The Fate Joss

CHAPTER IX THE VANISHED JOSS

THREE sharp clicks were the first sounds of the combat. They came from revolvers in the hands of Chinamen. True to form, these fellows carried guns with empty chambers beneath the hammers, a safety measure preferred by the Chinese.

Each weapon needed one trigger pull to bring a cartridge into duty; and each Celestial was quick with the move. But of the three, only one had opportunity to press the trigger for the second time. Hard on the clicks came thunderous blasts that re-echoed through the hallway.

Two of the Chinese staggered — the pair closest to The Shadow. The third man fired from a greater distance; his bullet sizzled wide of the form in black. Then came another blast from an automatic. The third Chinaman faltered, vainly trying to press the trigger of his gun.

Satsu, from the curtains, saw two knife-wielders diving forward. The Chinese with the ready blades had given their companions the first opportunity; but they were already on the move when the shooting started.

Their part was to carve a crippled foeman; instead, they hurled themselves upon an unwounded battler. The attack, however, was too prompt for The Shadow to drop them as they came. Satsu saw the cloaked fighter fade. He thought that the down-driving knives had found a mark. Little did he know of The Shadow’s strategy.

One knife-handler like Hoang Fu was more dangerous than these two apprentices in murder. Sweeping from one swinging blade, The Shadow swung an automatic against the wrist that held the other. A Chinaman went sprawling to the floor, his knife clattering ahead of him. The Shadow grappled with the man who had missed the first stroke.

Satsu, rigid, looked on; though powerful, the Korean was unarmed. He had no desire to join the combat in which five men had been no match for one. The Shadow had wounded his first three adversaries; one, rising with his gun, was aiming again as The Shadow grappled to get the knife from the last remaining killer.

One gloved hand was clutching the knife wrist, the other still retained its automatic. That weapon boomed three riddling blasts that ended the fellow who had tried to fire. Satsu saw the Celestial spill to the floor, his revolver thudding useless beside him.

The others with regained revolvers were near the entrance of the dining room. At sight of their fellow’s fate, they uttered frightened cries and went stumbling toward the kitchen. Only two enemies remained: one, grappling with a knife that he would not drop; the other, on hands and knees, rising with the blade that he had lost.

This fellow paused for a throw; but The Shadow was away from him. The muzzle of an automatic loomed from beneath the arm of the Chinaman with whom The Shadow was wrestling.

The free man gave his knife a wild, frantic fling and dashed off toward the dining room, just as The Shadow’s automatic spat a pursuing shot. The blade, winging wide, drove into the door to the cellar; but the cry from the dining room told him that the knife-thrower had been clipped.

AT that instant, a terrific hammering began at the front door. The barrier quaked under vicious pounding, Satsu, still staring from behind the curtain, saw The Shadow finish off the last enemy. He needed the Chinaman as a shield no longer. With a twist, he wrenched the fellow’s knife arm downward; then drove his automatic against the Celestial’s head. The last of the five would-be killers dropped limp upon the floor.

Satsu heard a taunting laugh of victory. Dropping back into the parlor, he saw the front door splinter as an ax head cleaved into view. Tugging the upright piano from the wall, Satsu dived into the corner behind it. New smashes broke the front door clear. A stocky, swarthy man lurched into the house, fronting his body with a leveled revolver.

Peering past the edge of the piano, Satsu saw two men in uniform follow. The police had arrived during the fray. This leader of the trio was Detective Joe Cardona, the ace sleuth who held the post of acting inspector.

Gun in hand, Cardona surveyed a hall that was deserted, except for the forms of two prone Chinamen. The Shadow was gone; but sounds of new fray echoed at the rear of the house. Sending one bluecoat upstairs, Cardona left the other guarding the front door, while he dashed off through the rear of the house.

Casey and Parker met him in the kitchen. They had ducked through the rear alleyway; the shots that Cardona had heard had been theirs. Cardona found the kitchen light; Casey pointed out through the open door, to the sprawled figure of a Chinaman who lay dead, with a knife beside him.

“There were three of ‘em,” he explained. “Me and Parker met ‘em. Two of ‘em fired and then beat it; but I plugged this one while he was trying to knife Parker. Spotted him with my torch, I did; he was kind of on hands and knees, like he was crippled some—”

“Get going,” snapped Cardona. “Chase after those two Chinese and get the patrol cars on the job. I’ll stay here. Come back when you’re through.”

The dicks took to the alley. Cardona started toward the front hall. He heard sounds of a scuffle; as he reached the hall, he saw one Chinaman on his feet. The fellow was the one with the knife; he had recovered from the stunning blow that The Shadow had given him. The officer had spotted him rising; the two were grappling at the stairs.

Seeing Cardona, the Chinaman leaped away from the cop. Driving straight for Joe, he brandished the wicked knife. Coolly, Cardona pumped four shots straight into the Chinaman’s body.

Whining a hideous cry of agony, the would-be slayer bounced in air and went rolling on the floor.

CARDONA turned to the officer, who was clutching a slashed sleeve.

“Get you?” inquired Joe.

“Not bad,” returned the officer, weakly. “Kind of a long cut; but it’s not deep.”

“Get out and have it fixed. You never can tell what may be on those knife points. Report to the precinct.”

Cardona swung toward the stairs, to growl at the other policeman, who was coming down.

“Well?” he demanded. “Where were you?”

“I heard your shot, inspector,” explained the cop. “I was up in the front room. There’s a body up there.”

“Another Chinaman?”

“No. It’s an American — murdered. There was a big Chinee laying on the landing, dead; but I went past him, to look around upstairs. Then I found the dead man—”

“It must be Laudring,” interposed Cardona, savagely. “That’s the fellow who called up: Chichester Laudring. Wanted men up here, so Casey and Parker came. Found the place closed, so they toddled back to headquarters, the dummies!

“Lucky I was there when they came in. Too bad, though, that they didn’t have that reporter Burke come up here with them. He’d have had sense enough to tell them that they ought to smash into a place when they’ve been called there.

“They figured it a hoax. Didn’t want to look like saps. A fine pair of dunderheads! They ought to be back on beats. Maybe they will be, if they don’t show some brains.”

Cardona ended his tirade. The wounded officer made his exit. Cardona looked about the hall, as puzzled as the remaining bluecoat. He wondered about this fray that had ended in his arrival. Little did he suspect the details; even though he himself had mentioned a fact that concerned The Shadow’s arrival here.

Clyde Burke, a newspaper reporter on the Classic, had been at headquarters when Chichester Laudring had called; Clyde was a secret agent of The Shadow. He had called his chief, through Burbank, the contact man who served The Shadow. Traveling more quickly than Casey and Parker, The Shadow had beaten the detectives to the house. But he had entered the unlocked rear door, whereas the headquarters men had done no more than ring at the front.

“Let’s go upstairs,” decided Cardona. “I want to see that body.”

The officer started up the steps, with Cardona following. As they neared the landing, two thoughts occurred to Joe. One was the open front door; the other was the need for a call to headquarters. Cardona motioned the officer ahead; then turned about. He stopped to listen.

A SQUEAKY sound was coming from the parlor, indicative of furniture being pushed about in cautious fashion.

Cardona crept down the stairs. He moved toward the parlor. Again he heard the sound. Springing past the curtain, Joe came face to face with Satsu. The Korean had come from his hiding place and was pushing the piano back against the wall. He quailed at sight of Cardona’s gun.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Cardona. “Hiding back of the piano, eh? Who are you?”

“I am the servant of Mr. Laudring,” replied Satsu, solemnly. “I had gone out to find the precinct, to talk to the police.”

“And got lost?”

“Yes, sir. When I returned, the Chinese entered. They began to fight.”

“Who with?”

“Some one that I could not see. One man who was in the hall. I heard the smashing of the door. I was frightened and I hid away.”

“You’re no Chinaman. What are you? A Japanese?”

“A Korean, sir. From the country of Chosen, which is now ruled by Nippon — by Japan.”

Footsteps interrupted from beyond the front door. Still covering Satsu, Cardona gave a quick glance as Parker and Casey entered. Cardona ordered Parker to frisk Satsu. Meanwhile, Casey reported.

“Over by the avenue,” he stated. “We was talking with a patrol car. A truck was coming out of a side street, and just as it turned south another one came down the avenue and headed into the street.

“There was a Chinaman at the wheel of it, inspector. We started a chase, and the truck cut through the street, right in back of here. The truck took a skid after a couple of blocks. Cracked up on the sidewalk and about six Chinese jumped out.

“The whole lot took for cover. Beat it into an alley before we could stop ‘em. They was running like rats; we wasn’t close enough to clip any of ‘em. The patrol cars are trying to round them up; but they haven’t had any luck yet.”

“Two crews, eh?” queried Cardona. “One lot in here — the others coming with a truck. Well,” — he turned savagely to Satsu — “what do you know about it?”

“I know nothing, sir—”

“We’ll see. Come along upstairs with me.” Then, to Casey and Parker, Joe added: “You men stay here.”

ON the stairs, Cardona and Satsu passed the dead form of Hoang Fu. They reached the front room, where the officer was with Laudring’s body. Eyeing Satsu closely, Joe saw the Korean’s lips twitch.

“Is that Laudring?” demanded Cardona.

Satsu nodded.

“Who murdered him?” inquired Cardona.

“I don’t know, sir,” replied Satsu. “I was not here in the house. Mr. Laudring sent me to the precinct.”

“Before he called headquarters?”

“He did not use the telephone, sir, before he sent me out.”

“Let’s see that key in your pocket. The one Parker found when he was frisking you.”

Satsu produced the key.

“What does this unlock?” asked Cardona. “The door to the cellar?”

Satsu hesitated; then nodded.

“Is that where the Fate Joss is?” demanded Joe. “The idol that Laudring told us he had here?”

Satsu trembled. He stared, wild-eyed. Cardona knew that his thrust had gone home.

“Spill it!” growled Cardona. “What about Roucard! Who killed him? The same fellow that got Laudring? What about this Fate Joss that Roucard took away? Who brought it back?”

Satsu weakened under the barrage of spasmodic questions. Pitifully, he raised his hands. Confronted with all these facts, he was ready to speak.

“The Fate Joss was here,” he admitted. “In the cellar, when Mr. Roucard came here last night. He had men take it away. Through a path at the back of the cellar. Today — today, we found the Fate Joss here again.”

“Who do you mean by we?”

“Mr. Laudring and myself, sir.”

“And the Fate Joss is there now?”

“Yes, sir. With the cannons called the War Dogs. The Fate Joss is very large. It is nearly the weight of half a ton.”

“We’ll take a look at it.”

Carrying the door key, Cardona marched Satsu downstairs. The policeman followed; Joe stationed him at the front door. Casey and Parker joined the acting inspector. Joe unlocked the cellar door, found the light switch and turned it on. The trio then escorted Satsu to the cellar.

The Korean’s face showed relief. There was reason — for Satsu knew that he could build a creditable story. He was almost eager as he marched ahead of Cardona’s revolver muzzle. Between the coal bins, Satsu spoke.

“The Fate Joss is here, sir,” he said. “In the very center of this cellar. With the War Dogs—”

Satsu gasped. He had reached the space ahead; close in back of him were Cardona and the detectives. But where Satsu had expected to see the towering glitter of the Fate Joss, nothing remained but vacancy. The idol was gone; not even the squatty dog cannons remained as testimony to its former presence.

Beyond was the heavy door that covered the underground passage. Its strong bolts were closed. Weirdly, incredibly, the half-ton Joss and its brazen guardians had vanished from their underground abode.