A perfect toss, The Shadow's. Victory would be in the bag the moment Steve caught the lobbed automatic. Instead, Steve m.u.f.fed it!

Bounding from Steve's frozen fingers, the gun landed in a flower bed.

Madly Steve dived after it, to the tune of a whiplash from the samurai sword, another stroke meant for The Shadow. Norland's slash sliced half a sleeve from The Shadow's cloak, but missed the target underneath, for The Shadow was adding a roll to his fall. Then Steve, groping for a gun he couldn't find, looked up to see murder in its final process.

Coming up beside the door, The Shadow was grabbing the only weapon he could find, a Filipino barong. But the short sword was still in its thong-bound wooden scabbard as The Shadow tugged it from the door, whereas Norland's samurai blade was bare.

Down came the curved sword with a fury that could not be warded. Only the bite of a rival sword edge could divert such a slash. Blade for blade, The Shadow would have had a chance, but his weapon was still encased in its primitive scabbard.

Norland's face, alight with the joy of murder, seemed to outvie The Shadow's defiant laugh. Steel against wood, with Norland the man who held the metal! Steve thought it was all over with The Shadow as the two strokes pa.s.sed.

FIRST to land was The Shadow's barong, and with the stroke its scabbard flew apart. What met Norland's shoulder was not a mere sheath composed of two wooden slabs, but a biting blade that hewed its course through the leather thongs, cutting them apart in the process!

Norland reeled, his own stroke going wide. The Shadow couldn't have deflected the samurai sword, so he diverted Norland's arm instead. In its blow, the unleashed barong cleaved half through Norland's shoulder, literally unhinging the arm below it. And Steve, a witness to that short-lived fray, was realizing that the correct way to unsheathe a barong was to use it!

Unique among weapons, a barong did not have to be drawn from its scabbard, as The Shadow had demonstrated!

Rolling after his own wide stroke, Norland sprawled. Blood was pouringfrom his shoulder down to the samurai sword, staining the long, curved weapon.

Norland, at least, was maintaining the tradition; the j.a.panese weapon was tasting blood - Norland's own!

It didn't satisfy Norland. Savagely, he tried to come to his feet, swinging the curved sword with his other hand. Instead of fending with the barong, The Shadow made a long dive through the doorway, a thing which made Steve wonder until he heard the blast of guns.

The men in the far corner of the garden were opening fire. They were aiming at The Shadow, until he made his quick feint away from their first shots.

Then, seeing Norland reeling to his feet, the charging crew of half-breed j.a.ps gave him a point-blank volley.

As Norland sprawled, Steve found the missing gun. He aimed for a skulker in a flower bed, only to hear another shot from atop a bridge. Steve pulled the trigger and a roar deafened him. It wasn't the blast from the gun he had regained, but from another, fired out through the doorway.

The Shadow, too, had reclaimed an automatic, the one that Norland had slashed through the doorway. He was taking over in his usual style, his first shot being a crippling delivery that toppled the gunner who had aimed straight at Steve. There was a howl, followed by a splash, as the foiled marksman went over the rail of the bridge and landed in the ca.n.a.l.

Plucking the second gun from Steve's hand, The Shadow sent the rescued man off through a flower bed. Again guns barked, and when Steve reached the corner wall he turned to witness the results. The Shadow was contending with three marksmen in a bizarre setting where they were quite at home.

Shots seemed to come from everywhere - stabs of flame from beneath the bridges, out of the lily pads, through the revolving spokes of the ancient water wheel. Like Norland, these killers were trying to get rid of The Shadow in order to have a chance at Steve.

But from his safe corner, Steve could hear The Shadow's laugh, accompanying the return shots. In attempting to outshoot The Shadow, those a.s.sa.s.sins were committing another form of hara-kiri. The Shadow's laugh was everywhere, his gun stabs anywhere - except those places where the skulkers aimed.

STEVE saw a patch of blackness flit across the lighted block that represented the museum doorway, but none of the snipers noticed it, for they were on the other side. A gun stabbed suddenly from beside the water wheel, to test The Shadow's response.

It came promptly, that response, straight through the spokes of the wheel.

An a.s.sa.s.sin sprawled, and another fired, too late. The Shadow had already spotted him and was one snipe ahead. As a figure rolled into a lily pond, Steve heard a gurgly cry: "Hayai! Hashi!"

Steve was to learn later that those words meant: "Quick - the bridge:"

Apparently one of the sagging j.a.ps was telling the last of the tribe where to find The Shadow. Up sprang a crouched killer, his gun chattering a stream of bullets into the hump of the nearest bridge as he charged for the span itself.

Tuned to a weird laugh, came a single shot from near the Shinto structurein the garden's center. The Shadow's final jab sent the last j.a.p spinning from the bridge. Only then did Steve realize that The Shadow, himself, had gargled those words in j.a.panese.

While the last a.s.sa.s.sin was taking his sprawl across the bridge rail, shots came from within the museum. Flashlights were glaring from the doorway, directed by men in blue uniforms. Attracted by the gunfire, the police had crashed their way through the front door of the old museum!

While the amazed cops were staring at the scene before them, a hand gripped Steve and started him upward to the wide base of the overturned paG.o.da.

Another boost from The Shadow, and Steve was going over the wall itself. Police saw him and shouted, but by then he was across, with blackness following after him.

At least they'd recognized Steve, for guns were barking, but the bullets were merely bashing the wall or whizzing above. Not only was Steve in the clear, but The Shadow was with him, thrusting him into a small rowboat that was moored beside the wall.

Using an oar as a paddle, The Shadow was propelling the boat silently beneath the great bridge. Past the bridge, they came ash.o.r.e beside a dead-end street just as a police boat came scooting down the river, to play its part in the coming man hunt.

Moe's cab was waiting on the dead-end street. Soon it was snaking a course past converging police cars that were all bound toward the East River, while The Shadow and Steve were riding westward. From the darkness beside him, Steve heard a whispered laugh.

It was The Shadow's token of triumph, another victory over insidious crime, amplified by the details which Steve related concerning Craig Norland, the murderer who had defied the Black Dragon.

In that tone, Steve detected a prophetic note, as though The Shadow had already begun some new mission. For The Shadow had a way of packing one triumph upon another in rapid succession.

This time the rule was working in reverse. From triumph, The Shadow was traveling to failure!

CHAPTER XIV.

THE UNSEEN HAND.

THE cab came to an abrupt stop. It was somewhere in Greenwich Village, a district well distant from the Norland Museum. Steve noticed a slight stir beside him; the swish of a cloak as the cab door opened. Then The Shadow's whispered tone: "You will wait here. Certain of my agents will soon join you and introduce themselves. Should they be needed, they will be summoned, you among them."

With that, The Shadow was gone. Gripped with the urge for action, Steve would have followed, but for the fact that Moe shoved his hand through from thefront seat and prevented Steve from opening the door that The Shadow had just closed.

"He'll be back," a.s.sured Moe. "He's just gone up to make sure that everything is all right with Myra."

"Who is Myra?" inquired Steve.

"Ming Dwan," explained Moe. "Her real name is Myra Reldon. She should have stayed at Doc Tam's. Instead, she went home."

"To Li Huang's?"

"No. To her own apartment."

Steve could now understand how the girl had flashed warnings that night at Li Huang's. It hadn't been East meeting West. Myra had simply dropped her Chinese pose for Steve's benefit.

Steve's thoughts jumped from the past to the present. The Shadow had told him of events at Li Huang's tonight. In disposing of Li Huang, the Black Dragon had nearly taken Myra's life as well. Spies of the Dragon Clan might have been watching for the pretended Ming Dwan after she left Tam's. In that case, her present peril could be greater than before!

Such was the reason why The Shadow was entering the apartment house where Myra Reldon lived as her real self!

Already a swirl of blackness was filtering through the dim entry of the apartment building. Reaching the automatic elevator, The Shadow entered it imperceptibly. The car started upward when he pressed the b.u.t.ton and immediately afterward the cloaked fighter drew a brace of guns. Should foemen be listening for the elevator's buzz, he would be ready to meet them the moment the car stopped at Myra's floor.

The Shadow was ready for all eventualities, except the thing that happened!

As it stopped, the elevator gave a sudden jar. A cable gave a clack above the car. Then the car simply lost all holds and dropped!

Down plummeted the elevator with The Shadow boxed inside it. The tw.a.n.g of a broken cable sounded like a giant's harp string, tuned to a note of death!

There was a crash as the car hit the bottom of the shaft. New sounds clanged up from the bas.e.m.e.nt level, where the car had struck. Clashing discords, like a hideous chorus of brazen-throated ghouls!

Then silence from the shaft. Low, babbling voices took up the tale from lurking spots within the apartment house. Creatures who served the Black Dragon were posted here, awaiting the crash that would mark The Shadow's doom. As if in vengeance for the members of their clan who had died at the Norland Museum, these lurkers had heard the clatter that turned The Shadow's triumph into failure!

QUITE oblivious to her present menace, Myra Reldon was emerging from a bathtub where she had soaked for nearly half an hour to dispose of the special dye that formed her Ming Dwan complexion. Myra was smiling as she slid her arms into a dressing gown and stepped into a pair of slippers. A weight in the pocket of her gown caused her smile to fade.

The weight was a gun. It reminded her that she might still be hearing from the Black Dragon, whose efforts to gain a hold in Chinatown had been thwartedlargely through Myra's own endeavors. Myra tried to shrug away the illusion of danger as she stepped into the living room and turned toward the bedroom door.

A hiss jogged Myra's memory anew. Coming about, she saw a man she recognized. He was one of Li Huang's former servants, a traitor who had worked for a traitor!

The man with the Mongolian look was toying with a knife. He watched for Myra's reaction to see if she would betray herself as Ming Dwan. But the resemblance between Myra and her Chinese counterpart was nil. In American style, Myra displayed her bewilderment, whereupon the man with the knife hesitated.

There was another hiss. Myra turned to see the second of Li Huang's former servitors. This fellow was angry at the other's hesitation. Still, Myra continued to bluff, hoping that these invaders wouldn't find her Ming Dwan costume which she had stowed deep in the bedroom closet.

For Myra was confident that The Shadow would soon rescue her from this predicament. Her cloaked friend was one who never failed. Hopefully, Myra looked toward the door from the outside hall, expecting The Shadow to materialize.

Instead, a snaky figure crept forward. It was the third of Li Huang's servants, the most insidious of the trio. Reaching Myra, the creeper whipped a hand into sight and extended it palm-upward. In the bowl of his hand rested a jet dragon with eyes of jade!

The death token!

This was the real test. If Myra quailed, she would admit herself to be Ming Dwan. The recollection of a jet dragon that had become a living lizard charged with deadly venom, was something that could not be quickly eradicated.

Despite herself, Myra recoiled with a shriek.

The scream gave her away. The knife-men lunged with their deadly blades.

Still staggering backward, Myra gave a frenzied glance toward the door.

No sign of The Shadow; no sound of his laugh. Too late for the mighty rescuer to deliver the aid that Myra needed. Tripping, Myra sprawled. As she toppled, she saw the glitter of the knife blades flashing toward her.

Then blackness obliterated all.

With the toss of those knives, every light in the apartment house was extinguished. Flat on the floor, Myra heard the pa.s.sing whispers of the knives above her. Darkness had arrived just in time to spoil the aim of the a.s.sa.s.sins.

Only The Shadow could have supplied so sudden an interruption. He had not failed!

COMING to her feet, Myra encountered a footstool, the thing that had so luckily tripped her. But she still wasn't safe. The killers whose knives had missed were lunging toward her in the dark! The lights came on again and Myra kicked the footstool at the nearest a.s.sa.s.sin, sending a slipper with it. The lights went off.

On and off - on and off - Such was the behavior of the lights as Myra dashed about the living room, flinging everything she could find: chairs, tables, even books. The whole thing was a mad dream in this kaleidoscopic setting where blinking lights produced a deceptive blur.

Better than darkness, those blinks. Knowing the apartment, Myra, could gain her bearing, whereas her pursuers couldn't. All the while, the lights kept up their eccentric behavior, sometimes short, then long in their flashes.

They were spelling a word in Morse code: "Come!" Help was on its way. The Shadow was bringing it, even though his own plight might be serious! As a blink showed the bedroom door, Myra dodged through, escaping the grasp of grabbing hands that managed only to catch the corner of her gown. Wrenching from that lone hold, Myra slammed the door home and turned the key. Amid the blinking light, she reached an open window which had a ledge leading to an adjoining roof.

Blinks ended and the lights stayed off. Men were pounding up the stairs in order to reach Myra's apartment. a.s.sa.s.sins quit hammering at the inner door and dashed out to the corridor where they were met by guns and flashlights brandished by The Shadow's agents.

Steve was a witness to what followed. Before Li Huang's former servants could use their regained knives, gunfire stopped them. One a.s.sa.s.sin was clipped at the stair top; he plunged across the rail and went down the narrow well to the ground floor, his howl trailing behind him.

The second flung himself through a window at the end of the hall and grabbed for something outside. A gun stab jounced him and he sprawled in s.p.a.ce.

Another screech drifted back from the depths.

The third, caught between a pair of guns, forgot about the elevator's fate.

Yanking the door open, he dived for the car as though he expected to find it.

His wail was hollow, like the crash that followed it.

There were four in the rescue party, not counting Steve. One, Clyde Burke, dashed into the apartment to call for Myra. The others threw flashlight beams into the elevator shaft. Seeing the broken cable, they started down the stairs.

Steve followed them.

Spotting fresh members of the Dragon Clan, The Shadow's men began to use their guns along the ground floor. There was a scurry that reminded Steve of rats in flight, then the harried Dragon men reached a door to the bas.e.m.e.nt, unbolted it and fled below.

Beyond the open door of an elevator that was bent but not broken, stood The Shadow. He was holding himself against the wall, clinging weakly to the master switch that controlled the lights in the apartment house. As enemies reached him, The Shadow tried weakly to draw a gun. The Dragon crew seized him.

Hoisted on their shoulders, The Shadow disappeared around a corner of the cellar.

Unable to fire, The Shadow's agents followed, only to be blocked by a door that was slammed in their faces. By the time they pulled the door open and reached the rear street, the agents were nonplused. Police were arriving, some on foot, others in patrol cars. Even an ambulance was scouting about to pick up the victims of a fray that had roused the entire neighborhood.

The Shadow was gone and his captors with him, as though some power of the Black Dragon had spirited them all into thin air!

CHAPTER XV.

THE DRAGON'S DECREE.

THE sound clashed through The Shadow's groping thoughts. Clang!

It didn't belong with the falling elevator or the light switch in thecellar. Not even with the shouts that The Shadow had heard his agents give!

Clang!

The sound meant motion, for it went with the vehicle in which The Shadow rode. He heard voices babbling beside him, but when he tried to rise, he couldn't. His hands and feet were tightly bound.

Clang!

This time the signal meant "Stop." The Shadow was lifted on a stretcher and carried out through a door that opened in the middle. In the light of a dim street, he looked back and saw the vehicle which had brought him: an ambulance!