The Golden Quest

CHAPTER XXII. DESPERATE STROKES

THE SHADOW had almost been taken by surprise. Weakened by his ordeal, holding up through nerve alone, he had lost his uncanny sense of judging moves by others. Though he had suspected that Jubal might come here, he had not anticipated so prompt an arrival.

The lieutenant must have placed his men aboard the motorboat.

Muffling of the engine had prevented the sound of its chugs from reaching the lodge. Landing down the point, Jubal had advanced for a surprise attack.

Intuitively, The Shadow had spotted danger; but his discovery of the menace had been belated. Realizing his fault, he was springing into action at a disadvantage. To counteract that condition, he took to the defensive.

Chuck Haggart, at the doorway, fired before The Shadow. So did two mobsmen, bulked beside their leader. They aimed for a fading target. The Shadow had whirled; traveling on a swift arc, he was swinging for the cover of the opened door to the cellar.

Slugs thudded that barrier. Wide shots from mobster guns. The Shadow cut suddenly in front of Chuck Haggart’s aim; but the barrier was now a refuge. Another bullet rammed the metal sheathing.

The Shadow’s automatics roared. One hand above the other, he opened fire from the edge of the metal door. Quick, zipping shots, aimed for the front doorway. One mobster sagged, still firing. Chuck and others blazed away, retreating. Another mobster fell.

Quick, yet intermittent stabs of guns. Shot for shot, The Shadow was driving the invaders back.

Mobsters were low on the verandah, dropping for the cover of the steps. The Shadow was clinging to his vantage post.

There was method in The Shadow’s action. He had three men upon whom he could count. He was trusting that they would show the proper aid. One — Harry or Vic — could hold the prisoners, while the other and Rex came into action against the mobsmen on the porch.

It was Cortland Laspar who balked The Shadow’s aids. He had been the first to realize what was up. As The Shadow whirled; as the bombardment began, Laspar took desperate action of his own. Closest to the three who held him and the other prisoners, Laspar leaped for the nearest guard.

THAT happened to be Harry Vincent. Pouncing upon The Shadow’s agent, Laspar gripped Harry’s arm and drove it upward. He and Harry grappled while staccato shots were marking The Shadow’s duel with Chuck Haggart’s mob.

Vic Marquette swung to aid Harry. The Secret Service man wanted to get Laspar; by dropping the arch-crook, he could weaken the cause of the underlings; moreover, he would bring Harry back into the fray. As Vic turned, Hoxon piled forward to seize the bearded operative.

Rex Brodford had his chance. A quick shot from his rifle would have finished Hoxon and enabled Marquette to down Laspar. But Rex fluked the chance. Swinging to aim at Hoxon, he delayed too long.

Before he could fire, the superintendent had grabbed Vic Marquette.

Then came confusion. Hoxon’s woodsmen sprang forward in a body. Rex went sprawling on the floor beneath their attack. Leaving Rex half stunned, the villains dove on, anxious to regain their revolvers from the floor.

Harry Vincent could have stopped them. He had wrenched his right arm from Laspar’s grasp. Holding the magnate at bay, Harry swung to cover the charging prisoners. Vic was all right; he was holding his own with Hoxon.

Harry did fire one shot that sprawled a woodsman, just as the fellow snatched up a gun. But before he could deliver a second bullet, Harry spotted a graver danger. Rex Brodford was trying to rise from the floor. Miguel was pouncing upon him.

Harry had frisked the fat Filipino. He had found Miguel’s gun. But from beneath his belt, the man had gained another weapon: a stout-bladed bolo.

Out to kill Rex Brodford, the Filipino was raising the vicious-looking knife. His arm was ready for a downstroke with the blade.

Forgetting the woodsmen, Harry aimed at Miguel. He fired as the Filipino started to stab. Miguel jolted forward; at the same instant a roar came from The Shadow’s vantage point. Miguel jounced up in the air and sprawled dead.

The Shadow, too, had spied the menace. He had swung wide of his protecting door to deliver a quick shot at Miguel. Harry had plugged the Filipino in the shoulder blade; The Shadow had found the villain’s heart.

Vic and Hoxon blundered against Harry. With a wrench, The Shadow’s agent sent Laspar sprawling headlong in a corner. Swinging his automatic, Harry clipped Hoxon’s skull. As the lumber superintendent collapsed. Harry shouted to Vic. Together, they leaped across the body of Miguel and surged in on the three woodsmen.

Those fellows had gained guns; but they had no chance to use them. Fiercely, Harry and Vic drove down gun arms and grappled with their desperate enemies. This was their job; to beat the break that the prisoners had made, while The Shadow kept up his battle with men outside. Harry and Vic were doing well.

They had failed, however, at the outset. Through their slip-up, they had done damage to The Shadow’s cause. In firing to save Rex Brodford, The Shadow had been forced to swing clear of his bulwark.

Mobsters had fired quickly from beyond the verandah. The Shadow had miraculously escaped their first hasty shots. But in swinging back to cover, he was too late. Chuck Haggart, aiming with precision, fired one shot at the fading form.

The mobleader’s bullet clipped The Shadow’s shoulder. A high, skimming shot, it failed to incapacitate the mighty fighter. But The Shadow staggered and sagged partially in his final twist.

Chuck gave a cry; leaping from the steps he dashed forward into the lodge, shouting his elation.

Chuck Haggart had followed a good stroke with a bad. He had reckoned too much upon the effectiveness of his aim. Had he remained where he was, he could have dropped The Shadow with a second sniping shot. But Chuck’s desire for closer range brought his own undoing.

As the mobleader burst through the door, The Shadow steadied on one knee. Chuck stopped short to aim pointblank; The Shadow fired while the mobleader was flat-footed. The aim was true. Chuck sprawled, his rod unfired.

Behind him, a last mobsman stopped, startled as the leader fell.

Again, The Shadow, though weakened, had advantage. The only unwounded gorilla made the same mistake as Chuck. He hesitated, wondering whether to dive back or to surge forward. He aimed mechanically and tried to fire. Again an automatic thundered in advance.

Flame from The Shadow’s gun spelled the mobster’s fate. Staggering, the final gunner toppled upon Chuck Haggart’s body.

Steady, despite his slowness, The Shadow had scored a double stroke. Propped upon the floor, using the door edge as a rest, the wearied fighter gave a hollow, tired laugh.

A man yanked at the screen door. It was Firth, the butler. Wild of gaze, the dry-faced man had come to take up the fray. The Shadow could hear Jubal prompting him. Firth had an opportunity; he was firing as he came. But the servant was no marksman. His first shots whistled wide; then The Shadow answered.

One shot. The last of three in that lone automatic which The Shadow still could wield. The Shadow’s bullet found a human mark.

Firth staggered, wounded. He tried to fire again, but could not. Attempting to rise, he lost hold of his gun.

He remained, a wavering, snarling foe, still covered by The Shadow’s automatic.

Had Firth managed to regain his gun, The Shadow would have been forced to drop him. As it was, Firth proved himself incapable of further attack. The Shadow could well afford to save his bullets for later events.

BURNING eyes looked toward the center of the living room. Harry and Vic had knocked out one of the woodsmen; they were fighting to subdue the last pair, and the woodsmen were putting up a hopeless resistance. Hoxon was out altogether.

Rex Brodford was rising, seeking a gun. He had every chance to checkmate Cortland Laspar, for the big shot had taken a heavy fall and was crawling up with painful slowness from the corner where Harry Vincent had hurled him.

One glance told The Shadow how that situation lay. Keen eyes reverted to the doorway. Firth, almost on his feet, was tumbling backward. Suddenly, the servant’s body straightened. Firth came straight forward in a rigid advance.

The reason for the servant’s strange action became immediately apparent. Firth was not acting of his own volition. A man had come up in back of him. James Jubal, surging low from the verandah, had caught Firth’s sinking frame and was using it as a bulwark.

Behind his human barricade, Jubal was trying to get at The Shadow; yet he was wise enough to keep himself covered. If Jubal intended to try a revolver shot, he would be forced to lose this hold on Firth.

Knowing that fact, The Shadow held stead. He saw Firth’s body waver.

An arm shot into view: Jubal’s. The hand held no gun. Jubal’s fist was drawn backward; instantly, it started forward for a throw. The swindler’s hand showed round and black, because of a spherical object which he gripped.

Jubal was resorting to the measure that he had used on the slope. Where guns had failed, he was employing a weapon that had already proved effective against The Shadow. The swindler, bereft of minions, was about to hurl another bomb.

The Shadow’s fate hung in the balance. Not only his own fate, but that of others. By blasting the hallway, Jubal could eliminate his indomitable foe; after that, the swindler would be free to use a gun on Vincent and Marquette.

The Shadow’s only chance was to stop Jubal. A dive into the cellar, like the drop into the mine shaft, was an alternative that must be rejected. It was what Jubal had expected; and this time the swindler was using a close range toss to prevent it.

Jubal’s shrewd and evil face glowered sallow from beside his swinging fist. The Shadow could have aimed for that yellow target; but killing Jubal would not have stopped the motion of the arm that was already on its way.

Aiming with cold precision, The Shadow chose black instead of yellow. He fired pointblank at the bomb that was leaving Jubal’s hand.

THE shot was perfect. With the flash of The Shadow’s automatic came a terrific roar close by the doorway. Bursting flame spread wide as the bomb exploded with gigantic force. The lodge quivered from the concussion. Walls crackled, split asunder and collapsed with devastating effect.

The main force of the blast took place within the doorway to the verandah. There, the front of the lodge was shattered. Thick smoke was clouded with the white dust of falling plaster. The whole wall was shattered as far as the fireplace; there, stone resisted the blast.

Chunks of the fireplace rattled to the floor. Portions of the ceiling caved and sent splintered debris down into the room.

Harry and Vic, overpowering their last two foemen, went sprawling; but they had already downed their stubborn antagonists.

Where Jubal and Firth had been was blankness. The unscathed swindler and the wounded servant had taken the full brunt of the explosion. The fate intended for The Shadow was theirs. The bursting bomb had riddled them.

Farthest from the ruined doorway was The Shadow. Propped against his metal-sheathed barrier, he remained unshaken by the concussion. Reverberating roars reechoed in his ears; he viewed the chaos with unrelenting eyes.

Then, as the roars ended, The Shadow gave challenge of his own. Weird lips released their mockery. A sinister laugh rang clear. The Shadow had turned the final tide.