The Shadow - The White Skulls Part 8

SWEEPING lights, blazing guns, both had their play but briefly. The lights certainly weren't uncovering The Shadow; therefore it seemed logical that the gunfire had found him. All this was happening while the overturned ash-can was completing its roll to the wall from which it slowly recoiled, its metallic echoes drowned by the louder fury of the guns.

And then, as suddenly as the attack had opened, the counterattack arrived.

Other guns spurted valiantly from the alley entrance, the spot that killers had immediately ignored. Whining bullets skimmed the edges, of the roofs and bashed against the tops of walls. Flashlights went flying from hands of owners who realized that they were making themselves targets.

The Shadow's agents had arrived promptly in the wake of their chief and were giving the opposition plenty.

Lurking murderers hadn't bargained for such a response from an unexpected quarter. They took to flight and wisely, for The Shadow's fighting crew didn't stop at walls, or for that matter, roofs. They scaled the walls as the first step in reaching the roofs and during the process, they seemed to draw themselves up by their own gunfire. Though lacking time to chop down the routed opposition, they reduced it to an amateur status. Aces all, The Shadow's fighters took over the roof tops in no time, only to find that the enemy had scattered.

There still was the question of The Shadow's fate, for in this rapid fray he hadn't fired a single shot, which was something more than unusual.

Anxiously,the agents gathered abandoned flashlights and turned them down into the courtyard, hoping to find some sign of their chief.

The Shadow was gone, as totally as if the cobblestones had swallowed him!

All that remained as evidence of the cloaked invader's brief adventure was the overturned ash-can lying empty with its lid beside it.

That happened to be the answer to the riddle. The ash can hadn't lost its lid until after the counterattack. The Shadow had turned that crude device to his own use.

All he had done was ease himself into the big container, drawing down the lid before overturning it from within. The Shadow, encased in a cylinder of metal, had been rolling across Thorneau Place while his enemies were raking it with shots that were directed at every spot but the right one, which in turn was the one invulnerable item on the scene of battle!

Now that his agents had taken over, The Shadow was departing by the very route that he had entered, hoping if possible to handle other phases of this peculiar situation.

Only a block from Thorneau Place, a big car skirted nervously as its front-seat occupants went into a sudden huddle. This car belonged to Brenz; its driver was Hugo, his companion, Matthew. Chauffeur and butler couldn't understand the prolonged outburst from the depths of Thorneau Place. As they veered around the block, Matthew hoa.r.s.ely urged Hugo to avoid the path of a car that came racing from the next street.

That car was followed by another, both making their getaway while distant police sirens gave evidence that the gunfire had been reported. Hugo turned the big car in the opposite direction, determined not to be linked with the fugitives that had just sped past. Matthew started to commend the choice, only to interrupt himself as he heard the car door slam.

Then a crisp voice was delivering orders, for between the shoulders of Matthew and Hugo peered a face that both recognized under the pa.s.sing street lamps.

It was the face of a man who had visited Philo Brenz, but not recently.

If the face had belonged to Lamont Cranston, Brenz's men might have accepted him as something of a friend. But the face was one that bulged, with eyes that glistened from their hollows like the teeth that formed an ugly smile.

The unexpected pa.s.senger was Alban Sark!

Not only did Sark give orders; he backed them with a gun that moved from one man's neck to the other. Hugo took those orders and Matthew approved them, though silently. This car really had a back-seat driver, for Sark deserved the term, considering how his mere gestures guided their course.

Uncannily, this skull-faced man directed Hugo away from the paths of converging police cars, until they were riding entirely in the clear. Then, Sark stated exactly where he expected to be taken.

Reaching a neighborhood far removed from Thorneau Place, Brenz's car disgorged Sark and then scooted off like a boy finis.h.i.+ng his last day of school.

Unlike Cranston, Sark didn't step into sheltering darkness, instead he stood conspicuously on the curb. His eyes, though, probed the gloom around him, inviting any lurkers to come out and fight, but none put in an appearance.

Then, pocketing his glittering revolver with a defiant, jerky motion, Sark s.h.i.+fted a squarish package under his arm and stalked along the street and around a corner. There, Sark walked into a little restaurant that bore the sign: CAFE UNICORN.

Above the door was a sign bearing a picture of the heraldic creature from which the cafe was t.i.tled, but Sark paid no attention to it; likewise, he ignored the hat-check girl who smiled and reached for his odd package.

Continuing to the rear of the cafe, which was modeled somewhat in the shape of Thorneau Place, Sark took a table for four and placed his package very carefully upon one of the vacant chairs.

A waiter came over, nodded, and tendered a bill of fare, which Sark gestured away as something unnecessary. Nodding again, the waiter decided that Sark wanted his usual order. Relaxing, Sark simply waited for something to happen. It did.

From a corner of the cafe came a girl in blue, whose blonde hair showed conspicuously against the high circle of her halo hat. She stopped at Sark's table and faced him boldly, covering a certain trend toward apprehension with a wise, steady stare. Receiving no invitation to sit down, the girl reached to a chair.

"Not that one!" spoke Sark, quickly. "Around here. I have a package on that chair."

The girl saw that there was a package and gave the chair a wide berth.

Noting a quick change of her expression, Sark gave a short laugh.

"Worried, Ilga?" queried Sark, soothingly. "You needn't be - at least not yet."

Ilga Vyx set her lips firmly; then became quite casual, even to the gesture that her pliant fingers made in the direction of the package.

"Since when have you been carrying your own, Alban?"

"Only recently," returned Sark. "The idea came to me as in a dream."

Ilga's dumb stare was a pretense.

"A nightmare," specified Sark. "I saw that cab blow up in Stanwich, clear from my hotel window. I took a room on the seventh floor just because of the view."

Placing a cigarette in a holder, Ilga poised so Sark could provide a light.

When he had, the blonde said: "You were very lucky, Alban."

"More so than I realized," stated Sark. "Some people had the notion that one of my suitcases contained the explosive that obliterated that cab. It gave me the notion."

"And that is why the package?"

"That is why the package. Two can play with dynamite as well as one, except that Zune uses something more than dynamite."

Ilga was raising one hand warningly.

"Maybe that package contains something more than dynamite," confided Sark.

"Perhaps I know more than Zune realizes, or has he thought of that?"

"I wouldn't know."

"At least you came here to watch for me," expressed Sark. "Of course it's Wednesday, my usual night at the Unicorn. But I might have changed my habits after what happened in Stanwich."

"Yes, you might have."

"I would have," a.s.sured Sark, "if I hadn't brought along that package. Go tell that to Zune."

Ilga gave a rather hopeless shrug. "Don't accuse me, Alban." Ilga failed badly when it came to faking a pleading tone. "You know I never see Zune."

"I may have thought you didn't," retorted Sark, "or I may have made you think I thought you didn't. But after what happened at Stanwich -"

"Quit harping about Stanwich!" gritted out Ilga, savagely. "What would I know about what happened there?"

"Enough to keep you from taking a ride in the wrong sort of taxicab,"

declared Sark, reducing his tone to a purr. "Being alive ends your bluff, Ilga."

Momentarily disgruntled, Ilga finally managed a disparaging shrug.

"All right," she admitted, "I did see Zune. But I'm like Ludar. I'm trying to help you."

"Ludar?" queried Sark. "The name does sound familiar -"

"Ludar sent me here tonight," interrupted Ilga. "I told him I'd phone him if you were here, so he could talk to you."

"Why didn't he just phone for himself?"

"Because he didn't want to ask for you if you weren't around. If you'll only believe me, Alban -"

"All right, call Ludar."

Ilga went to a phone booth in a corner of the cafe. When she returned, she merely paused at Sark's table.

"Ludar is on the phone," undertoned Ilga. "I'll see you later, Alban."

Sark carried his precious package with him to the phone booth, while Ilga hurried out the nearest door, not anxious to remain in the proximity of such a bundle. Over the phone, Sark laughed when Ludar, speaking in a stolid tone, expressed the wish to meet Sark somewhere.

"Very well, Ludar," said Sark, at length. "Come around for me, but be sure you stay in the car. We can chat while we ride, but I'll have the package that Ilga probably told you about. If I decide to blow myself up, I intend to have company."

Back at his table, Sark had less than a ten minute wait before the door man entered to tell him that a car was waiting for him outside. Having canceled his dinner order, Sark was ready to leave, but he was careful to take his package with him. The car proved to be a sizable sedan, with two men in the front. A third occupant, Ludar, was in back, beckoning through the open door.

Stepping into the car, Sark sat down, all the while handling his package very carefully, without tipping it more than a few inches. Ludar reached around him and across, showing a blunt, darkish face that did not reflect the apprehension which he must have felt. Hand on the door, Ludar paused.

"All right, Ilga," he said, "come along if you want."

Before Sark could turn, the girl had stepped into the car and was sitting down beside him, turning her head to adjust her overlarge hat while she closed the door with her other hand. It took quite a dip to get a hat like that through the door in the first place, which was why Ludar hadn't noticed something that became apparent when this new pa.s.senger turned her face toward the men beside her.

Ilga had more than a new hair-do; she had a hair-dye. At least it looked as though the blonde had converted herself into a brunette, until Sark and Ludar saw her face. Then they realized that she wasn't Ilga at all.

The girl was Margo Lane, smiling grimly above the muzzle of a compact automatic that she had drawn from her purse. All Margo had to say was one word: "Surprised?"

CHAPTER XVI.

THEY weren't surprised, exactly.

The big surprise was past; the fact that Ilga Vyx had decided to take this ride voluntarily. Ludar had credited Ilga with a sudden show of bravado, which Sark had apparently shared; but it now seemed more logical that Margo Lane should be in the car, since she didn't know about the package.

Neither man spoke, so Margo smiled. She felt quite confident over the fact that she had found a trail and followed it before The Shadow.

"I was looking over some of your odd papers," Margo told Sark. "Somehow they seemed to fit with your calendar. You liked to see movies every Monday night, always at the same theater. Tuesday, you just loved to see the races.

Wednesday, you always dined at the Unicorn and kept the receipts from the waiter's check."

Ludar grunted something that didn't sound complimentary to Sark, but Margo interpreted it differently.

"If you're worrying about Ilga," remarked Margo, across her gun, "She's all right - or will be when she gets back from the cleaners."

That seemed to call for further explanation, so Margo gave it.

"I saw her coming out the side door," Margo continued, "so I stopped her -.

like this." To emphasize the method, Margo gestured her gun at the faces which were turned toward her. "I didn't mind ruining that blue dress of hers, because it really isn't a blonde's type, you know.

"Anyway, I needed chunks of it so I could tie her up and gag her. The laundry wagon was waiting there, so handily, all loaded with nice bundles. I just stacked them all around Ilga, so that if the lot goes down a chute, she won't get hurt.

"Ilga ought to have a nice time, since she likes playing hide-and-seek.

Or maybe it was follow-the-leader. Anyway" - Margo's eyes moved from Sark to Ludar - "now I know why a couple of people didn't go out the door I tried to show them, that door in your house, Sark. Ilga must have crossed their path and coaxed them her way."

There wasn't a sign of a response from either Sark or Ludar. The reason dawned rapidly on Margo.

"It wasn't your work then," she said emphatically to Sark. "I suppose you were gone before it happened, Sark. As for you" - her eyes traveled on to Ludar - "you probably don't want to admit that you knew what happened."

Ludar's blunt face showed a scowl that made it into a darkish blur.

"You must be Ludar," decided Margo. "No wonder you don't want to show your cards to Sark. He might guess that you've been double crossing him with Zune."

It was just a shot in the dark, but it took. It wasn't the mention of the double-cross, however, that enraged Ludar, for Sark had already expressed suspicions on that point. What angered Ludar was that Margo was acquainted with the existence of Tanjor Zune.

He must be a mighty personage, Zune, to hold the control his mere name indicated. A snarl issuing from his faceless visage, Ludar came half to hisfeet, as though to rocket across the car and lay his hands about Margo's neck.

He didn't care any longer whether Sark knew the two-way game. All Ludar wanted was to choke Margo, so that she could never again reveal the name of Zune.

Perhaps it was fortunate that Margo wasn't quick-triggered. If she had shot Ludar, he would have jarred Sark, which might have proved very serious. Sark himself indicated that prospect by a thrust of his square package; the moment that nudged Ludar, the fellow recoiled back to his corner of the car.

"Look out!" panted Ludar. "That box is loaded with explosive! If Sark drops it, we are finished!"

"I do not have to drop it." Leveling the box, Sark tilted his ear toward it. "Too much of a slant would be sufficient. But I do not hear the clockwork."

Margo's gun was wobbling in her hand.

"You mean it's going to explode?"