The House That Vanished

CHAPTER VII KILLERS IN THE DARK

ONLY a few hours had elapsed since The Shadow’s return to the lonely house on Dobson’s Road. Those hours had brought no change to this silent terrain. This evening’s episodes had so far been confined to the town of Sheffield.

All was still within the house on Dobson’s Road. Complete blackness had enveloped the building. The Shadow lay hidden within that thickened gloom. He was listening as he had been since dusk; waiting for some betraying sound of a prowler’s approach.

Click! The Shadow heard the noise from the darkness of the stairs. A key, scraping in a lock. The sound ended; then it repeated. Someone was trying to open the front door. The Shadow waited while the sound continued at brief intervals.

Squeaking hinges told that the door had yielded. A faint puff of air breezed through the darkened hall beside the stairs. Then came footsteps, cautious, creaking tokens of advance. Dull reflections told of blinking flashlights.

Prowlers had entered. Two men; not one. They were sneaking through the rooms on the ground floor, making a close inspection of the secluded house. The blinks appeared from the rear. The men had cut through to the long hall.

Parlor — living room — hall again. The blinks were by the side door that The Shadow had entered. Light gleamed toward the stairs, then ran along the wall. Someone grunted; a hand clicked a light switch.

A single bulb gleamed from a high ceiling. That lamp was one that had not been removed from its unreachable socket. The light showed a telephone on the floor, near the closet to the stairs

PEERING from the steps, The Shadow saw two roughly dressed men. They were whispering, apparently discussing the next step in their snatch. One pointed to the closet door. The other nodded. The first man tugged the door open; he grunted to his pal. Both entered the long sloping closet.

The Shadow glided from the stairway.

In that dim light, he seemed a ghostly shape, some creature harbored by a house of gloom, a living shade that had remained from banished darkness.

Swiftly, silently, he gained the turn on the closet door. He stooped; his gloved hands appeared bearing automatics. His burning eyes stared toward the closet. The two men were sliding the trunk from its hiding place.

“Better open it, Jake,” growled one. “Let’s see what’s inside. No use in lugging it out if its empty!”

“Yeah?” Jake’s question was a snort. “Take a look at them labels, Dink. “An’ the initials on the end. Ain’t they reason enough?”

“Guess you’re right, Jake; But you’d better—”

“Dink” broke off. Jake had stepped out into the light to fumble for keys somewhere in his pocket. He had chanced to look up. He found himself staring into the eyes of The Shadow.

Dink, looking up at Jake, had seen a sudden change in his pal’s expression. Ugly lips had spread; but the snarl which they tried to give had faded in Jack’s throat. Dink followed the direction of his companion’s gaze. Like Jake, Dink saw The Shadow.

Two rigid men. Revolvers bulging from their pockets; yet they dared not reach for those ready weapons. The fiery gaze of The Shadow held them motionless.

They knew the identity of this weird being. That, in itself, told facts to The Shadow. He knew that these men, despite their rural garb, were ruffians from the city. They were crooks who feared The Shadow’s might

Those who had occupied this house had gone to stay. These men were members of some crew that had come here in their stead. But their object was the same: to pick up anything that had been left behind, such as that telltale trunk beneath the stairs.

THE SHADOW spoke. His tone was cold; his words a throbbing whisper, backed by the weapons that he wielded. He had no quarrel with these men, despite their uncouth appearance. He was ready to let them talk.

“Speak” hissed The Shadow. “State why you are here. Give the name of the person who sent you.”

It was Jake who found words. His answer came in a husky gasp that followed the sibilant echoes of The Shadow’s eerie tones.

“We was just lookin’ around,” explained the ruffian. “But here — wonderin’ if there was anythin’ — anythin’ we could use. We’re just a couple of bums. Nothin’ else—”

The Shadow’s whispered laugh interrupted. It was a sneering, mirthless tone that stopped Jake in his lie. That fierce taunt called for the truth. Dink quivered as he heard The Shadow’s gibe.

“We’ll talk,” whined Dink. “On the level. Jake didn’t mean no harm. We picked this house because we was told to come here. We ain’t hicks; that’s all a fake story. We’ve been looking for—”

The Shadow whirled suddenly. His move was timely. He was standing at the very corner of the long rear passage, his figure revealed by the light.

Dink’s words had drowned a sound that The Shadow would ordinarily have heard. Some new prowler had been unlocking the door through which Goodling and Lanford had made their entry two nights before.

It was a puff of air that had warned The Shadow. His whirl came just as the door was fully opened. Crimson flashed from the lining of his black-surfaced cloak. Barely discernible in the doorway were the figures of two men.

“It’s Slasher!” cried Jake to Dink. “Slasher, with Louie. They seen the glimmer. Get The Shadow!”

REVOLVERS barked from the doorway. “Slasher” and Louie had spotted The Shadow’s twisting figure. Crooks, like Jake and Dink, they had blazed quick shots at their arch-foe. As flames stabbed in from the night, bullets sizzled past The Shadow’s shoulder.

The cloaked fighter had made himself a moving target. The long range, the full length of the hall, was also to his advantage. Moreover, he had dived in the direction opposite that which the new arrivals had expected. He was heading for the living room; not to the stairs.

In his swift sweep, The Shadow swung straight toward those stabbing flares of guns. His fingers clicked triggers. Automatics answered with their booms. The Shadow’s thrusts were gauged, despite their speed.

A figure thudded in the hall; another staggered back with a cry. One invader had dropped; the other was diving for the porch. The Shadow wheeled again; this time toward Jake and Dink. Once again, his move was his salvation.

Cornered rats were whimpering no longer. With venomous snarls, this pair had snatched their guns from their pockets. The Shadow had given them a chance to live. It was not in their evil hearts to return the favor.

Dink aimed too swiftly. He fired as The Shadow suddenly wheeled clear of the living room door. Dink’s shot went wide. Jake, however, was more deliberate than his excited pal. He pressed his trigger finger, holding his shot half a second longer than Dink.

One half second! Such an interval was a long space to The Shadow. His actions came in tenths of seconds. Between Dink’s futile shot and Jake’s coming attempt, The Shadow’s automatics spat their jabs of flame.

Dink sprawled before he could fire a new bullet. Jake slumped, his first shot undischarged. The Shadow had dealt rightly with these skulkers who had shown no thanks for his mercy.

A gleam of headlights shot through the opened door. A cry from outside; it came from the man who had staggered into the clear. An automobile had arrived, bearing new thugs. Shouts told that they were piling toward the house.

THE SHADOW swept toward the wall near the stairway closet. Guns barked from the porch; exultant cries told that new crooks thought their enemy was on the run. The Shadow snapped the wall switch, plunging the hallway into darkness.

Crooks came on; they believed that The Shadow had fled into the interior of the house. They were wrong. Automatics burst anew. The Shadow had held his ground; he was meeting these invaders with a leaden hail.

Men went diving back to the porch, scrambling for safety, anxious to regain their car. The Shadow followed. His guns still barked as he kept up the pursuit. Crooks were in flight, firing wild shots from the sides of a rakish touring car.

One man had remained at the wheel; that accounted for the rapid escape. But as the touring car swung into the dirt road at the front, it came squarely into the glare of other headlights. Crooks fired wildly at approaching cars.

Guns barked in answer. The touring car veered wide and shot by an arriving caravan. Skidding from an embankment, it roared toward the lower road, jouncing its way to the clear before the other cars could stop and turn about.

The three cars swung into the driveway. The Shadow moved swiftly from the porch. He faded into the shelter of enshrouding trees. He saw the three cars draw up beside the house. Men alighted; Harry Vincent was among them.

Jay Goodling’s procession, on its way to Yager’s cabin, had been attracted by the finish of The Shadow’s fray. Flashlights glimmered; one showed the open side door. A call for Goodling; then came the prosecutor’s startled exclamation.

Entering by the side, Goodling had recognized the same hall that he and Lanford had seen two nights before. As men of the law poured into the house, The Shadow faded toward the dirt road. He saw no need to linger.

As aftermath to this strange chain of episodes, the law had discovered the spot that The Shadow had found hours before — the house that searchers thought had vanished. Within that house lay evidence.

Men of crime had failed to remove the steamer trunk that bore the initials of Myra Dolthan and which contained an envelope addressed to the girl herself.

The search for the missing heiress would gain new impetus, thanks to the consequences that had followed The Shadow’s fight.