Zemba

CHAPTER XXII THE LAST RECKONING

A LONE fighter, faced by a horde of foes. Such was The Shadow’s status, here in the headquarters of Gaspard Zemba. The Shadow had penetrated to a spot of utmost danger. He was faced by double duty. A battle must be won; five prisoners must be rescued.

Ever since that night when Zemba had circled Paris aboard the blue cars of the Mediterranean Express, The Shadow had been playing a dangerous role. Previously, he had spotted the caveau where Georges and Bantoire met with Jacques. Bantoire had been right. The Shadow had been watching their hide-out, spying on them, even in its depths.

On the night after his first fight with Zemba, The Shadow had come to the caveau, to introduce himself as Zemba. He had used the three Apaches whom Zemba had discarded. He had given them the quest of discovering the one fact that he needed — the location of Zemba’s own headquarters!

The Shadow had talked with the Apaches as Zemba. He had watched them as The Shadow. They had worked out of the studio that The Shadow had given them. Finally, he had used the trio to capture Marlier and the guards, here in the Vraillard Palace. Zemba had never guessed what was going on. He had not even suspected possibilities until this moment of The Shadow’s appearance within the curtained doorway.

In the three-way medley, clever minds had worked cunning plans. Etienne Robeq had pretended to be The Shadow. Through that scheme, he had gained the aid of Harry and Cliff. Gaspard Zemba, passing himself as Robeq, had actually invoked the aid of the law and had been able to introduce false agents. But The Shadow had topped the game. Guised as Zemba, he had actually tricked Zemba’s own Apaches into aiding his destruction of the supercrook’s best schemes!

To Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, that part of the game was still puzzling. But they realized other facts. When they had gone from the Hotel Moderne to the Pension Grandine, The Shadow had been watching for them. He had seen them continue to the Hotel Princesse. He had found out that a Herbert Balliol was staying there. He had known that Balliol must be Robeq.

For only Robeq could have profited by pretending to be The Shadow. That game would have been useless to Zemba. Hence The Shadow had reasoned that Zemba could have chosen the role of Robeq. A possibility that proved to be fact. First, leakage of news from the prefecture had suggested its likelihood. Then had come the appearance of a man who claimed to be Robeq. The Shadow had long-since divined that the twist was a triple one.

Tonight, luck had gone against The Shadow. Through his three Apaches, he had cleared the way for invasion. He had counted upon Harry and Cliff. Robeq, unfortunately, had found them still at the hotel. Stepping into the game, Robeq had called the prefect. That had resulted in information reaching Zemba.

Reaching the Palais Vraillard, The Shadow had been too late. He had made no haste, for he wanted his agents posted. Sending agents, he had realized all that had happened. Talking with the unsuspecting Apaches, he had learned of the secret stairs up from the cellar. Arriving at his listening post, he had heard everything. He had opened the package that was supposed to hold a bomb. From it, he had brought his garb of black. That package had been a device to deceive the three Apaches.

ALTHOUGH he had foreseen developments, The Shadow had been unable to intervene. Matters would have proven confusing to the very men whom he had come to aid. Until the truth was out, The Shadow could not have acted. But now that Zemba had gained full control, the opportunity had come.

Even now, The Shadow could have waited; but he saw a chance that might not come again. Zemba had sent the false agents to the hallway. Robeq, Delka, Harry, Cliff — all were still capable to aid. Moreover, Zemba had forced the issue, by stating sudden suspicion regarding the guards who should have been on duty in the cellar.

This was a time that called for swiftness. Well did The Shadow meet the crisis. Thrusting himself through the curtained doorway, he had drawn attention by his challenging laugh. Zemba had turned; so had all others. Five helpless men were freed from menacing guns; for every weapon swung to greet The Shadow.

Automatics blasted their prompt message before a single crook had time to fire. Muzzles tongued spurts of flame that stabbed like fiery daggers. Four men were The Shadow’s targets. One was Gaspard Zemba; the second, the traitorous Sergeant Rusanne; the last two were false agents, who were still within the room.

Zemba and Rusanne sprawled simultaneously, while tugging at revolver triggers. They fell, firing uselessly and wildly, beyond heavy chairs that blocked further gunfire. The false agents, slower on the trigger, were spilled by the next blasts. One fired badly, peppering the wall beside The Shadow. The other did not fire at all.

The Shadow had ignored four others. They were the foreign spies, who had disarmed Harry, Cliff and the other prisoners. Those spies had thrown captured guns into the wastebasket and were fishing out their own instead. They were in the correct position for the mass attack which came.

Robeq and Delka were closest to the spies. Quick thinkers, they leaped forward to down those immediate foemen. Harry and Cliff were farther, but fully as spontaneous in action. They grabbed for the other pair.

Four pairs of fighters sprawled upon the floor; and into the fray came Monsieur Clandine. Having no antagonist, the prefect snatched the wastebasket. He yanked two guns from it and swung to aid The Shadow.

Clandine’s move was timely. The false agents from the hall were piling in with fury. The Shadow, sweeping forward to meet them, was quick with opening shots. Clandine joined; the agents fell back. Rusanne, who had been clipped in the left shoulder, bobbed up and snarled as he aimed for Clandine. The Shadow swung and blazed a shot that rolled the traitor to the floor.

A hiss from The Shadow. Clandine pounced over to aid struggling fighters. Delka and Cliff were being overpowered. Clandine used a gun butt to club the spy who fought with Delka. Robeq, hurling aside his own antagonist, piled to Cliff’s aid. Harry was subduing the man with whom he grappled.

DURING that action, The Shadow stood alone. He was facing the outer door, awaiting a six-man attack. He knew those false agents to be desperate fighters. Otherwise, they would not have joined the service of Gaspard Zemba. When they came, they would arrive en masse. This was their opportunity, while The Shadow stood unaided.

Oddly, the hands of The Shadow differed. The right one was gloved; the left was bare. No girasol glittered from his finger. He was like a statue formed of darkness except for that ungloved left hand. He was waiting for the danger that he knew was due.

Shouts from the hall. Six figures bounded into view. Like a phalanx, the uniformed fighters hurtled forward, revolvers barking as they came. Their object was to sweep through the open door; to riddle The Shadow, despite the cost of themselves. When the front men fell, the others would remain.

Automatics answered. The foremost agent sprawled before he reached the door. Then, from beyond the wildly barking guns came the crackles of new revolvers. While The Shadow waited, the false agents spread. Flinging themselves to the floor of the hall, they turned to protect themselves against an unexpected flank attack.

The three Apaches had arrived from below. The Shadow had counted upon them. They were attacking from the door of the stairs.

Georges and Bantoire had opened fire with their revolvers. The false agents had broken; then had dropped for cover. They had seen Jacques, between the other Apaches, ready with his submachine gun.

To the three Apaches, the uniformed men appeared to be ordinary agents. There was no opportunity for explanation. The Apaches were following orders that they believed had come directly from Zemba. Agents were their natural enemies. They were prepared to annihilate the squad.

The machine gun rattled. Jacques was spraying it while the false agents fired their revolvers. Bullets streamed against the walls of the hallway. Then the hail ceased. A widened grin spread across the pockmarked face of Jacques. He had exterminated the six false agents.

Georges was slumped upon the floor. Bantoire tottered; then sprawled. Jacques glared. Revolver shots, planned for Jacques, had reached the Apache’s comrades. Snarling as he started forward, Jacques was looking for another chance at massacre.

Within the beleaguered room, The Shadow waited. But while he watched the door, an action took place beside him. A figure was coming up from the floor. It was Gaspard Zemba. The Shadow’s first shot clipped the crook’s gun wrist. Zemba had lost his revolver; but he had lain waiting, in hope of future action. He had heard the clatter in the hall. He knew that the machine gunner might be one of his Apaches.

WITH a sudden lunge, Zemba reached his feet and sprang upon The Shadow. The cloaked fighter wheeled. Zemba’s left fist caught The Shadow’s right wrist. The Shadow swung his left-hand automatic. Zemba stabbed with his wounded arm. A lucky jolt sent the automatic bounding from The Shadow’s bare hand.

A snarl from the door. It was Jacques. He saw The Shadow. The latter’s head swept backward. His slouch hat skimmed to the floor; cloak folds slipped from his neck. Above that garb of blackness, Jacques saw the leering features of Gaspard Zemba.

Jacques saw the real Zemba also; he spied another visage that was distorted in fiendish anger. For a moment, Jacques had favored The Shadow; his loyalty turned again to Zemba. He could not spy the latter’s left hand; but suddenly, he saw The Shadow’s. The black-clad fighter had suddenly flattened his hand against the front of his cloak.

There, framed against a solid background, Jacques saw a hand that lacked its third finger, except for a short stump. The Apache needed no other talisman. Stopping his finger on the trigger, he aimed his machine gun toward Zemba. His final hesitation proved his finish.

A revolver barked. It was Robeq’s. The detective was a sharpshooter, skilled through his service in the Foreign Legion. His bullet found the Apache’s heart. Jacques rolled headlong to the floor, carried forward by the weight of his machine gun.

The Shadow’s left hand remained motionless while Zemba, twisting, glared at the sight of the missing finger. Then came a whispered laugh. The hand moved forward, away from the black cloak. A bent finger straightened. The missing digit-popped into view.

The Shadow had matched Zemba’s device of a false finger. He had found it quite as simple to be one finger short. Always, when he had shown his hand to Apaches, The Shadow had placed it upon a table, against his coat, or encircling a pack of cigarettes. With other fingers pressing close together, the illusion had been perfect. A finger gone from the lower knuckle outward!

With a lunge, The Shadow sent Zemba sprawling. Venomous as before, the supercrook snatched up a revolver that lay beside the body of Rusanne. He aimed with his left hand. Steadily, The Shadow covered him. Once before these two had met in duel, near the Allee des Bijoux, when The Shadow had been Zemba; and Zemba had been Robeq.

On that occasion, Zemba had loosed a wild volley of bullets; while The Shadow had deliberately fired one wide shot. He had wanted to spare Zemba, then. At that time, The Shadow had not learned the location of the murderer’s hide-out.

There had been another in that fray in the Montmartre. Etienne Robeq, at that time passing as Herbert Balliol. Then, he would have fired at The Shadow, had he gained the opportunity. Remembrance of that error struck him at this moment. Robeq aimed for Zemba and fired. The Shadow had been waiting, testing Zemba’s nerve to the last. Robeq’s bullet saved him the trouble of dispatching the evil murderer.

Other revolvers sounded, hard after Robeq’s. Delka and Cliff had responded instinctively. Zemba’s rolling body sprawled motionless in death.

THE SHADOW stepped across to the safe, where Harry and Clandine were holding the four spies. He stooped before the fireplace. With steadied fingers of his ungloved left hand, he began to manipulate the dial upon which Robeq had failed. Harry, while he watched, remembered other events.

It had been The Shadow who had come into the Allee des Bijoux behind the Cabaret du Diable. The Shadow, as Zemba; but with his cloak, hat and gloves covering the disguise. He had come ahead of Robeq. The Shadow had fought. He had lost his black garb. After that, he had appeared as Zemba. Robeq — as Balliol — had come from the far end of the street. Harry had thought him to be The Shadow, when the flashlights had started their play!

Harry knew now why The Shadow had so easily escaped Zemba. Actually, the prisoner had been Robeq; his captor, The Shadow. To aid Robeq, The Shadow had deliberately left him the key. Then, later, Robeq had actually trapped Zemba, in the Allee des Bijoux. Thinking Zemba to be The Shadow, Robeq had let him go. Apparently, it had been The Shadow capturing Robeq!

Strange twists of circumstances; yet all were plain at last. Right had gained the victory; to complete the triumph, the door of the safe swung open. The Shadow had solved the combination. Stepping back, he let the others throng forward, eagerly. Robeq, Delka and Clandine, while Harry and Cliff guarded the spies.

Sealed packages came forth in eager hands. Bulky envelopes containing their important documents. The military plans from which Gaspard Zemba had hoped to reap his millions. Besides these trophies were stacks of money, boxes of gems — loot that Zemba had gathered in other campaigns of crime.

A warning hiss.

Robeq and Delka sprang about, leaving Clandine at the safe. The Shadow had picked up his slouch hat; again it was on his head, while his left hand was pointing toward the four spies. He wanted them guarded. Robeq and Delka nodded, though they did not know The Shadow’s reason.

THE answer came. The Shadow beckoned to his agents. They headed for the door at the left, through to the room beyond the curtains. Lights blazed suddenly. Robeq and Delka heard the roar of new gunfire; then snarls, thuds and groans.

Marlier and the other guards had broken their bonds. They had guessed that matters could have gone wrong; for they had been given detailed instructions by Zemba, including the possibility of a fake squad of agents. The Shadow had heard them coming up by the secret stairs. He and his agents had gone to deal with them.

While Robeq and Delka listened, Clandine cried out. The spies were making a sudden lunge, to overpower their three remaining captors. Robeq and Delka wheeled as one. The spies were upon them. Guns boomed. Robeq and Delka had no other alternative.

Two of the spies sprawled dying. A third cringed, clutching a wounded arm. The last spy surrendered. Delka had him covered; Clandine held the recovered spoils. Robeq dashed to aid The Shadow. He reached the far room, to find it dark. He clicked a flashlight and surveyed the scene.

Sprawled about were helpless Apaches: Marlier and the others who had made their mad attack. They had met The Shadow and his agents. The master fighter and his aids had gained the opening shots. They were gone, all three, down by the secret stairway.

As Etienne Robeq lingered upon this scene of final fray, he heard a sound which held him rigid. It came from depths below, like a voice of vengeance issued within the confines of a tomb.

It was a laugh that spoke of triumph. Mirth that came as a last knell; a toll of judgment, to mark the end of the notorious Gaspard Zemba. To Etienne Robeq, it came also as a parting token from The Shadow and the stalwart men who had aided him in battle.

Such was the laugh of The Shadow.