The Fate Joss

CHAPTER XXIII THE JOSS CULT MEETS

MIGHTY doors of massive brass, their joined opening airtight, so closely was it shut. Those were the barriers that blocked escape — so formidable that they baffled human strength. The Shadow had foreseen their danger and their use. He had known that he already held an answer to their strength.

Cliff Marsland had been careful with the package that contained the guns. The Shadow, eyeing him in the passage, had seen him thrust small objects in his pocket. One was a flashlight, which The Shadow did not need. The other was a long but slender metal cylinder.

It was for this The Shadow called. Quickly Cliff produced it. He watched The Shadow draw forth fuses. Waving his companions back behind the massive Fate Joss, The Shadow inserted the first fuse in an opening at the base of one squatty dog cannon.

A sudden understanding came to Noy Dow as the young Chinese saw The Shadow twist away the plug that was wedged within the War Dog’s muzzle. Those marks that he had seen on muzzle and plug, that he had looked for at The Shadow’s order. Being exact, those thin lines indicated that the plugs had not been removed!

A match from the metal cylinder flared. Greenish amid the gas-filling room, The Shadow lighted the fuse. In that deed lay the crucial test. Should the incoming gas be inflammable, and already thickening, it might ignite. But apparently Shan Kwan, always wise, had preferred to store away poison vapors that were fireproof. Only the fuse from the dog cannon took the flame. It sputtered rapidly.

The Shadow was at the second cannon, inserting its fuse. He wrenched away the plug; then spun about and joined the others behind the Fate Joss. No need to aim that first War Dog; Shan Kwan himself had set it facing toward the portals.

The War Dog barked as the fuse finished. The blast from its throat was like a huge, hoarse cough. From its muzzle roared a bomb-like, rounded shell, lost amid the volume of smoke that issued from the ancient bronze mortar. The missile reached its mark, the closed brass doors.

The room shook with a powerful explosion. Coiling green gas quivered. Flame roared from the blast; with it, sheets of brass twisted wide in a riot of ripping glitter. Into that ancient cannon, The Shadow had inserted a shell filled with explosive of modern power.

He had done this as a protection when he had held the Joss; that his agents, in emergency, might battle off a horde. Here, in Shan Kwan’s underground temple, the War Dog and its load had served a greater purpose.

BRAZEN doors had vanished. Their centers had been blown to fragments; what was left of their sides had hurtled outward with that terrific burst of power. Beyond lay the nearest members of Shan Kwan’s cohorts, buried in the wreckage. The greenish vapor was spreading out into the hall; its deadly fumes were thinning into nothingness. Smoke was still issuing from the seated War Dog; like a faithful beast, the statued cannon seemed proud of the task that it had done.

Fierce shouts from the hall. Yellow faces came to view. Still forty strong, Shan Kwan’s men were ready to attack. They saw The Shadow swinging out from behind the Fate Joss, stooping, with lighted match in hand. Revolvers barked as he whirled back to cover, leaving a sitting fuse at the base of the second War Dog.

A phalanx of invaders was forming on the steps. With wild shouts, the horde surged forward, bent on annihilating their victims. An automatic flashed from behind the Fate Joss, and below the pedestal. Revolvers answered, by the dozen. Amid the bedlam, the second War Dog growled.

Its blast brought no crash. Instead, it delivered withering results. The first shot had struck the doors a few feet above the level of the steps. This bomb encountered the surging herd instead. It exploded amid a thick rank of downward-driving Mongols.

The foremost invaders were thrown to the floor by the concussion, as were those who were still coming from the sides of the hall. Sprawling Mongols were everywhere, except in the center of the doorway itself. That stretch was an absolute void. Nearly half of Shan Kwan’s murderous array was swept into oblivion at a single burst.

A dozen fighters were coming to hands and knees, to open bewildered fire toward the Fate Joss. Bullets ricocheted from statue and pedestal; in return, automatics boomed from behind the shelter. The Shadow, with Harry and Cliff, was ready for those who still remained within the room.

Three against twelve — now four, for Noy Dow was joining in with his revolvers, while Loy Ming crouched behind her protectors.

Out in the hall, a dozen robed Celestials were scattering, abandoning their foolish companions who had remained to attack an ambush. The futile revolver fire ended; a handful of beaten invaders fled from among sprawling bodies, scurrying for the safety of the corridor.

THE SHADOW led the pursuit. His automatics pumped as he, too, reached the wide hall. The others with him, he drove along the passages, heading back toward the corridor where the prison rooms lay. As his fire ceased for want of foemen, huge, clanging sounds came to his ears. Brass was clattering as The Shadow reached the final passage.

The sliding door that Noy Dow had seen drop from the archway had been demolished. Strong, yet far less formidable than the doors of the temple room, it had yielded to the blows of an enormous sledgehammer. Jericho was standing beyond the wrecked barrier; clutching the sledge in his mammoth fists. He had entered — he and Hawkeye — with Doctor Tam and the loyal Chinese.

Doctor Tam had news when he dashed through to greet The Shadow. The physician gave it quickly.

“The police!” he uttered. “Trouble started in the Ancient Chinese Bazaar. I heard the report from Leng; the mandarin has called in more men. Cardona saw the excitement; he is forcing an entry. Police are all about! We cannot use the truck!”

The Shadow beckoned Tam toward the passage to the temple room. Tam’s squad, a mere half dozen, came with their leader. On the way, The Shadow pointed to the brass door that cut off the passage to the sub-cellar. He ordered Jericho to work. The huge fellow attacked it with his sledge; the door clanged and quivered.

The combined forces reached the temple room. Doctor Tam’s six men raised the Fate Joss. Harry and Cliff caught the ends of the statue; carrying it horizontally, the crew took it through the passage. No sign of the remnants of the mandarin’s men; they had gone for cover.

The Fate Joss reached the door where Jericho still hammered. Men dashed back to get the War Dogs. The door’s usefulness was ended when they returned, accompanied by The Shadow. Carriers prepared to move the Fate Joss through the passage. It was then that distant cries resounded.

“The reserves!” gasped Doctor Tam. “Coming from that direction, from the Ancient Chinese Bazaar. They will rally the others. Coming in between us and the empty temple room.”

The Shadow hissed a command. His agents started the Joss through the passage. They were the same four who had moved it once before. Loy Ming preceded them, with the keys; while Noy Dow helped hoist the idol.

The Shadow spoke to Doctor Tam; he nodded. He and his men would cover the departure; and hold out until the War Dogs, too, had been removed.

The Shadow turned away, alone. He hastened back, toward the temple room; he reached a passage and halted there. He could hear cries from Doctor Tam’s men — a lure for those who were coming. The Shadow saw a final flood of Shan Kwan’s followers. Cutting into a passage that he had passed, they dashed in the direction of the cries.

Shots began as The Shadow followed. Doctor Tam had ordered a prompt fire. Amid the yells of the new attackers, The Shadow opened with his automatics along a flanking corridor. His fierce laugh rose to a mighty pitch. Foemen turned; sight of the avenger startled them.

Tam’s men were surging, given opportunity through The Shadow’s enfilading fire. Shan Kwan’s remnants broke for shelter. As The Shadow gave them leeway, they chose passages that led back to the bazaar. They were ready to meet the police, in preference.

Shots died. Scudding footsteps told that The Shadow’s men had obtained the War Dogs; and that Doctor Tam, in consequence, had ordered his slim but capable band out through the way by which they had come.

Alone in silent, bullet-riddled halls, The Shadow was moving toward the barrier that blocked the stairs. He had one with whom he must deal; the arch-murderer who had inspired all this evil. He sought another meeting with Shan Kwan.

As he neared the door of the empty temple, The Shadow halted; then turned quickly through the portals and dashed down the steps toward the teakwood pedestal. Turning, automatics in his fists, he faced the cleared doorway.

A babble of fierce voices. A huge inpour of men. The fighting ended, Shan Kwan had thought that victory was his. Down to the temple room were coming the members of his cult. In through the wrecked doorway they surged, a hundred Chinese intent upon their goal.

Shan Kwan had talked — evasively — of a sacrifice. His gas, long since exhausted, had surely cleared by this time. Heading the fanatic crew, oblivious to the wreckage that he passed, was the mandarin himself.

The meeting had come. Again, Shan Kwan faced The Shadow. A hundred men behind him, flooding in a surging mass, the evil mandarin stood glaring at The Shadow!