The Ribbon Clues

CHAPTER XXI. THE BATTLE BEGINS

“THERE is more to tell,” intoned The Shadow, his voice sepulchral in the hollow room. “More than you have told, Dolver. You were the man who was deceived, when you believed that your ways were hidden.”

Dolver and Lessing had let their revolvers fall. The weapons had thudded upon a padded flooring. Both were staring at avenging eyes; their faces were frozen, while their arms came slowly upward.

“I learned your game at Shurrick’s,” resumed The Shadow, his tone a sinister whisper. “You spoke of the penthouse door; you described its slam. Yet Lattan, who heard the shots plainly on the floor below, reported no sound preceding them.

“Those ropes proved that you could have tied them. The gun on the ledge was obviously a blind trail. For Dave Callard could not have been the murderer. The search at Ralgood’s showed too many signs of thoroughness. The letter from China had been seen but left there.”

The Shadow paused. The men who stared at his vague form were realizing his logic. Defiant as he stared, Dolver was realizing his mistakes.

Inconsistencies. Two men slain at Ralgood’s; one spared at Shurrick’s. A murderer pressed for time lingering to bind and gag a victim. But to these had been added Dolver’s own statement of the slamming door. It had proven his story a lie; but the police had missed the slip. Not so The Shadow.

“You were under surveillance, Dolver,” stated The Shadow, “from the time that you left the guardianship of the law, the morning after Shurrick’s death. I was at your home on Long Island, waiting in case you chose to fare abroad.

“While you were watched, there could be no murder. Meanwhile my trap was closing. You were being forced to a deed that would reveal your double part. To strengthen your story, you were forced to feign an attack against yourself.”

DOLVER gaped. The Classic story had been inspired by The Shadow! The fakery in which Lessing had aided could have been turned into a betrayal. The Shadow had given the law an opportunity to prove a case against Dolver; and thereby clear Dave Callard. Odd circumstances alone had prevented that result.

“Dave Callard suspected Mallikan,” declared The Shadow. “He came to Long Island and was seen there. That spoiled your self-betrayal, Dolver, for betray yourself you did. In murdering your victims, you used many shots. Yet only one bullet was fired when you lingered at the window.

“That was the shot of a marksman. One who was calculating; one who would have fired again had he sought to slay you. He found his target; it was not your heart. It was the candelabrum which you clutched so tightly. Another proof that you expected the bullet that was to come.”

The Shadow’s steady eyes were on Lessing. The marksman cringed; he knew that his part had been revealed.

“You were not watched after that night,” concluded The Shadow, his gaze indicating Dolver. “Detectives were with you. While they were present you dared not move. When I learned of Hungerfeld’s arrival, I protected him. While doing so, I learned that Cardona had told you of the final ribbon.

“I saw that ribbon. From it, I gained the full secret. I learned the final facts. Every detail of your game was plain, including the murder of Basslett, which I had correctly attributed to you, even before I knew you by sight and name.”

Dolver’s face was livid. He had been balked at every point. Clenching his fists, the archfiend looked ready to pounce forward. The looming guns caused him to change his wild desire. Each .45 seemed trained squarely upon him.

The Shadow’s speech had ended. Of Dave Callard, The Shadow had no criticism. The Shadow knew that Leng Doy had befriended Dave. The hiding tactics which both had used were merely an effort to enable Dave to clear himself. As for Roger Mallikan, no further thought was necessary.

Dave had suspected Mallikan falsely; Dolver had ignored the shipping man because Mallikan knew nothing. Had Mallikan been of any importance, other than that of ignorant intermediary, Dolver would have eliminated him prior to killing Ralgood and Basslett.

THE SHADOW’S eyes were commanding. His words had told Dave and Jund that he was here in behalf of justice. As he gazed straight toward the delivered men, they realized what they were to do.

Drawing their revolvers, they forced Dolver and Lessing into a corner. The Shadow lowered his automatics and stepped into the strong room.

Two paces; then he whirled. Whatever his plan had been, circumstances had forced a change. Footsteps were coming from the passage. Cray and Partridge were returning. The Shadow sprang out to surprise these arrivals.

Had darkness cloaked The Shadow, all would have been well. During their present approach, however, Partridge and Cray saw no reason for caution. They still believed that Dolver was master of the strong room. Hence it chanced that Cray pressed the button of a flashlight, just as The Shadow sprang into the passage.

The cloaked warrior came squarely into the flashlight’s beam. A springing figure, whirling as he came, The Shadow was recognized as a foe. Not only by Dolver’s two servants; but by others who followed them, a quartette of rowdies who belonged to the shore band that Dolver had subsidized for the attack on the Xerxes.

Cray dropped the flashlight. He had no time to aim with his rifle; nor had Partridge. Together, the pair swung forward, swinging their long-barreled guns like clubs. Completely blocking the passage, they fell upon The Shadow, trying to beat him down in the darkness just outside the strong-room door.

The Shadow swerved. One rising arm diverted a swinging rifle, Cray’s. Fiercely, the servant seized upon his antagonist, while Partridge tried to deliver a blow in the dark. Another flashlight clicked, in the hand of a following thug. Partridge saw The Shadow and swung to club him with the rifle.

An automatic spoke. Partridge’s swing went wide. The servant toppled, sprawling sidewise; Cray, taking advantage of The Shadow’s diverted action, clutched fiercely at his antagonist’s throat.

The Shadow wavered backward; then pressed the trigger of his second gun. A muffled report: Cray slumped to the floor. The Shadow jolted back against the passage wall.

Arms outstretched, automatics momentarily useless, The Shadow lay revealed within the flashlight’s glare.

Beyond the flattened shapes of Cray and Partridge were the four hoodlums who had witnessed the opening of the fray.

They recognized The Shadow. Crooks wanted by the law, ruffians who had chosen the ghost fleet as a hideout, they knew of this master fighter whose garb of black was his mark of identity.

Had these hirelings come down the hatchway expecting sudden fray they would have gained their chance for murderous work. The Shadow was actually within their grasp, unable for the moment to cope with them.

But Cray and Partridge had told the rowdies that they were not needed for battle. The servants had held the rifles; these others had not drawn weapons.

They were making up for that mistake at present. Two scoundrels were yanking revolvers from their pockets; one thug was pulling out a blackjack, while his companion — the man with the flashlight — was bringing forth a steel wrench that he had stolen from some abandoned ship.

THE four came forward in a surge, whipping their weapons into play. As the attack swept toward him, The Shadow dropped from the wall. Toward the floor, below the beam of that high-held flashlight, just as the first of the crooks opened fire.

Bullets sizzed above The Shadow’s hat. Automatics thundered as two would-be killers stopped short to fire downward. One managed a shot; his bullet skimmed The Shadow’s cloaked shoulder. Then he, like his pal, began to slump. The Shadow had given them hot lead, straight up from the floor.

Over the falling crooks came the last pair, hurdling those sinking bodies. The Shadow met them coming up; their instant attack sent him reeling backward. One swung the blackjack; The Shadow stopped it with a sideswing, his automatic striking the hand that swished the leather-covered weapon.

Then, with a twist, The Shadow jolted back the rowdy with the wrench. His forearm did that trick; his hand chopped downward and the second automatic thudded the blackjack wielder’s skull. That thug sank.

Viciously, the last crook swung the wrench. The Shadow was still twisting. The metal bludgeon struck his arm, glanced off and hit the side of the slouch hat.

Only the thickness of the felt served against the final stroke of this angled blow. The Shadow staggered past the man in the passage, zigzagging toward the stairway to the deck, reeling with every stride.

The thug had opportunity. He turned his flashlight on The Shadow and saw the latter’s plight. On the floor were revolvers and rifles. Had the crook chosen one of those weapons, he could have dropped The Shadow in his tracks. But this thug had tasted the triumph of one slugging delivery.

The wrench was still in his hand. He wanted to use it again; to pound away until he had accomplished primitive murder. Wielding his improvised cudgel, the thug started forward in pursuit.

THE SHADOW had stumbled at the stairway. Twisting he had fallen back upon the steps. His left arm was moving slowly, numbed by the stroke that had glanced from it. His eyes stared upward, straight into the glare of the flashlight that was bearing down upon him. For the moment, The Shadow could not grasp the situation.

He knew only that the light was carried by a foe. His head slumped back against the steps. His right hand moved upward with instinctive action. His finger pressed the trigger of the automatic. The gun muzzle blazed its message; the .45 kicked back against The Shadow’s chest.

The driving thug jolted. A harsh cry came from his snarling lips. His surge carried him onward; but he was staggering as he reached The Shadow. The flashlight dropped from his loosening left hand. The wrench fell backward from his upraised right.

Gasping incoherent oaths, the thug clamped both hands against his stomach; then slumped downward and rolled on the floor.

The Shadow twisted about. Still clutching his gun, he groped for the steps. From above came the draught of cold air; the welcoming atmosphere of the deck.

Wavering slightly, tripping at intervals, The Shadow made his way to the clear. Crisp air was reviving; yet he slumped slightly as he sought his balance.

A lantern swung from an opening down the deck. One of the crew had come from below, hearing shots somewhere aboard. Savage oaths sounded from along the rail.

The Xerxes was alive with ruffians, instructed to remain above. They had thought that the shots were delivered by Partridge and Cray, doing murder below. But this lantern, indicative of a crew member, was their signal for a mass attack.

The riffraff surged forward. Swinging revolvers and blackjacks were the weapons with which they intended to beat down the helpless seaman. No need for shots, they thought. The sailor, however, thought differently. He had a revolver; he began to use it, firing blindly. Ruffians scattered.

Another lantern swung into view. A second seaman began a volley. This time, crooks replied. They opened a barrage; the sailors hurled away their lanterns and dropped to the deck. Dolver’s new allies were here in power; a score against a pair, they were ready to charge in and wipe out the two who had opposed them.

They had not reckoned with The Shadow. The cold night air had revived that fighter; the bark of gun inspired him to battle. As riffraff charged, The Shadow swept forward. His automatics blasted stopping shots into those advancing ranks.

Above the roar of battle sounded the peal of mighty laughter, The Shadow’s challenge to the outspread invaders. Spurting guns were the targets that The Shadow chose.

His swift shots found his foemen. They, in turn, were aiming; those who were wise laid low and watched for The Shadow’s gunfire. They jabbed revolver shots in reply.

SWISHING through darkness, turning, twisting The Shadow set a zigzag course that none could follow.

He was heading toward the bow; his laugh came as a new taunt as he dropped emptied automatics beneath his cloak and brought forth another brace of weapons.

Crooks fired blindly; again they heard the mockery from farther forward. Automatics spurted; then, once more, The Shadow zigzagged as he sought a new position.

As he fired from close beside the bridge, The Shadow wheeled suddenly. Two crooks were rising from a spot close beside him; they were picked members of the horde. Dim against the deck, they had some purpose here.

As he heard them clatter forward, The Shadow surged squarely against the pair, swinging his heavy automatics. His sweeping drives beat down aiming arms; for the pair had made a wrong guess in the darkness.

The Shadow drove new blows. One thug thudded; the other grappled. The Shadow delivered a single shot; the crook’s grip loosened. New shots burst from the deck as The Shadow spun away diving for the cover where the pair of foemen had been.

Dropping low in the darkness, The Shadow stumbled over huddled bodies. He had come upon the captured members of Jund’s crew.

Here in this vantage point, The Shadow waited. Huddled in darkness, he reloaded his first weapons while creeping figures rose and scurried along the deck.

Reserves were coming up the ladder from the scow. The Shadow did not try to stop them. He was holding off for time, seeking to save these captured men as well as those two sailors who were crouching somewhere, waiting. Until a new attack began, The Shadow chose to reserve his power.

EVEN as The Shadow waited on the deck, new events were starting below; happenings that were due to precipitate that delayed attack by men of evil.

In the strong room, Captain Jund and Dave Callard had been motionless during the fight in the hall.

Somehow they knew that their cloaked rescuer possessed the ability to fight lone combat.

They had steadily held Courtney Dolver at bay, with Lessing helpless also. But the sound of gunfire from the deck above had given cause for worry. Dave had suggested going up; Jund had given him the nod.

As Dave turned to leave the strong room, the unexpected happened.

Lessing sprang forward upon Jund. The captain met the attack with a pointblank shot. Lessing kept on, though crippled, bowling down Jund. Across the struggling forms sprang Dolver.

Dave wheeled to grapple with the archcrook. Dolver staggered him with a surprising punch that landed squarely on Dave’s jaw.

Jund rolled free from Lessing, who rolled groaning to the floor. The captain fired at Dolver; he was too late to clip the murderer.

Dave followed suit from the corner where Dolver had thrust him. His shots failed; Dolver had passed the turn in the passage.

Kicking a revolver in the dark, Dolver scooped it up and kept on. He gained the stairway and was halfway up in it when Dave and Jund arrived to fire wild shots along the passage. Again, their bullets failed to reach the supercrook. Dolver gained the deck.

The Shadow, from his vantage spot was watching down the river, where tiny lights were twinkling from close beside the water. He knew the meaning of those lights; they told of the approaching police boats.

Two miles away, it would be four minutes before they arrived.

The Shadow was holding out for that arrival; the change of circumstances, however, was destined to end his purpose. Courtney Dolver, coming out into the temporary silence of the deck, was here to command a devastating onslaught.

A sharp cry in the night to lurking skulkers, who needed only this order to turn them into demons. Upon that cry came the glare of flashlights and the bark of guns. Their numbers increased by new reserves, thirty murderous men were surging out from cover at the command of an insidious chief.