The Shadow - Death's Bright Finger Part 11

The whole thing happened in less than a split-second. Harry had no chance to yell a warning to the girl about the presence of the Light. He twisted aside toward the ma.s.sive protection of the carved telephone table.

But Dawn's trigger finger was swifter than the jerk of Harry's muscles. Flame spat in a crimson jet from the gun muzzle.

Harry felt the smas.h.i.+ng impact of a bullet in his arm. He knew, as he fell behind the table, that the slug had shattered the bone. Blindly, he fought to lift his own gun. He expected Dawn to rush around the tableand kill him.

But the girl's fear was stronger than her rage. She fled the way she had come. A leap took her through the yawning hole in the paneled wall. The wall swung shut.

In her furious haste, she jammed the mechanism. The panel didn't click into place. A crack showed.

Through the crack a faint glimmer of light was visible.

Vincent reeled to his feet, staggered toward the wall panel to pursue the vanis.h.i.+ng girl. But the motion wrenched his wounded arm. Agony cleared his mind. He remembered The Shadow's orders.

Those orders were explicit. They allowed Vincent no choice. He had been told to go to the roof and make certain preparations for the arrival of The Shadow.

He raced toward the staircase.

From somewhere behind him he could hear the sudden crash of gla.s.s. Crooks of the Light were obeying orders, too. They were breaking into the house!

VINCENT sped aloft, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning with the pain in his wounded arm. He reached the attic and crawled up a shaky ladder to the roof trapdoor.

It was h.e.l.lish exertion for a wounded man. Twice Harry almost fell from the ladder. But his will was strong. He loosened the roof scuttle and b.u.t.ted it upward with his head. He crawled up into the open air and toppled on his stomach.

He began to slide down a steep slant!

The roof was a peaked one, covered with slate. But Vincent managed to check his slip. His feet swung around. He lay tightly against the sharp slope, anchoring himself with the pressure of his thighs and body.

He could see the chimney. It was a little to the left and below him. He began to slide cautiously toward it, an inch at a time.

Once, he halted. His pain-narrowed eyes noticed a slate s.h.i.+ngle that was looser than the adjoining ones.

Harry worked desperately to pull it loose. It was something he needed. He managed to wrench it free, after an agonized struggle that seemed to take years.

With the edge of the slate chunk gripped in his teeth to keep from losing it, Vincent bellied slowly downward to the vertical brick wall of the chimney.

A panting moment or two against the angle of chimney and roof helped Vincent to recover a little of his ebbing strength. He pulled himself to his feet and jammed the flat chunk of slate down the chimney mouth.

It fitted fairly well, and made an effective plug.

On top of the plug Vincent laid a small metal sphere which he removed from an inner pocket in the tail of his coat. He made sure he could reach it easily from above, before he let go of it and straightened up.

The metal sphere was a flare. Filled with a liquid compound of The Shadow's own invention, the flare would burn for quite awhile. It would produce a reddish glow, not too bright when seen from the ground.

But seen from high in the air, that reddish glow would be a clear beacon.

The light it produced would pierce cleanly through vapor, mist, and darkness.

Vincent slumped wearily in the angle formed by the chimney. His eyes closed. The plug in the chimneywould keep the glow of his signal flare from being reflected through the fireplace opening downstairs. The thugs who had broken in to search for Dawn would be unaware of peril on the roof.

Harry couldn't hear a sound from below, he wondered dimly what had become of the girl and the invading thugs-- THE crook who had smashed the window came into the house like a thunderbolt. A gun jutted from one hand, a flashlight from the other. His eyes looked jittery. He was the most dangerous kind of criminal--a scared one!

He was afraid of the Light. The Light didn't accept excuses for failure. The Light wanted Dawn Reed captured, wanted her jewel case.

The mobster darted toward the living room. He had heard a faint sound. It had seemed to come from in there.

His torch swept a paneled wall. Then he snarled an oath of understanding. A crack showed along the smoothness of the wall. Someone had fled into a secret pa.s.sage, and had failed to close the barrier properly.

With the b.u.t.t of his gun, the thug smashed the panel open. His torch showed a vertical pit. Cleats were nailed down the wall, like a rough ladder.

The thug descended.

At the bottom, a horizontal pa.s.sage continued onward. It seemed to lead straight toward the rear of the house. It was probably a hollowed-out foundation wall. The pa.s.sage ended in a blank barrier of earth.

The pursuing crook didn't waste time on this earth barrier. His gaze lifted. A metal plate showed above his head. The roof of the pa.s.sage was low. It was easy to put pressure on the metal plate overhead, to move a small steel tongue through a semicircle in a slotted anchorage.

Slowly, the plate in the roof of the tunnel lifted. The thug had already doused his flashlight. He rose noiselessly into the blackness of the open air.

He found himself in an enclosed spot at the back of Dawn Reed's house. Pine trees had been cut off six or eight feet from the ground and allowed to sprout. The result was a thick hedge that surrounded this rear garden.

Directly across from where the invisible thug watched was the dark shape of an outdoor fireplace. A brick chimney topped this convenience for outdoor cooking.

Dawn Reed had crawled into the fireplace, dragging behind her the elusive bag.

For a minute she lay flat on her stomach, working invisibly with both hands at the inner base of the chimney. Soon she snaked the bag inside, and started to secrete it somewhere.

The thug sprang forward like a panther. He had pocketed his gun. He wanted no noise. In his hand was a knife.

He struck while Dawn was still flat on her stomach. He didn't give her a chance for her life. The knife stabbed deep into the back of the unfortunate night-club singer.

A single scream came from her. Then nothing. The killer grabbed her by the legs and dragged her out. He pursed his lips, whistled a warning note.

Another thug appeared from the tunnel through which the murderer had followed Dawn.

He said harshly, "Everything all right?"

"Yeah."

The girl hadn't had time to hide the bag. The murderer squatted and looked at it. So did his pal.

The eyes of both thugs were bright with greed. But there was fear in them too. They wanted to steal that case. They had a good idea what was in it. But the Light had warned them beforehand what to do as soon as they found Dawn and the loot.

What they did was strange. They dragged the bleeding corpse of the night-club singer back into the chimney opening, and let her lie there in a sodden heap. Beside her they placed the bag.

Then the thugs vanished. Their job was done. Anything beyond that would have brought them a death they didn't care to contemplate.

HARRY VINCENT, out of sight up on the roof of the nearby house, didn't witness the murder of Dawn Reed. But he heard the dreadful scream the girl had uttered at the moment the knife plunged into her back.

Sweat came out on Harry's forehead. He cursed himself for his uselessness. There was nothing he could do but wait. His body dizzy with pain, he kept his glazed eyes lifted toward the black sky.

Presently he heard a faint drone high above his head. The drone faded, then returned. It was almost inaudible. Harry could hear it only because he expected that distant murmur. The sound made him forget his weakness.

He struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Leaning against the chimney, he thrust his hand down the black maw of the flue.

An instant later, the glow of the concealed flare sent a reddish-brown shaft of light upward into the blackness overhead.

Harry reeled as he straightened. The effort of bending into the chimney had wrenched his bullet-shattered arm.

He sank to his knees, tried to clutch at the wavering shape of the chimney. His clutch missed. Vincent fell forward against the wet slant of the roof. He was conscious that he was beginning to slide slowly toward the edge.

Feebly, he tried to claw for a hold with his uninjured hand. His fingers were like stubs of wood. Slowly, horribly, Harry Vincent continued to slide toward death!

CHAPTER XII. THE MAILBOX CLUE.

INVISIBLE in a black sky, the eyes of The Shadow saw the reddish glow of the flare. Miles Crofton saw it, too.

There was no need for The Shadow to tell his pilot what to do. The plane heeled over in a sharp turn. Its nose dipped. It began to whistle earthward like an invisible meteor. As the alt.i.tude swiftly decreased, Miles Crofton brought the plane out of its dive. The Shadow didn't wish his s.h.i.+p to approach too close to earth, for two reasons. One was that he didn't wish to give any warning of his presence to criminal enemies. The other was that he was an experienced parachute jumper.

A signal to Crofton brought a quick nod. Again the plane heeled over. This time, The Shadow didn't stay with the plane. He dropped headfirst into nothingness.

For several seconds, he made no effort to stop his free fall. He knew exactly the alt.i.tude from which he had leaped. When he was close enough to the earth to make a quick floating descent, The Shadow pulled the release ring.

He could feel the small jerk of the pilot 'chute, then a stronger, bruising wrench. The huge parachute billowed wide open above his head. But it couldn't betray him to any eye on the ground. The parachute was black silk. It blended with the darkness of the sky as effectively as the dangling dot of The Shadow below it.

The earth rushed upward to meet him. He could see the s.h.a.ggy tops of trees bordering an open field.

The wind had carried him a quarter of a mile or so from the house at which he had aimed.

The Shadow pulled expertly at the shrouds, spilled air out of a portion of the chute. The maneuver spun the chute. It carried The Shadow dizzily past the spiky branches of pine and oak. He dropped into the darkness of a field.

His landing jarred him. He fell forward on his face. But this was deliberate and not by accident. An old hand at parachute leaping, The Shadow already had his knife out. He slashed the cords.

Freed, he scrambled to his feet, and raced in the direction of Dawn Reed's house. As soon as he had pa.s.sed the s.h.a.ggy expanse of trees, he was able to see it. He didn't approach it directly. The Shadow circled the dwelling.

His movement was awkward because of something he was carrying beneath his black cloak. One of his hands held the object out of sight. It seemed to be bulky.

Presently, The Shadow crawled through a thick hedge. It was the hedge that enclosed the rear garden behind Dawn's house. Across the gra.s.sy clearing he could see the vague shape of an outdoor fireplace.

The Shadow stared at it. Then suddenly his black figure dropped flat to the ground. It became invisible against the dark gra.s.s.

Shortly, The Shadow rose in a different spot. He had reached the outdoor fireplace. On hands and knees against the dark background of the blackened brick, he peered into the chimney opening.

The sight he saw was gruesome.

Dawn Reed lay in a dead huddle, with a b.l.o.o.d.y knife wound in her back. Dawn had been a beautiful and glamorous girl. But lying face downward in a blood-soaked dress, she looked like a limp bundle of rags.

Beside her was the jewel bag.

The Shadow dropped flat to the ground. Without disturbing the body, he crawled into the fireplace opening. He made no sound, and few movements to justify this peculiar bit of behavior.

Presently, he left as soundlessly as he had approached it. Dawn Reed's body still lay in the death huddle.Alongside it stood the bag, just as the thugs of the Light had left it.

The Shadow crawled closer to the rear of Dawn's house. He had not heard or seen any sign of movement inside the house since his arrival. It warned him that his immediate task was a contact with Harry Vincent.

Having ignited the roof flare to guide The Shadow earthward, Harry was under orders to join The Shadow in the rear grounds, to make a quick report of what he had learned.

But there was no sign of Vincent. The Shadow moved close to a cellar window. He could see that the rusted catch had been forced. He was about to enter, when he heard a weak cry from somewhere high above him.

It was the cry of a man in mortal peril!

THE SHADOW glided noiselessly forward. At the point where he had inspected the cellar window, not all of the roof was visible from below. A projection of masonry cut off the view where the chimney jutted.

Now, The Shadow was able to see Vincent with appalling clarity.

Harry, unable to cling any longer to the sloping roof, had slipped over the edge. He was hanging by one feeble hand--the arm that had been uninjured. His eyes were closed tightly with the blind agony of trying to hold on.

For the first time in his career, The Shadow seemed to ignore an agent's peril! He remained where he was, crouched in blackness. He had turned away from Vincent. His gaze was concentrated on a spot across the enclosed garden.

A rising figure was dimly visible at the black maw of the open-air replace. As it came erect, its finger pointed ominously. A shaft of pale, milky light glowed. It changed with horrible swiftness from a moonbeam to a ray of dazzling silver.

It swung upward to focus on the dangling body of Harry Vincent!

Twin automatics gleamed in The Shadow's grasp. He could have killed the Light at the instant he saw the master criminal rise into view. But he wanted to take him alive. There were many things The Shadow desired to know about the Light. Not the least was the secret of that deadly silver beam that turned solid matter into blue-gray dust.

The Light was forced to turn profile in order to point his beam upward at Vincent. But the horrible brilliance never reached its victim.

With a double roar, the .45s of The Shadow spat flame. Both bullets. .h.i.t the target at which The Shadow had aimed. They ripped through the fleshy hump between the bent shoulders of the partly-turned master criminal.

The effect was astonis.h.i.+ng. The beam from that pointing finger vanished. The dreadful power of the Light was gone!

With a scream, he spun around and fell on his face. He was up in an instant, as if he had suffered no hurt.

He ran like a deer. Thick hedge crashed aside as the Light fled desperately through the close boughs.

The Shadow didn't pursue him. He flung himself beneath the dangling body of his agent high above him at the edge of the roof. Harry was already falling. His weakened grip had relaxed. Braced underneath, The Shadow waited. It was a terrific impact. But The Shadow took it with braced legs and hunched shoulders. His arms, held crookedly like a gorilla's, tightened against Vincent at the moment of the crash.

Both men toppled sideways to the dark gra.s.s. The Shadow further cus.h.i.+oned Vincent's fall by falling underneath him with thigh and hip.

Harry groaned. But except for his bullet-smashed arm, he was not seriously injured.

The Shadow was badly jarred, but he managed to stagger upright. He could hear a roaring noise from the driveway in front of the house. The Light had leaped into Dawn Reed's car. He was fleeing at top speed.

The Shadow didn't seem to be worried. His sibilant laugh sounded in the darkness. Leaving Harry abruptly, he ran toward the open-air fireplace where he had seen the body of the murdered girl and the jewel bag.