The Python

CHAPTER XIX ORDERS FOR MURDER

No sounds of wailing sirens had reached the eighth-floor room of the old Cambia Hotel. That spot was too far east of the paths that police cars had taken in chase of the fleeing Python. Silence persisted in the trap that held The Shadow.

During the time since The Python’s departure, The Shadow had persisted in his part of Louis Revoort. Any impatience that he had exhibited was of a natural sort. Louis Revoort, anxious for Carl Ramorez to return, would have logically paced about the room. Hence The Shadow, at intervals, began a nervous pace within the confining walls.

Glimpses of the closet door had shown him that its free edge was in his direction. The door was not quite shut; a proof that eyes were watching. It would take but a moment for revolvers to bristle through a widening space. The closet was large — overlarge — and could comfortably contain three men.

As for the door into the next room, that, too, was ready to swing open. Any number of The Python’s tribesmen could be located behind it. When The Shadow strolled half way between the main door and the window, he was directly between the swinging edges of the barriers that hid The Python’s minions.

A clever trap! Like pill boxes, both doors were ready. Men in the closet prepared to stop flight in their direction; others in the next room, eager to mow down a fleeing foe by riddling his back.

Even to The Shadow, an attack against these strongholds would be futile. He would have to fight both ambushes at once, with nothing but the cracks of doors as targets.

At intervals, The Shadow strolled toward the half-opened window; and during those excursions, he realized that he had found the one place of temporary security. The window was covered only by those in the closet. It formed a blind spot so far as the connecting door was concerned.

Moreover, it was the portion of the room most distant from the closet door. Shots from that further room might lack immediate accuracy. Nevertheless, The Shadow did not intend to test The Python’s strength with any foolish opening.

He suspected that the adjoining room might be equipped with a machine gun. Such a weapon, used from behind a shield, could be brought to bear in less time than The Shadow would need to reach the outer door. Furthermore, the hallway itself could be another trap.

The window, open and unprotected, offered the sole way of exit; its disadvantage lay in the fact that it was eight floors above the ground. Nevertheless, The Shadow found it worthy of consideration.

Finishing his cigarette, he tossed the stump out into the darkness. In a natural fashion, he leaned forward to note the fall of the cigarette.

WITH a shrug that typified Revoort, The Shadow turned inward from the window; but in that glance, his head had gone just past the lower edge of the sash. The move had given him the glimpse that he wanted. He had seen an opened window on the floor below this one.

Seating himself in one chair, The Shadow studied the chair opposite. He was comparing the length of its legs with the space of the opened window. He estimated that the opening was less than the length of the chair legs.

Lighting another cigarette, The Shadow arose impatiently and stared from the window; at the same time, his left hand casually drew the chair around so it faced toward the window.

He puffed nervously at the cigarette. The Shadow seemed annoyed because The Python did not return. He was leaning against the high window sill, looking in toward the room. At last he sat down in the chair that he had turned. With folded arms, he stared out through the window.

By this time, The Shadow knew, The Python must have stayed long at the Legrand Hotel. It was quite possible that the police had already arrived there; that, however, was a doubtful factor. It depended entirely upon how well Harry Vincent and others had managed to stimulate the closing of a trap.

If The Python had been captured, The Shadow could afford to wait here as long as he chose. If, however, the supercrook had eluded his enemies, anything might happen. Particularly the ringing of the telephone bell — a signal for which The Shadow was prepared.

There was also the chance of blue light flashing; for they would be visible both from the closet door of this room and the windows of the room adjoining.

That was why The Shadow had seated himself in the chair toward the window. Though watchers might suspect nothing from this casual move by the pretended Revoort, it served The Shadow well. While he puffed at his new cigarette, The Shadow was watching the distant signal tower.

A waver. Neon lights were quivering. A signal — perhaps to those on watch here. For a moment, The Shadow made no move. The blinks were slow, evidently spelling a message in their flicker. The Shadow, keenly tense, was sure that The Python had chosen this method to send the warrant of doom.

STILL maintaining his indifferent attitude, The Shadow arose and stared at the remainder of his cigarette. He leaned forward to toss it from the window; as he did so, he rested his left hand upon the back of the chair. Fingers tightened; then came a startling move.

While blue lights quivered their order for murder, The Shadow made a vaulting twist that swung his lithe form squarely along the wide window sill. Face downward, he performed a backward roll, as part of his original motion. One acrobatic move — his figure was gone, out over the window ledge!

Those left fingers had retained their grip. With the left hand went the chair, yanked up from the floor, like the tail of a diving kite. The back of the chair sped through the window. The seat struck the high sill and stopped there. The rear legs of the chair caromed upward. Too long for the space, they jammed tight when their tips struck the lower edge of the metal window sash.

With split-second speed, The Shadow had left The Python’s trap. The chair was inverted on the window sill, its seat forming a base. The back legs were pointed slightly inward, wedged tightly against the sash.

The counterbalance was The Shadow: still gripping the back of the chair, he was hanging against the wall outside the window, two feet below the opening through which he had so quickly rolled.

He was completely gone, The Shadow — not even his hands remained on the level of the sill. No portion of him served as target for those hidden gunners whose sight he had so speedily left.

With both hands clinging to the chair, The Shadow was swinging seventy feet above a concrete paving, trusting to strength of the stout chair. His feet, on a level with the window below, were kicking at the raised sashes, smashing panes of glass, to find a toehold.

IN the room, men hidden in the closet had seen The Shadow’s leap. Their door came swinging open; a trio of gat-wielding ruffians, they shouted the news to those behind the adjoining door. That barrier swung inward; others with guns poured into sight. Already, revolvers were spurting, aimed at the only target that remained — the bottom half of the inverted chair.

Bullets shattered windowpanes. They thudded and dented the steel sash. Other slugs splintered the wedged chair legs. The chair began to loosen; with howls of triumph, The Python’s men riddled the wood to cut it completely free. Their object was to drop The Shadow from his dangerous perch.

Too late, this plan. With the chair’s first quiver, The Shadow had let his legs drive downward. His feet were lowering both small-paned sashes of the seventh-floor window. He dropped his hands from the chair and let the weight of his body carry downward.

Body outward, he would have hurtled backward had the ride been a long one; but the distance was less than a half dozen feet.

Outstretched arms thrust gripping hands against the brick sides of the lower window. Forward to full length, those hands found holds while firm feet still pressed the crossbars of the window sashes.

That lower window was made of wood; but it did not splinter until The Shadow’s arms thrust inward, to grab the tops of the sashes. As the threatening break began, The Shadow caught the inside wall, to roll through the top half of the window and reach the room within.

Blue lights had flickered all the while; their completed message was forgotten. Ripping shots had supplanted them; The Python’s henchmen no longer needing their chief’s orders to kill.

The splintered chair dropped from the eighth-floor window; it sped downward just as The Shadow rolled in through the seventh-story opening. By the time the elusive prisoner had dived sprawling to the floor, a crash from the concrete paving told that the chair had reached the ground.

Rising within the darkened lower room, The Shadow swung toward the hallway door. He had gained escape; he knew that battle would follow. His firm hands were whipping out those concealed automatics. Reaching the corridor, The Shadow sped in the direction of a stairway.

He reached his goal just as footsteps pounded downward from the eighth-floor level. The Python’s men had reached their upper windows to view the scene below. They were coming to halt the fugitive. A vicious pair of leaders had arrived with ready guns; but they found more than a mere traveler from danger.

THE SHADOW swung as his adversaries aimed. His heavy guns tongued instant flame. Each .45 boomed a message, a warning to others of The Python’s horde. Snarling foemen toppled; one sprawled upon a landing, the other pitched forward and somersaulted almost to The Shadow’s feet.

With the echoes of the automatics came a weird defiant laugh, The Shadow’s challenge to all comers. Again, his guns delivered blasts as uncautious enemies appeared upon the stairs.

One thug dived back to cover; another emitted a howl as a slug clipped his shoulder. Pursuers halted, The Shadow continued his passage down from the seventh floor.

More opposition came when he reached the lobby. Word had been telephoned below. The clerk and two elevator men were ready with their revolvers. They, too, were hirelings of The Python.

But they showed poor judgment in being away from cover. Aiming as they saw the figure of Louis Revoort, they were met by a strident laugh, its crescendo punctuated with roaring stabs from huge automatics. One fake elevator man floundered; then the other. The clerk cleared the desk, with a headlong dive. A clipping shot winged him in mid-air.

With smoking automatics, The Shadow swept unhindered to the street. He heard distant shouts; indications that the gunfire had alarmed the neighborhood. The Shadow had no time to linger. He was on his way to other missions. Word to Harry to join Cliff; word to Cliff to take Revoort and the treasure clear away from Cranston’s.

No trails must remain for The Python, supercrook, who still remained at large. Though The Shadow and the law had thinned the ranks of The Python’s henchmen, the supercrook still had hordes upon which he could call.

Counterstrokes would be forthcoming. The Shadow’s course was to nip them early. Balked, The Python would be forced to the defensive. Then could The Shadow seek The Python’s lair.