The House That Vanished

CHAPTER XX AFTER MIDNIGHT

RUFUS DOLTHAN wheeled. With their leader’s turn, henchmen of crime swung also toward the doorway. Already the partly opened barrier was swinging inward. The Shadow’s laugh rang loud.

Burning eyes from darkness. They were the only visible tokens of the master avenger. His cloaked form shrouded in the gloom, The Shadow was a creature of invisibility.

Then, with amazing suddenness, a sweeping form moved inward. Automatics blazed an opening message into the ranks of crooks. The Shadow could afford no quarter to murderers who held helpless men at bay.

Wildly, crooks scattered, firing quick shots toward the shape that whirled inward from the door. As always, The Shadow had sprung the unexpected. He had deserted his post of safety. Forgetful of his own safety, he wanted to draw all shots in his direction.

The automatics blasted thunderously. That withering fire gave no choice. The Shadow was the only target to every would-be murderer who saw him. Dropping, crouching, diving, crooks stabbed wild shots toward the figure that was wheeling half across the room.

There were others who joined in the fray. Men to whom The Shadow had given opportunity; those upon whose aid he had counted to cover his bold stroke. Rufus Dolthan had good cause to regret the plans he had made to camouflage this scene of crime. Men whom he had branded helpless were far from being so.

Backed against the desk, Jay Goodling was jabbing shots at close range. Making every bullet tell, he was crippling Dolthan’s henchmen as those rogues aimed for The Shadow.

Taussig Kermal had snatched his automatic from the desk drawer. With two quick shots, the lawyer dropped one of Dolthan’s aces, the long-faced Souder.

Fred Lanford had sprung to fight with Wurling and Hazzler. That was the only reason why The Shadow had left Souder to someone else.

Wurling, desperate, had aimed to finish Lanford. The Shadow had fired two consecutive bullets to drop Dolthan’s murderous chauffeur.

It was Hazzler, now, who threatened. He had left Lanford to Wurling and was aiming for The Shadow as the chauffeur fell. Fred Lanford, furious, made a dive for Hazzler and drove the fellow’s gun arm upward. Then the pair grappled. Hazzler’s well-aimed shot had been sent wide.

All the while, one man had devoted himself to a single task. Doctor Claig, dropping back into a corner, had fired diagonally across the room, hoping to drop one foeman, Rufus Dolthan.

The supercrook had dived for cover as Claig’s first bullets whined past his ears. Dolthan had chosen the refuge that The Shadow had scorned: that blackened hallway that led to Myra’s room.

Frantically, Claig had emptied his gun. His shots were too hasty; all five of the bullets from his old-fashioned revolver had gone wide of their mark.

Claig was clicking his trigger before he realized that his opportunity was gone. He looked about; he saw Kermal and Goodling standing with smoking guns. All about were sprawled crooks.

Claig tried to shout; his voice failed him. Kermal and Goodling were transfixed as they watched the finish of a desperate fray. Lanford and Hazzler were locked like wrestlers. Hazzler was striving to twist his revolver muzzle toward Lanford’s head.

ACROSS the room, The Shadow stood like a blackened statue. He saw Hazzler’s hand come clear. Goodling sprang forward frantically, too late to be of aid to his threatened friend. But before Hazzler could press the trigger of his gun, The Shadow acted. One of his automatics boomed a timely shot.

The Shadow was swinging as he fired; spinning to an angle that offered opportunity. His gun roared as he neared the door through which Dolthan had sped.

A swift shot clipped Hazzler’s forearm. With a wild cry the man clawed the air, his revolver dropping from his grasp. Then Goodling was upon him; the prosecutor hurled the fellow hard against the wall, while Lanford staggered free.

It was then that Claig found his voice. Wildly, the physician appealed to Kermal. Frantically, he pointed toward the door on the left, gesturing with his emptied gun.

“Get Dolthan!” gasped Claig. “Stop him! He’s gone to murder Myra!”

Before Kermal could turn about, a last antagonist came upward from the floor. It was Roy Parrell. The yellow lieutenant had dropped at the first shots from The Shadow’s automatics.

Covered by a fallen body, Parrell had escaped injury. Lying there, he had believed that his pals had triumphed. Then, when he started to arise, he saw Kermal squarely in front of him.

Thinking he had but one man to finish, Parrell had sprung upon the lawyer. With vicious snarl, the coward was aiming to kill; his finger on revolver trigger. Doctor Claig, his own gun emptied, had no chance to save Kermal. He thought that the lawyer was doomed.

The Shadow fired a final shot. One automatic emptied, this was the last that the other gun contained. Straight from the front of the opened door, his cloaked form black against the background of the hallway, The Shadow dealt this stroke with absolute precision. As his automatic gave its message, Parrell’s murderous drive was ended.

Kermal, staring into the detective’s gun muzzle, saw Parrell spin about in air. The revolver clattered to the floor; mechanically, Kermal reached for it as Parrell sprawled, rolled over writhing and lay still.

The Shadow had spun about, out into the hall. Instead of following it, he drew back into a short alcove at the nearer end. He had given up pursuit of Rufus Dolthan. The master murderer had already reached the doorway of Myra’s room.

There, dangling in the lock, Dolthan had found a key. He had turned it; gun in hand, he was opening the door at the moment of The Shadow’s return to the hall.

Dull light revealed Dolthan’s figure. The Shadow saw the crook bound inward. He listened. An instant later, his ears caught a hoarse cry of surprise; a sound that turned to the snarled tone of a cornered beast.

SURE that his henchmen would win their fray, Dolthan had headed through the hall with murderous intent. Within the lighted room, he had expected to find the niece whose life he sought. Instead, he had come upon two foemen whom he had forgotten.

At one side of the room was Daggart, pale-faced but determined as he held a leveled gun; at the other side, Croy, his huge face stonelike. Like Daggart, Croy was ready with a revolver. Rufus Dolthan was between them.

The arch-crook’s face showed ratlike in the light. Slowly, Dolthan moved back a pace; then, taking advantage of the fact that his enemies were ready to give quarter, the crook sprang forward, choosing Croy as his first foe.

With wild fury, Dolthan ducked past the big man’s aiming arm to thrust his gun straight for Croy’s heart.

Daggart fired. Teeth gritting, the pale-faced secretary showed determination as well as good aim. Croy had saved his life when Blissop had sought it. Daggart’s chance for repayment had arrived. His grit served him in the pinch.

As Croy’s revolver covered Dolthan, the gray-haired crook collapsed. He sank to the floor; he lost his hold on his gun. Mortally wounded, he began to cough out his evil life.

Footsteps pounded through the hallway. Taussig Kermal dashed into the room, carrying Parrell’s revolver. Behind the lawyer followed Goodling and Lanford; after them, Doctor Claig. All stopped short as they joined Kermal.

Straight across the room yawned blackness. Shutters were opened; window was unbarred. Myra Dolthan had gone. Croy and Daggart had remained here in her stead.

A gleam of triumph showed on Croy’s rugged features. Daggart was nodding as he viewed the dying form of Rufus Dolthan. Daggart’s left arm was still in its sling; his right hand held the revolver with which he had delivered his timely shot.

Taussig Kermal spoke his commendation as Dolthan’s last cough ended. The others crowded about Daggart. The babble of their praising tones could be heard in the long hall. The Shadow stepped from his alcove.

Again, his weird laugh sounded. Quivering echoes returned their mockery from the walls. Turning, The Shadow swept into the room where crooks lay sprawled.

Hazzler, crippled by the wall, looked up and tried to snarl as his bleary eyes saw the shape that moved swiftly toward the window.

Then, as the wounded minion’s snarl failed him, The Shadow was gone. Blackness only where he had merged with those heavy draperies beyond Kermal’s desk. Only the ticking of the desk clock sounded amid the hush that followed, until, from beyond the house, came the weird tones of a fading laugh.

The Shadow, triumphant, had departed. He had dealt with men of crime. He had made allowance for Rufus Dolthan’s eagerness to kill, by preparing a trap wherein two determined men had been ready for the supercrook.

Croy’s strength or Daggart’s courage; The Shadow had known that he could rely on one or the other. To Daggart had come the opportunity to fire the shot that spelled the end of Rufus Dolthan. To The Shadow had come the real triumph.