Tower of Death

CHAPTER XXI THE FINAL FIGHT

A REVOLVER barked from the darkness in front of Montgard. Quarley, standing in the center of the turret, looked beyond the body of Stokes Corvin. As the servant stared, a second shot sounded. A bullet sizzled past Quarley’s head and flattened itself against the stone inner wall of the tower.

“Back, Quarley!” gasped Jarvis Raleigh. “Back, into the house!”

The owner of Montgard sprang through the inner door as he cried the warning. Quarley, backing stubbornly, placed shots from his revolver through the open outer doorway. The answers came. Advancing men from the darkness sent new bullets zimming into the opened turret.

Quarley’s delayed retreat brought misfortune. Had he obeyed Raleigh’s frenzied order, Quarley might have escaped unscathed. As it was, the outburst from the darkness proved too formidable. Quarley staggered as he neared the inner door. Twisting, the servant sprawled to the floor and dropped his revolver as he crawled toward the passage that led to the dining room.

Instinctively, Quarley chose this route because it led away from the front door. The center corridor was no avenue for retreat. It would be open to the invaders who had opened with their volley.

Jarvis Raleigh seized the revolver. Flat against the inner wall, the owner of Montgard held his ground. Suddenly, he stared wildly along the passage to the library, just as a man sprang into view from the library door.

Others had entered from the veranda. Fiercely, Raleigh fired. Two shots sent the invaders back into the library. Then the revolver clicked. The last bullet had been dispatched.

Dropping the emptied weapon, Jarvis Raleigh sprang toward the passage to the dining room. He grabbed Quarley and dragged the old servant toward that spot of security.

Momentary silence prevailed. Then came the growl of Mallet Haverly, from a spot just beyond the outer door. The racketeer had arrived with new cohorts to replace his former minions. Expecting shots from within, he was gathering his men for a rush.

Speedy Tyron was the little crook whom Jarvis Raleigh had seen at the library door. The lieutenant was there with part of the new mob. Like Mallet, he was waiting momentarily.

THE center passage of the old house was a gloomy, dimly lighted corridor. To all appearances it was empty. Yet something was moving in its obscurity. A stealthy figure had descended from the stairway.

The Shadow was creeping forward to gain the danger post — that meeting spot of three corridors from which Jarvis Raleigh and Quarley had fled.

As The Shadow, close to the wall, drew near to his objective, the signal came from Mallet Haverly. In through the front door dashed a trio of mobsters, swinging their revolvers.

Up straightened The Shadow’s form. Automatics thundered from the central hall. Hot lead seared the vanguard. These unexpected shots sent two mobsters sprawling; the third, stopping short in the center of the turret, was clipped as he aimed toward the spot from which the shots had come.

The Shadow sprang forward. Across the junction of the passages; into the turret; all the while his automatics were delivering their intermittent barrage toward the opening where the invaders must enter — the outer door.

Mallet Haverly, swinging in to follow his men, went down. A mobster toppled beside him. Other gorillas, seeing their companions fall, took to the darkness, seeking to get the range from a more distant angle.

The Shadow had foreseen this move. He swung back into the house, heading for the passage to the library. He gained his new objective just as shots broke loose from outside. A gorilla’s bullet skimmed the shoulder beneath the black cloak.

With gloved hands The Shadow was thrusting his automatics beneath his cloak. His black fists swooped forth, each with a new weapon. The action was accomplished at a timely moment. Speedy Tyron and a mobster had stepped into the passage from the library. Others were behind them.

The Shadow dropped as he fired. Speedy’s first shot whistled an inch above the black slouch hat. Bursts from the automatics. Speedy staggered; his companion sprawled. The Shadow sprang forward toward the doorway.

There was a reason for his attack in this direction. The gorillas out front had turned to meet new enemies. Shots had broken loose from a clump of bushes off beyond the house. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were joining in the fray. The Shadow’s agents were set to cover the front door as well as the veranda.

A mobster swung from the library door as The Shadow arrived at the spot. A revolver barrel glimmered between The Shadow’s eyes. A bulky finger pressed against the trigger just as The Shadow’s right arm swung up.

With a cannonlike roar the gangster’s gat dispatched its hot lead a half-inch past The Shadow’s forehead. The bullet’s swish was felt as the missile sped through the brim of the slouch hat. The Shadow’s left hand pressed the trigger of the automatic. The gangster swayed and began to crumple.

The Shadow’s left arm caught the falling gorilla. With the mobster’s body as a shield, The Shadow aimed his right hand across the fellow’s shoulder. Cold, steely eyes glared from beneath the hat brim toward a trio of mobsters who had backed to the veranda door.

ONE gorilla fired while the others sprang pell-mell through the open doorway. The Shadow, timing his shift to the upraised gun, delivered a weird laugh as the revolver bullet singed his right cheek. His automatic barked. The mobster fell, his finger trembling on the trigger of his gun.

The Shadow dropped the dead gorilla whom he had taken as a shield. Extinguishing the library light, he crouched toward the open door and reached the veranda with his stooped gliding motion. Fleeting mobsters had leaped from the parapet. The Shadow gained that vantage point.

Scattered gorillas, leaderless, had given up the attack on Montgard. Spreading through the darkness, they were closing in on the spot where The Shadow agents lay in ambush. Determined to clear this nest of enemies, they were firing as they approached. Cliff and Harry, prone in a ditch between two bushes, were answering with staccato shots.

The Shadow opened fire. With uncanny precision, he picked the flashes of gangster guns. Snarling cries came from the lawn. Futile shots were loosed toward the veranda.

Open warfare in the dark; such was the battle now. The Shadow, from the parapet, was making a grim fight to protect his agents from the sniping fire of vengeful mobsters. The outcome was in the balance. Harry and Cliff were in a spot from which they could not retreat.

Then came the long glare from headlights as an automobile swept into the driveway. The first car was followed by a second. As the first approached, a searchlight swung across the lawn. It stopped to show a gangster ducking for cover. A rifle shot burst from the car.

The driver stopped short in front of the great house. While he operated the searchlight, his companions piled from the automobile. Sheriff Burton Haggar had arrived with a crew of deputies.

THE fight was ended. Fleeing gorillas were scampering to cover. They were human targets for the rifle fire of skilled rural marksmen. Sprawling figures adorned the lawn, whenever the searchlight picked out a new ruffian.

Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland had lost no time. Coming from their ditch, they made haste off through the bushes, taking a sure path to safety. Unseen by the sheriff and his men, their escape was quick and easy.

A weird laugh came from the veranda. The Shadow, from this spot of security, had watched the defeat of Mallet Haverly’s hordes. His gibing tones indicated that he had foreseen this outcome; that his fight against surpassing numbers had been a battle against time.

Crouching, The Shadow gained the library. He closed the oak door behind him. The black cloak swished as The Shadow groped his way toward the bookcase in the corner.

A few moments later, the light clicked on. The Shadow was no longer visible. In his place stood Lamont Cranston. A smile upon his thin lips, this visitor to Montgard left the library and strolled along the passage toward the turret.

Once more in the guise of the New York millionaire, The Shadow was acting as the host of Montgard. While Jarvis Raleigh and Quarley were cowering in the living room, Lamont Cranston was quietly preparing to meet the sheriff and his men.

The Shadow had waged victorious battle; now it was his purpose to play a new part in the odd events to follow.