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 pa.s.sed the turn in the pa.s.sage.

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 pa.s.sage. 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 circ.u.mstances, 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.

CHAPTER XXII. THE TRIUMPH.

AGAIN, in reply came The Shadow's laugh. Rising in the glare of concentrated lights, a spectral form rose suddenly to view. Into the ranks of evil attackers ripped bullets from formidable automatics. Each .45 was opening a fierce barrage.

Revolvers answered. Hasty shots zipped past that swaying figure whose mighty guns belched death.

Never had evil foemen met with such resistance.

As his left hand gun clicked empty, The Shadow hurled it through the air and s.n.a.t.c.hed another from his cloak. A split-second later, his right hand flung its automatic and produced another weapon.

Again those devastating shots were withering the ranks of the riffraff. Crooks were sprawling all about, firing hopelessly, spreading along the deck. Hurling away telltale lights, they dived for cover, scattered by this cannonade that surpa.s.sed all belief.

It was The Shadow's only chance. To drive back the demoniac foemen with a taste of lead that would leave them crippled. Had he been dealing with a dozen, The Shadow would have gained his purpose; for never before had he raked attacking ranks with such superhuman fury.

But tonight, The Shadow dealt with twice one dozen; and half a dozen more. When his last shot roared its final blast, nearly a score of ruffians still remained, lying along the rail, scattered about the deck. To these cohorts came Courtney Dolver's new shout for the attack.

Revolvers popped, their flashes were puny compared with that swift barrage that The Shadow's guns had thundered. Jund and Dave had reached the deck; they were taking pot-shots in the dark. So were those two crew members who had lain silent ever since The Shadow's attack had saved them.

TO The Shadow, there was but one more chance. Dropping behind a little parapet, he tugged at the bonds of captured seamen. Wriggling free, yanking away their gags; these huskies were anxious to get into the fray. But they were weaponless; all they could hope to do would be to fight bare-handed besideThe Shadow.

Flashlights burned. Crooks knew that The Shadow's ammunition was exhausted. Glimmering rays revealed Jund, Dave and the armed seamen. The four dived for the interior of the ship. Half a dozen thugs started in pursuit.

To the others came Courtney Dolver's shrill order for the a.s.sault upon The Shadow's pitiful stronghold.

Dolver knew who was quartered there. He wanted to eliminate this one opponent whose might was equal to a score of ordinary foemen.

Far down the river were the approaching lights of the police boats, still more than a mile away. The Shadow saw them as he peered quickly from his cover; then his slouch hat vanished as flashlights focused on the tiny parapet.

His laugh rose in final, fearless challenge, a defiance to those about the deck. Though death might be The Shadow's lot, this cause might still be won by the law.

Shouting riffraff leaped forward, firing as they came, driving in to slaughter The Shadow and his weaponless companions. But as they opened with their scattered shots, a sudden burst of revolvers sounded from behind them. As ruffians paused, their snarling pals wheeled on the center of the deck.

A row of yellow faces was bobbing over the rail from the spot marked by the hanging ladder. Fists beneath them were clutching revolvers. Fingers were pressing triggers, delivering quick shots into the backs of the advancing thugs.

As oaths spat from tire lips of ruffians, wiry Chinamen came vaulting past the rail to crouch upon the deck. The Celestials were still firing while others bobbed into sight behind them.

Dave Callard had not come here alone. He had left Leng Doy and the Cantonese in cars up on the heights, believing that it would be best to interview Captain Jund alone.

But Leng Doy had deemed it wise to follow. He and his faithful followers had reached the railroad tracks when the firing had commenced aboard the Xerxes.

As half a dozen Chinamen plopped to the deck and spread to draw diverting fire, Leng Doy, himself, leaped into view. Half a second later, a bulky, stalwart American swung over the rail from the hanging ladder. Dropping beside the spreading Chinese, Detective Sergeant Markham brought his police revolver into play.

A NEW battle was on; though riffraff held the odds, their attack was broken. Most of them swung to meet these unexpected invaders. Only half a dozen still hesitated, still ready to drive on toward The Shadow and the released seamen. It was Dolver again who supplied them with initiative.

Flourishing his revolver, the arch-crook reached the hesitating group and waved them toward the parapet. Forgetting Markham and the Chinese, Dolver's new minions swung to obedience, turning flashlights and revolvers toward the silent parapet.

Their action came too late. Over that low barrier hurtled The Shadow. A creature of mighty blackness, he sprang upon the turning crooks. An automatic muzzle in each fist, he swung sledgehammer strokes, driving the heavy gun handles toward the ducking skulls of frantic thugs.

Hard on The Shadow's surge came Jessup and the rescued seamen. Anxious for fight, they leaped for aiming crooks, rolling the startled ruffians to the deck, knocking aside aiming guns, while The Shadow staggered sidewise in fierce grapple with a vicious pair of killers. A black fist shot out and clutched a revolver just as its owner aimed it. With a fierce twist, The Shadow wrested it from the would-be murderer's grasp. He had hurled his automatics away when this pair had piled upon him. Now he used one man's own gun to slug the fellow for a knock-out.

The last man was writhing, clamped by The Shadow's left arm. A cloaked limb was throttling him; the thug was helpless, with eyes bulging as he choked in the viselike grip. The Shadow looked up, still holding the revolver by its gleaming barrel. From a dozen feet away, he heard a vicious snarl.

COURTNEY DOLVER was aiming a revolver. The gleams of wavering flashlights bathed the archcrook in their glare; the same illumination showed Dolver the spot where The Shadow struggled. Dolver had the bead. His finger was on the trigger of his rising gun, while The Shadow's weapon was reversed.

The Shadow's right hand gave a toss. The revolver spun about, squarely into the fist that twisted it. The Shadow's forefinger sped for the trigger, just as Dolver blazed from a range of a dozen feet.

A bullet whistled wide as Dolver fired. A second quick shot clipped The Shadow's hat brim. The revolver steadied with a slight jerk as Dolver sought to deliver a third bullet that never left his gun. For in that interim, The Shadow fired twice.

Dolver wavered dizzily. As he swayed, his finger failed upon the trigger. The revolver slipped from his numbed hand. With a last sag, the archcrook flattened. His lips twisted out epithets; then their quiver ceased. The Shadow raised his left arm and let the choked thug slump to the deck.

The Shadow had studied Dolver's weakness. Murderous though the supercrook had been, Dolver had never trusted his own aim. That's why he had burned three shots into Ralgood; the same number into Ba.s.slett; and a full five into Shurrick's dying body.

At close, scorching range, Dolver had dealt with helpless, unresisting victims. At half a dozen paces, faced by The Shadow, the murderer's faulty aim had failed.

Firing was still scattering about the deck. The remnants of the riffraff horde were gathered at the bow, ready for a final charge, while Markham and Leng Doy's Chinese lay low, awaiting them. Pot-shots, wild thrusts in the dark, were but useless preliminaries. The Shadow stood ready to aid in the final fray; then to his ears came a token that told that he would no longer be needed.

Lights glimmered beyond the scow. Clattering footsteps on the deck of the water-logged craft. Sc.r.a.pings of the ladder. The police boats had arrived; attracted by the gunfire, Weston and Cardona were on hand.

The Shadow alone had guessed the meaning of these sounds. He watched the outcome.

In ragged fashion, the last of Dolver's minions came out from cover. They shouted as they drove across the deck. Markham and the Chinese greeted them with a low-level fire.

Two crooks sprawled; the others came on, shooting wildly from reloaded guns. Then came the climax.

An enfilading fire broke out along the rail.

Joe Cardona and three detectives had reached the top of the ladder, spreading apart to aim with earnest zeal. Police revolvers found easy targets; for Leng Doy had called for lights. The glare of flashlights held by Chinese fists had spotted the thugs in their final charge.

Odds were equaled; the hoodlums, by their own act, were losing numbers. Some turned to aim as new detectives swung in view along the rail. Then snarling ruffians gave up the fight. Dropping their guns, the defeated remnants yielded to the law.

Cardona's detectives crowded the riffraff to the bar. The searchlight from a police boat was hoisted, withits wire, to the rail of the Xerxes. Commissioner Weston blinked in amazement as he saw Markham standing there, Leng Doy beside him, with solemn-faced Chinamen on both sides.

FROM the hatchway came Dave Callard and Captain Jund; behind them the two seamen, who joined the ones that The Shadow had saved. Dave and the others had escaped thugs below by taking to the strong room.

Cardona, stepping into the light, saw Dave before him. Joe bounded forward, thinking that Dave must be a prisoner. Markham stopped him.

"Let him explain," suggested the detective sergeant.

"Dolver was the murderer," declared Dave, calmly. "I thought it was Mallikan, Markham. I found out I was mistaken. I was out at Dolver's thinking that Mallikan might be coming there to make trouble."

The final sentence was addressed to Cardona and Weston. Dave added a few more words.

"I ducked the night I came in," he admitted. "Just didn't want to be questioned by the police. I had too much at stake; the recovery of my uncle's fortune. I went to Leng Doy for advice" - he paused to indicate the Chinese merchant - "and while I was there, someone came in on us. Leng Doy thought I had better stay under cover. I did. I never went to Ralgood's."

"This young man is very good," nodded Leng Doy, solemnly. "He did fine things in China. My friends in that country told him to visit me when he came to New York. I was honored to be of service."

"When the murders started," added Dave, "I knew I was being made the goat. So I stayed in hiding, along with Leng Doy. Some of his men trailed this fellow this afternoon."

Dave pointed to Clyde Burke, who had arrived with Weston. The reporter was actually astonished.

"Callard barged in on me and Hungerfeld," put in Markham. "Along with a squad of c.h.i.n.ks. They grabbed us and carried us out in laundry hampers. They couldn't explain things in the hotel. We wouldn't have believed them.

"Hungerfeld blabbed about the Xerxes; so they headed here. As soon as they were on the open road, they cut us loose and told us the layout. They convinced us they were on the level. We said we were with them; so I stuck with Leng Doy and his bunch."

"Where is Hungerfeld?" demanded Weston.

"Up in one of the cars," replied Markham. "He's safe. We left a big Chinaman there to act as his bodyguard."

Captain Jund was introduced to Weston. The skipper thrust a paper into the commissioner's hand. It was a note that he and Dave had found in the uppermost of the boxes in the safe, while they were barricaded below.

"Milton Callard's handwriting," declared Jund, emphatically. "A codicil to his will, leaving everything to his nephew. There's plenty in those boxes that I just locked up again. We looked in some of them. Bank notes, securities, boxes of old family gems. It'll run higher than a million and a half, if I'm any judge."

Weston extended his hand in congratulation. Dave Callard received it warmly. Cardona edged up to add his good wishes. Clyde Burke smiled at thought of the story that he was getting for the Cla.s.sic. FROM beyond the trees below came the throb of a motor. Men swung about to see lights ascending past the woods. A plane was rising almost vertically, its course marking it as an autogyro. High in the dark it lifted, hovering below the close-wedged hulks of the ghost fleet.

The ship swung southward, its motor easing as it took its straight course. Then to listening ears came a sound that might have been a ghostly call, so faintly was it heard at that long distance. It was an echo of a challenge that had rung high tonight; a fierce defiance that had staggered a horde of evil fighters.

It was the laugh that had presaged the death of a master murderer, Courtney Dolver. Now its tone, though strangely like a knell, carried an indescribable quaver that bore a note of victory. Unearthly and unreal, that weird mirth faded; yet its lingering recollection could not be forgotten.

As fitting climax to the victory of justice, those men aboard the Xerxes had received a token from the master fighter who had won the cause for right. They had heard the triumph laugh of The Shadow.

THE END.