The Living Joss

CHAPTER XVI. ON THE STAIRS

WHILE Hugo Urvin’s cigarette still glowed upon the lawn beside Barton Schofield’s mansion, a figure arose beside the house and stood in momentary watchfulness. Firm hands gripped a vine-covered trelliswork, and a strange, black-garbed shape began an upward course against the wall.

Invisible in motion, spectral in action, this shape was as awe-inspiring as the yellow-faced figure which Harry Vincent had spied two nights ago. But although eyes were watching this very house, the climbing form was completely hidden during its ascent.

The Shadow, master of the night, was making a secret excursion to the second floor of Barton Schofield’s mansion. His lithe shape gained a window. The sash opened, and the cloaked figure entered.

Meanwhile, men were advancing upon the lawn. Peering from his vantage point, The Shadow could make out the shapes of stealthy invaders. Still, The Shadow watched. These were the ones who had been sent to wait for Hugo Urvin’s signal. Scattered, hidden at various points, there had been no way of attacking one without alarming the others.

The advancers closed in upon a little door on the ground floor, at the side. The Shadow had expected this. He saw one man enter the opening; then another. Counting, he observed eight in all. The faint whisper of a laugh escaped The Shadow’s hidden lips.

There were two chief henchmen whom Kwa employed. One moved by craft; the other by might. The Shadow had been prepared for either.

Had Chun Shi been chosen, it would have meant a single-handed combat. Koy Shan, however, was the designated person. One of the few Chinese gunmen who had escaped The Shadow’s fire two nights ago, this powerful enemy was advancing with strong men behind him.

Murder was not in the cards tonight. The Shadow knew that fact now. The course was plain. These raiders had been sent to capture Barton Schofield alive. Eight fighters to take one old man!

Moving across a darkened room, The Shadow found a door and opened it. He entered a gloomy hallway and passed by the door of Barton Schofield’s room. There was another doorway on the other side; beyond that the stairs. The Shadow merged with the blackness of the opposite portal.

MUSIC was coming from below. The second floor was deserted. Padded footsteps became evident.

The raiders had arrived by way of an obscure back stairway. From his place of hiding, The Shadow could not count the members of the insidious band, but he could observe the door to Barton Schofield’s room.

Figures clustered at that doorway. Among them was a huge fellow — Koy Shan, the Mighty. Yellow faces, darkened in the gloom, were looking toward their leader. Koy Shan gave a low command. Two men crouched and moved toward the head of the front staircase.

Koy Shan’s strategy was now apparent. He had probably left two minions to guard the rear way. With two at the front stairs in case of emergency, he and his four helpers could invade the bedroom and seize the helpless old banker.

Two Chinamen looking downward; four at the banker’s door with their backs toward The Shadow. One against six, but the advantage lay with the hidden master. As Koy Shan laid his huge hand upon the knob of the door, the figure of The Shadow moved slowly forward.

As The Shadow prepared to deliver a swift attack, one of the men at the head of the staircase chanced to turn to see how the others were progressing. This crouching Chinaman, like his comrade on the steps, was armed with a long knife.

Almond eyes widened as the guard saw a moving smirch of blackness that blotted out all sight of Koy Shan. It was a moment before the man realized that this was a living foe. He could not hold back the amazement which accompanied his discovery. A snarling gasp came from his lips as he leaped forward, knife upraised.

As the Chinaman sprang, The Shadow whirled. His form shot forward to meet the attack. The Chinaman made a downward thrust, calculated to strike the back of the black-clad figure. The Shadow, however, was too swift.

His driving shoulder smashed against the Chinaman’s knees. The man with the knife hurtled along the floor, his weapon flying from his grasp, to the feet of those at Schofield’s door. Sprawled flat on his face, this enemy of The Shadow was eliminated for the time.

There was method in The Shadow’s thrust. His driving attack kept on with unrestrained swiftness. The second guard was turning from the staircase. He raised his knife to deliver the stroke which the other had failed to make.

The arms of The Shadow caught the Chinaman’s rising form. While the left served as a fulcrum behind the villain’s back, the right shot the Chinaman’s feet upward. With a shrill scream, the yellow man went plunging backward, his body describing a whirl as it spun down the staircase.

In the powerful effort which had tossed this enemy from the fray, The Shadow had again acted with unfailing calculation. His hurling motion terminated with a sweep that brought him face to face with Koy Shan and his henchmen. While the falling guard was still on the first lap of his long plunge, The Shadow sprang down the hall to meet a concerted attack.

KNOWING that stealth was the keynote of the invasion, The Shadow had correctly reasoned that the Chinamen would be ready with knives rather than guns. Blades that flashed in the gloom told the correctness of this belief.

The Shadow knew how to deal with such weapons. His tall form shot into the midst of the four attacking men. Black fists, sweeping from nowhere, smashed into yellow faces.

One man, alone, managed to grapple with the vengeful form in black. It was not Koy Shan — the big fellow had been floored by The Shadow’s first blow. It was a wiry underling, who fought with ferocious venom as he plunged to the floor with his arms about the black-garbed attacker.

With a clever twist, the Chinaman jerked his right hand free, and drew it back to deliver a thrust with the knife which he still held. His left arm was clamped against The Shadow’s body.

But in the fall, The Shadow had acted with the same promptitude. His own right hand had gone beneath his cloak. As he lay against the wall, the Chinaman kneeling half beside and half above him, The Shadow pressed the trigger of an automatic.

A terrific roar burst through the hallway. The Chinaman, his grinning face distorted, toppled sidewise and fell upon The Shadow’s body. The knife clattered harmlessly to the floor.

The Shadow made no effort to remove the helpless burden; his right hand free, his keen eyes staring toward the front of the hall, he held the bead on his enemies.

One rising foe leaped forward, his swift hand swinging to hurl a knife toward The Shadow’s body. The automatic roared. The Chinaman plunged as he sprang. The blade whistled above The Shadow’s head, and clattered from the side wall.

Three of six had been totally eliminated. One had hurtled down the stairs; two had been felled by The Shadow’s bullets. The others, Koy Shan among them, dived for the staircase.

Before The Shadow could fire after them, he was forced to meet another menace which his shrewd brain had anticipated — the pair of Mongols from the back way.

The Shadow’s automatic turned. The muzzle flashed. The first of these reserves, the first Chinaman to produce a gun, went down, a useless revolver in his fist. The other, a few feet behind, dived back the way that he had come, and took the turn of the back stairs as The Shadow’s automatic barked once more.

This Chinaman had managed to reach a spot of safety. The hallway was cleared. The Shadow, however, had even swifter work ahead. Hurling aside the limp body that lay upon him, the black-clad battler rose to his feet.

THERE was bedlam from the floor below. The crash of the first Chinaman falling down the steps had brought people rushing from the dance room. They had seen a limp form lying upon the hallway. That enemy was out.

Then had come the roar of The Shadow’s automatic. Koy Shan and his companions, hurtling down the stairs, had been too great a terror to face. Unarmed men and frightened girls had dashed back into the dance room, for the Chinamen, in their flight, were brandishing their wicked knives.

Two Mongols reached the front door unobstructed. One was Koy Shan. The third, still on the steps, was trapped by the sudden arrival of Detective Joe Cardona and George Cubitt. With a sharp command, Cardona halted the fleeing Celestial in his tracks. The glowering assassin dropped his knife and raised his hands.

“Cover him!” cried Cardona. “I’m going up!”

George Cubitt obeyed. Cardona, revolver in hand, started up the steps to investigate the shots that now had ceased. A sudden cry of warning made him halt.

Nervously, Cubitt had danced toward the front door. The barrier had opened. There stood the huge form of Koy Shan, revolver in hand. Cubitt, trembling, still covered the Chinaman whom Cardona had just passed upon the steps.

A hoarse cry of exultation rose from Koy Shan’s throat, as the big Chinaman leveled his automatic directly at Joe Cardona. This Chinese gangster had recognized the star detective. With merciless precision, Koy Shan prepared to end Cardona’s life. His finger was on the trigger, while the detective still had his own gun at his side.

A mighty roar rolled from the head of the staircase. It was the terrific report of The Shadow’s automatic.

From long range, The Shadow had arrived in time to take quick aim at Koy Shan.

With that roar, which sent stern echoes from the close-walled upstairs hall, Koy Shan faltered. The huge Chinaman staggered two steps backward; his hand wavered, and the revolver dropped from his loosened fingers. With a hideous snarl on his evil lips, the big Mongol sank to the floor.

The Shadow’s oath had been kept. Since the death of Blaine Goodall, Koy Shan had accomplished no new deed of murder. One of Kwa’s chief threats had fallen. Koy Shan, the Mighty, was dead.