to desperate fight. That was Mark Eldreth. While writhing crooks were clawing at the surface of the Manchu statue, Mark acted with sudden fury. Romson had wrested away Mark’s gun. With a sudden cry, the master crook snatched at the weapon to claim it.

Twisted between Romson and Colin, Mark had a chance. Dave had Singledon’s gun; but could not fire.

Clawing, Mark regained his own revolver from Romson. The inspector was gripping the barrel; Mark had the handle.

His finger jabbed for the trigger as he thrust the muzzle against Romson’s ribs. Colin was diving in to aid the police inspector.

AN automatic spoke. A sizzling bullet whizzed an inch from Colin’s driving hand, to clip Mark’s wrist.

With a cry, Mark lost his clutch upon the gun. Romson wrested it away and leaped backward, while Mark staggered, at mad grips with his hated cousin. The two sprawled at the base of the bronze statue.

Sagging crooks had already added their weight to the tilted image. The statue quavered as Mark and Colin rolled against the farther portion of the pedestal.

Dave Kelroy uttered a hopeless shout. He leaped forward, too late. The heavy statue was toppling down upon the forms of the writhing men.

Covering disarmed crooks with one gun, The Shadow had aimed for Mark with the other. A single shot could end the villain’s fight; but The Shadow did not dispatch the bullet. Colin had heard Dave’s cry. With a hard twist, he wrenched away from Mark, just as the statue’s slow fall gained momentum.

Mark’s head came up; his lips ejaculated a hideous scream as his eyes saw the descending mass of bronze. His discovery was too late; before he could follow Colin’s roll, Mark was floundered by the crushing bulk.

Like a Juggernaut of doom, the shoulders of the statue drove down upon Mark’s skull. An instant later, the terrified crook was flattened beneath the weight of the overturned bronze.

The floor quivered with the thud as the statue rolled from Mark’s body.

Motionless, his body broken like his skull, Mark Eldreth had met with sudden doom. Solemn men stood staring at the overwhelmed form of this monstrous schemer who had planned their deaths.

Sullen crooks had crawled up from the passage. The crash of the statue had startled them into more rapid surrender. They were facing The Shadow, holding their arms upraised. Eight in number, they stood powerless before two looming guns. Then, from the hole, came yellow hands that clutched revolvers.

Chinese faces followed.

“Tsing Chan!”

Dave Kelroy uttered the name as he recognized the leader of the Chinese squad. Tsing Chan smiled and nodded as four followers lined up in back of the eight thugs. Each Chinese had a pair of revolvers. Every crook could feel the jab of a gun muzzle against his back.

Dave saw two others just below the opening in the shattered floor. Colin saw them also. Both recognized the two men who had been at the Chinese bazaar — Harry Vincent and Miles Crofton. The two had been with Tsing Chan’s fighters; catching a signal from The Shadow, the agents dropped from view.

Harry and Miles were no longer needed. Inspector Romson was taking charge of the crooks; and the Chinese held the conquered thugs helpless. Seeing The Shadow’s agents no longer, Dave looked toward the door of the room. He gripped Colin’s arm, and pointed.

The Shadow was by the steps no longer. With a sudden turn, he had swept upward to the door. The metal barrier was closing; beyond it, blackness blocked the dim light of the museum passage. Burning eyes flashed momentarily; the weird notes of a parting laugh awoke final, startling echoes. Captured crooks shuddered as they heard the mocking quiver of The Shadow’s triumph.

LESS than one hour later, four men entered Colin Eldreth’s apartment at the Coronado. One was Colin himself; the others were Dave Kelroy, Weldon Dryer and Tsing Chan. They had come here at the Chinese steward’s suggestion.

Explanations had been given. Inspector Romson had forced confessions from the captured underlings.

Those thugs were already on their way to jail, guarded by a squad of police. Tsing Chan’s status was established. His cryptic talk of a visit to Colin’s apartment had been accepted.

The living room was just as Colin and Dave had left it. Tsing Chan pointed to one darkened bedroom. It was the one that Dave had occupied; the room through which The Shadow had gained entrance. Dave entered and turned on the light.

Upon a corner table rested a large metal casket, almost the exact size of the space that had been beneath the gold statuette. The casket had a large keyhole; eagerly, Dave brought forth the reclaimed keys that Ku Luan had given him. One key fitted. Dave opened the casket.

Within were jewels, set in exquisite mountings of heavy gold. Tiny Buddhas, with emerald eyes; large buckles studded with matchless rubies; massive rings, with clustered sapphires and diamonds. These lifted with a tray that occupied the upper third of the large casket. In the next compartment, Dave found stacked bundles of securities.

Ku Luan had been wise in his choice of wealth. He had brought money from China, years ago; he had invested it in securities. Dryer nodded as he noted the bundles. These represented holdings in companies with which Tobias Eldreth had held interests.

Dave lifted the large casket; it still seemed too heavy, despite its considerable size. He found that the securities were in a second tray. He removed it; beneath shone the glimmer of closely stacked gold coins.

Here was wealth, in itself, the residue of the money that Ku Luan had neither spent nor invested.

Dave turned to Tsing Chan. He asked a question that had not yet been answered.

“You knew the secret?” queried Dave. “You brought this casket here?”

Tsing Chan shook his head.

“But you sent teakwood box, Tsing Chan—”

“That was before,” interposed Tsing Chan, quietly. “The casket was brought here later. No knowledge came to me until the time that word was given. The word that I should bring faithful men to the house near the museum.”

DAVE suddenly understood. He looked at Colin, who nodded that he also guessed the truth. The Shadow was the one who had preceded them to the museum, this very night. He had seen the Chinese tapestry; he had read its message correctly. He had gained the treasure and had brought it here.

Learning that Dave and Colin had returned, to study the tapestry themselves, The Shadow had followed to the museum. He had left the treasure here, in the last place where anyone would have expected to find it. The Shadow had told Tsing Chan alone.

As if in approval of the guessed solution, a sound came from the foggy darkness of the night. Dave Kelroy sprang to the window; he unlocked it and raised the sash. He and the others heard the sound again, more clearly. It was like a voice of the fog itself.

Elusive, chilling, the tones of triumphant mirth broke into fading echoes. Stilled atmosphere seemed to quiver. Dark, swirling fog formed a creeping shroud about the unseen author of that eerie call. But listeners well knew from whose lips that final mirth had issued.

Again, Dave Kelroy had heard the triumph laugh of The Shadow.