The Man From Shanghai

CHAPTER XVIII – THE SHADOW TALKS

MINUTES dragged slowly in the room where The Shadow lay prisoner. Though he gave no glances toward the men who watched him, The Shadow gradually betrayed a melancholy expression. This was accomplished quite effectively with the countenance that he wore.

As Henry Arnaud, The Shadow habitually showed a friendly personality, accompanied by an occasional smile. By curbing all joviality, he soon created the impression that he was resigned to whatever fate might come.

Both Spark and Ku-Nuan believed that their prisoner was engrossed in thought; that he was recognizing, more and more, the hopelessness of his position. They were right when they guessed that The Shadow was engaged in concentration; but they did not know the reason why.

The Shadow was mentally counting off the minutes, with an accuracy that would have surprised his captors. He needed to know when a half hour had nearly ended.

After ten minutes had passed, Spark Ganza glanced at his watch, without turning the dial toward the prisoner. With word to Ku-Nuan to keep careful guard, Spark left the prison room and went upstairs. He was gone about three minutes; during that time, he had held a chat with Wardlock.

All during Spark’s absence, Ku-Nuan had crouched beside the couch, his lips twisted as if to voice a snarl; his hand clutching the long-bladed dirk. Ku-Nuan’s beady eyes were steadily, upon The Shadow. The Mongol merely wanted an excuse to knife the prisoner.

Spark’s thoughts differed from Ku-Nuan’s. Spark looked forward to Malfort’s return. He hoped the big-shot would not order an immediate death sentence. Spark wanted a chance to put the heat on the prisoner. He wanted to hear this melancholy captive squawk for mercy.

Gun in hand, Spark slouched in a chair. Another ten minutes went by. Spark glanced toward the door; then shrugged his shoulders and decided to wait a short while longer.

That suited The Shadow. By his calculation, only twenty-three minutes had elapsed. Spark kept glancing at his watch; at the end of three more minutes, he arose and went out. The Shadow heard his footsteps on the stairs.

Immediately, The Shadow turned his eyes upon Ku-Nuan. The murderous Mongol met the gaze with a snarl. He tightened his grip upon the knife; urged the blade forward, holding its point close to The Shadow’s throat.

The Shadow spoke. His words brought a bulge of Ku-Nuan’s eyes. The Shadow’s low-toned utterance was in Chinese.

THE singsong words caught Ku-Nuan’s attention; they held him riveted. Translated, The Shadow’s speech was this:

“Ying Ko is powerful. He is greater than the master whom you serve. Ying Ko has a friend in Yat Soon. When Ying Ko strikes, many Chinese will be with him. They are prepared, tonight, to aid Ying Ko against your master.”

To Ku-Nuan, the name “Ying Ko” signified “The Shadow.” For the first time, Ku-Nuan had learned of The Shadow’s connection in Chinatown.

Promptly, Ku-Nuan understood why he had been so quickly followed by watchful Chinese. They were men who owned loyalty to Yat Soon, the most powerful person in all Chinatown.

Cunningly, The Shadow had spoken of Ying Ko as an individual other than himself. For the moment, Ku-Nuan was positive that the prisoner was The Shadow. Through the Mongol’s sneaky brain flashed the thought that here was news for Malfort. Hissing, he withdrew the dagger from The Shadow’s throat. He looked toward the door that led to the stairs.

Spark Ganza might not return for several minutes. Then it would be too late for Wardlock to telephone to Malfort at the Maribar Hotel. Ku-Nuan looked at The Shadow’s bonds; tugged the knots with long-nailed fingers. Satisfied that the prisoner could not wrench loose from those tight ropes, Ku-Nuan leered viciously. In snaky fashion, he arose and started toward the door. He was on his way to tell Spark and Wardlock what he had learned.

Ku-Nuan reached the door; shot a look back toward The Shadow. He saw a troubled look upon the prisoner’s face. Ku-Nuan took to the stairs. Hasty in ascent, he did not move with his usual silence. The Shadow could hear the patter of the Mongol’s footsteps.

Instantly, The Shadow came to action.

HIS ankles were crossed, just as Ku-Nuan had tied them; the right foot was above the left. With steady effort, The Shadow wrenched his right ankle downward. It stopped beside the left. The binding ropes showed an immediate slack. The looseness of the ropes represented the difference between the thickness of The Shadow’s ankles and their width.

Swinging his feet to the floor, The Shadow forced the heel of his left shoe against the heel of the right. He was wearing shoes of more than ordinary weight. Though the lacings were tight, the thick leather gave the shoes a looseness. In a dozen seconds, The Shadow managed to force his right shoe from his foot.

That done, he doubled his right knee and worked his right foot upward through the coils of slackened rope. His next move was to replace his foot in the empty shoe. Coming to a standing position, The Shadow accomplished the task by forward pressure. His legs were completely loose; but he had no time to work upon the crisscrossed ropes that bound his wrists.

Already, The Shadow could hear Ku-Nuan coming down the stairs.

Seating himself upon the couch, The Shadow pulled his right ankle in back of his left, squeezing loose ropes between, to make it look as if his ankles were still bound. His left foot was in front of his right, the reverse of the original position; but The Shadow felt sure that Ku-Nuan would not notice.

Ku-Nuan was at the doorway. Looking into the room, the Mongol paused. He saw The Shadow upright on the couch; he noted the ankles of the prisoner. Before Ku-Nuan could detect that the bonds no longer held The Shadow’s legs, his attention was diverted.

His lips compressed to show a strain, The Shadow was tugging hard at his wrists, seeking to break the cords that held them clamped behind his back. That was enough for Ku-Nuan. With a triumphant snarl, the assassin bounded forward. He had his excuse to knife the prisoner.

AS Ku-Nuan loped forward with his hand upraised, The Shadow dropped back upon the couch, flattening his body on his tied hands. He was helpless, his body an easy target for the downward stroke that Ku-Nuan intended to deliver.

Had Ku-Nuan thrown the knife, it would have found its mark; but the Mongol, impressed by the ease of the attack, preferred to drive the dirk home with a thrust.

Had The Shadow freed his hands, Ku-Nuan could have met the move. He was looking for such possible resistance. But the stroke that came was different from any that Ku-Nuan had expected; and it arrived sooner than the killer could have believed possible.

Flat on his back, The Shadow shifted his right foot from behind the left. With terrific speed; he launched a gigantic upward kick just as Ku-Nuan reached a spot five feet from the couch.

The Shadow timed that shot to perfection. The heavy-toed shoe swooped upward, grazing Ku-Nuan’s chest. It caught the Mongol in his final leap, squarely beneath the chin. The speed of The Shadow’s kick, plus Ku-Nuan’s bounding advance, gave double force to the timely stroke. Ku-Nuan’s teeth clattered as The Shadow’s foot lifted him completely from the floor.

Ku-Nuan’s head jerked back; his arms went wide as his body launched toward the ceiling. The knife blade clattered to the floor while its owner was still in mid-air. With outsprawled body, Ku-Nuan landed flat on his back a dozen feet from the couch. The Shadow had kicked him senseless. Not even a gulp came from the Mongol’s jaundiced lips.

The Shadow came to his feet. He heard pounds from the stairs. Spark Ganza was coming down; he had heard Ku-Nuan’s crash. Kicking ropes from his left ankle, The Shadow leaped for the opened door. The barrier pointed inward; The Shadow gained its cover just as Spark Ganza appeared beyond it.

Spark saw Ku-Nuan flattened in front of the vacated couch. Quickly Spark shoved inward, with a leveled revolver in his fist. The Shadow saw the arm and the gun; he swept a high, left-footed kick for Spark’s wrist. The kick was accurate. Spark uttered a shout as his gun went flying from his hand, a dozen feet across the floor. Gripping his wrist, Spark saw The Shadow.

The prisoner was again on the move, dashing across the floor toward Spark’s lost revolver. As he wiggled his half-numbed fingers, Spark saw The Shadow’s back; he spotted the cords that still bound the prisoner’s wrists. The Shadow dived to the floor, rolling to plant his body on top of Spark’s revolver. Spark rasped an oath.

He did not need the.38 that he had lost. His thought was to pounce upon The Shadow; to grasp the helpless fighter’s throat and pound his head against the floor. Spark thought that he could forever silence this prisoner before The Shadow could loosen his hands in defense. Spark sprang forward.

The move was the very one The Shadow wanted. His roll to the floor was a trick to make Spark attack. The Shadow was on his right side; his right foot forward, his left retarded, as though in running position. Both feet were toward Spark.

As the thug dived for The Shadow’s body, he was met by a surprise jujutsu move. The Shadow’s left foot kicked forward, catching Spark’s legs. Simultaneously, The Shadow pulled his right foot backward below the left, hooking Spark’s ankles.

Clipped in a hard scissors-slice, Spark was toppled instantly. The force was great; the leverage tremendous. Spark took a long, oblique dive, striking the stone floor on head and shoulders before he could use his arms to break the fall.

THE SHADOW gained his feet. Looking at Spark, he saw the thug move feebly. Spark was completely dazed. It would be minutes before he could rise to action. Important minutes, those, for The Shadow had not forgotten Wardlock. He knew that the secretary must have gone to the second floor to telephone Malfort. Wardlock would be back soon, wondering why Spark was no longer on the stairs.

The Shadow kicked Spark’s gun beneath the couch. He could not use the revolver with his hands bound; there was no time to waste in picking it up. There was another object that The Shadow preferred: that was Ku-Nuan’s knife.

Stooping beside the unconscious Mongol, The Shadow twisted about and picked up the knife with his bound hands.

Carrying the knife behind him, he dashed for the stairs. He reached the ground floor; saw a door that led to the kitchen. With his toe, The Shadow delivered muffled kicks against the door. A few moments passed; the door opened. The Shadow saw Rennig.

Helmedge’s ex-servant had suspected danger from the knocks. He was holding a heavy brass candlestick in his shaky, upraised arm. He recognized The Shadow as the recent guest who had come to the house; but could not decide whether he was friend or foe. The Shadow’s peculiar disappearance had puzzled Rennig.

“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was commanding. “Cut these ropes! There are men here who intend to murder your master when he returns!”

The Shadow did not specify that Helmedge was already dead. That would have forced too much explanation. It was best to let Rennig think that Malfort was Helmedge, particularly since the disguised plotter had received The Shadow as a friend in Rennig’s presence.

Rennig planked the candlestick on a chair. He took the dirk and began to cut The Shadow’s bonds. He managed the first ropes; the only one that remained was a tight cord, knotted between The Shadow’s wrists. As The Shadow spread his hands, Rennig pressed the knife downward against the knot. His strength was insufficient to make the cut.

“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was a sharp one. “Press hard with the knife edge!”

As Rennig complied, The Shadow gazed toward the stairs leading from the second floor. He had sensed a possible approach; and his hunch was justified. From around the edge of the stairs came a glaring enemy. It was Wardlock, his moonish face flushed with excitement. The secretary held an upraised revolver.

Velvet-footed, Wardlock had stolen down from the second floor, to hear the whispers at the kitchen door. Turning, he had The Shadow covered from a range of less than fifteen feet. Wardlock’s teeth showed in a roundish grin. Deliberately, the secretary aimed.

Instantly, The Shadow leaped forward, pulling his arms with full force. Rennig had used both hands to press the knife edge against the knot. The Shadow’s jolt supplied the remaining force. As he tugged himself away from Rennig, The Shadow felt the last rope snap.

Though unarmed, The Shadow was free, launched in a furious leap toward the last enemy who blocked his path. Despite the fact that he was hurtling straight for the muzzle of Wardlock’s leveled gun, The Shadow had a chance for victory.

Heavy though the odds stood against him, The Shadow was taking the only course that offered final freedom.