The task simplified as The Shadow progressed. Within a half-hour, he had opened a s.p.a.ce large enough for him to wedge through. The process hadn't disturbed Yatku. Nothing short of dynamite could have released the stones about the idol, though the pressure they had taken had caused the parting of the stones beneath them.

Through a low-roofed pa.s.sage half filled with water, The Shadow came to an underground pool vaulted by an arch. His flashlight showed pipes of varying sizes leading off like the spokes of a wheel. The comparison was a good one, for these ancient pipes were made of wood. A hundred feet below the level of down town Manhattan, they were relics of a forgotten day.

It happened that The Shadow recognized their origin, though he had never heard that these deep pipes existed. He was in the remains of the old "Collect," a fresh-water pond that had been the pride of lower Manhattan in the days of the early settlers. A spring-fed pond of great depth, it had later become a nuisance when the city grew around it, and the Collect had finally been filled.

The springs had been a problem, since their flow threatened to undermine the filled-in ground above them. These pipes were the answer; forgotten for a century or more, they had enabled the ground above to settle firmly enough for the construction of buildings.

At present, the pipes were serving another purpose. They were offering The Shadow an outlet from Shang Chou's domain.

Skirting the pool, The Shadow chose a pipe from which water flowed. It was large enough to crawl through easily, and after a short distance, he heard sharp splashes ahead. His flashlight showed an open s.p.a.ce where the water was coming down stone steps, like a small cascade. Above the steps, side walls supported cross timbers set at an upward angle.

Evidently workers had used these steps as they filled the ground, and had timbered the stone flight to serve as a channel for the water from the higher springs. The Shadow counted a hundred steps as hecrawled up them, with his back sc.r.a.ping the timbers. He knew that he was quite close to ground level, when he came to a horizontal pa.s.sage. Low, arched with stone, it was of later construction than the wooden pipes.

As he worked along the new channel, The Shadow laughed despite his predicament. According to his calculations, this pa.s.sage was taking him right under the Centre Street police headquarters.

He recalled that Centre Street had once been called Collect Street, because along it had run an open ditch, the last visible remains of the old Collect. But there were too many layers of earth above this pa.s.sage to pause and start some subterranean tapping, in hope of rousing police in the Centre Street headquarters.

Instead, The Shadow kept along his trail, confident that he would make another find - which he did. In from the left, he saw a concrete pipe of more modern mold, that had tapped into the old Centre Street drainage line. A tight squeeze, but worth it, for when The Shadow had wormed a considerable distance along a bed of dry concrete, he struck an elbow that curved the route straight upward.

Dim light through a grating suddenly became a mighty blaze, accompanied by a roar and rumble that reminded The Shadow of Yatku's raging descent down the old well shaft.

Light vanished and the rumble faded. With elbows and knees, The Shadow squeezed himself up the vertical shaft for several feet; then took a long reach and grabbed the bars of the grating. Drawing himself as high as he could, he jammed himself tightly except for one hand and arm; then went to work with his combination jimmy.

More lights and roaring ma.s.ses rushed by outside the grating, but The Shadow coolly ignored them and finished prying the grating loose.

Pulling himself out, he slid the grating back in place and rested. The s.p.a.ce was ample here; very ample.

The Shadow was in a concrete niche, extending from beside the tracks of a downtown subway. The roaring things with lights had been subway trains speeding by. The niche with the grating was just one of many drainage outlets necessary in case the subway flooded.

Pa.s.sENGERS, waiting at a local station, were puzzled a while later by a streaky shape that glided along the dim-lit platform. They didn't see the figure that cast that moving silhouette. The Shadow was too close to the platform wall. Nor did they see the same figure leave the platform. They heard the click of the turnstile, and looked around to see who had gone through.

They saw no one. Even The Shadow's departing blackness was invisible, for he had pa.s.sed beyond the change booth and was going up the steps of a deserted exit, when the puzzled subway customers finally gazed toward the direction he had taken.

Returning toward Chinatown, The Shadow saw very few police around the outskirts. He was moving through an alley into Pell Street, when he saw an American-clad Chinese stop and look about before crossing the street.

The man didn't cross, for The Shadow reached out, gripped his arm and drew him into the alley, at the same time voicing a quick whisper.

The man was Lee Sook. He voiced the name: "Ying Ko!" Then, in hasty sentences, he told The Shadow what was happening in Chinatown.

Tonight was different from the rest. Men who wore the native garb of Shang Chou's Dragon Cult hadreturned to their accustomed places, only to leave again. But they were not going back to see Shang Chou, wherever he might be. Instead, they were sneaking out of Chinatown, in such wholesale fashion that Tam's spies were afraid that the Dragon Cult men were staging a general getaway.

Others were contacting Dr. Tam, but Lee Sook had waited for a message from Chenma. It had come, at last, from the little window. Lee Sook handed The Shadow a folded paper that Chenma had dropped him.

It wasn't just a name on rice paper. It was a blank page from Chenma's diary, and it told, in terms as sad as they were brief, that Shang Chou had cast doom upon The Shadow. It finished with a plea for Tam to avenge Ying Ko by stopping tonight's crime at any cost.

This message, Chenma stated, would probably be her last, for with one more crime, the power of Shang Chou would be supreme. At the conclusion of her message, Chenma stated where the coming crime would strike.

Chenma's writing was tiny. It covered only half the sheet. Tearing the page in the middle, The Shadow kept what Chenma had written. On the rest, he inscribed a message for Dr. Tam, and told Lee Sook to deliver it.

As Lee Sook nodded and turned to cross the street, he heard the whisper of a parting laugh that trailed from far along the alley.

The Shadow was gone to play his part in avenging his own reported death!

CHAPTER XVIII. THE TRAP THAT FAILED.

THREE men were seated in the kitchen of a mid-Manhattan penthouse. One, Commissioner Ralph Weston, was studying a batch of letters in old, frayed envelopes that bore Chinese stamps and postmarks. Another, Inspector Joe Cardona, was keeping anxious watch through a door to a darkened stairway.

The third man was Alexander Marne. This was his penthouse, but he didn't look at home, even in the informal setting of the kitchen. Marne's heavy jaw was set, his rugged features showed a nervous strain.

His right fist was tightly clenched, holding something within it.

"You are right, Marne," Weston declared, with a slow nod. "These letters of Walstead's are important.

They give us a strong clue to all the recent crimes."

"They mention a Jade Dragon," returned Marne. "A thing that Walstead wanted, but had never found. An item that Dayland, Royce, or any of the rest might have been keeping in their individual collections, which is why Walstead was so interested in seeing their gems."

"Even to the point where he was willing to buy a painting from Royce, if it would show the gems that Royce, for some reason, preferred to keep hidden."

"Exactly, commissioner! And if Walstead wanted the Jade Dragon, it is logical to suppose that this Chinese monster, Shang Chou, wanted it as well. And to think that I, of all people, should be the man who actually owned it!"

Marne opened his fist and showed the object that he held there. It was a dragon's head, cut from a piece of jade. At the end of the short neck, the head had two tiny holes that looked as if they were meant to receive a pair of p.r.o.ngs. "I picked it up in Shanghai," stated Marne, handing the dragon's head to Weston. "Just another curio that I thought would make an interesting watch charm. But when I took it to a jeweler, he couldn't find an attractive way to mount it. So I kept it, and forgot all about it until today, when I was reading over the letters we found at Walstead's, commissioner."

Weston nodded. He had taken the dragon's head and was fingering it, wondering what significance the jade carving had. It struck him that the piece might be incomplete, but he didn't think in terms of a dozen more segments. To Weston, the thing looked more like the head of a chessman, that needed only a base to complete it.

Cardona was at a kitchen window, blinking a flashlight. Each time Joe paused, answering blinks came from spots along the street, twenty floors below.

"All odd-numbered stations reporting clear," announced Cardona in routine style. He crossed the kitchen to an opposite window. "I'll flash the even ones, commissioner."

Sounds of music came drifting to the kitchen, along with the buzz of voices. A party was under way at Marne's; it included the same guests who had been at Dayland's - the people who had also been invited to Royce's studio the evening when Margo had been a Javanese princess. Hearing the music, Weston tilted his head.

"I wonder what's keeping Cranston!" he exclaimed. "Surely he must have called the club by this time!"

"Perhaps he has arrived and joined the guests," suggested Marne, turning toward a door. "Suppose I go and see."

"No, no!" interposed Weston hastily. "You're supposed to be in your study. You mustn't appear to be going back and forth. If Cranston receives your invitation at the club, he will also be given my message.

He will know to come here to the kitchen."

With that, Weston handed the dragon's head back to Marne, who placed it in his vest pocket. Still speaking of the object as though it were the Jade Dragon in entirety, Weston declared: "Whatever that Jade Dragon represents, Shang Chou wants it and will send Chinese to seek it. True, he must have supposed that it was in the hands of some collector, but having exhausted such sources, he will try you next, Marne."

There was a nod from Marne. Weston was repeating a theory that Marne, himself, had suggested. To it, Marne added emphatic points.

"I have been to China," he reminded, "which makes me eligible to incur Shang Chou's suspicion.

Furthermore, commissioner, we agree that in these previous robberies, Shang Chou wanted more than the Jade Dragon. He wanted the wealth represented by the gems that his men stole for him.

"My hobby is not collecting gems. I collect stocks and bonds. The safe in my study is loaded with negotiable securities that Shang Chou would certainly covet. However" - Marne's smile was confident - "if Shang Chou's men come here tonight, they will be trapped by their own trickery, in reverse."

OUT in Marne's big living room, certain of the party guests were thinking in those same terms. One was Margo Lane, and she found it difficult to keep her mind on coming events, because she was trying at the same time to talk with Errol Garvin and Don Feldon.

They were chatting about such things as polo and yachting. Though pleasant company at the average party, Margo wished she could get rid of them on this occasion. At last, she thought of an excellent way. Glancing about, Margo singled out two of the blond models who had been the subjects of paintings that Royce had sold to Dayland. Catching their glances, Margo gave each a triumphant smile. She was reminding them that she had supplanted them with Royce, and that, at present, she had won the interest of two young men who were the life of Marne's party.

In effect, Margo was daring the other girls to try and wrest Errol and Don away from her. The blondes took the challenge.

They came to Margo's corner and sweetly broke in upon the conversation. What Margo didn't know or care about, horses or boats, her rivals used to full advantage. One blonde finally made off with Errol Garvin; the other appropriated Don Feldon.

Glancing back, the girls gave Margo looks that should have wilted any wallflower. Margo didn't wilt; instead, she looked around and picked another man for herself.

Her choice was Harry Vincent. Together, they strolled out to a little terrace that extended from the penthouse living room, and Harry promptly began to inform Margo on matters of interest to them both.

Immediately upon receiving a short-notice invitation to Marne's party, Harry had notified Burbank, The Shadow's contact man. Unable to reach The Shadow, Burbank had simply followed prearranged instructions. Contacting other agents, he had told them to cover Marne's penthouse and report back.

They had reported in full. Clyde Burke, the inquiring reporter, had seen Commissioner Weston and Inspector Cardona going up to Marne's, followed by a brace of detectives. Hawkeye, ferreting through the neighborhood, had spotted a dozen police stationed at strategic places. Other agents had reported police cars in the offing.

Looking down from their present vantage spot, more than twenty stories above the street, Harry and Margo could see those same patrol cars pa.s.sing distant corners.

"But what about Lamont?" undertoned Margo. "I mean - has Burbank heard from The Shadow?"

"Not yet," returned Harry. "Shrevvie's cab is still cruising around Chinatown. He sent in a report, though, Moe did. It fits with what is happening here."

"How, Harry?"

"The commissioner has withdrawn most of the Chinatown squad. He wants certain Chinese to move out freely."

Margo smiled and shook her head.

"I thought the police had come to the conclusion that Chinatown was not the source of trouble, after all,"

said Margo. "That might account for the removal of the Chinatown squad."

"Not quite," rejoined Harry. "They've been picking up some odd rumors about Shang Chou, so they decided they ought to be watching Chinatown, anyway."

"So they ought to be watching there, but aren't. That puts them in a lovely fuddle, doesn't it, Harry?"

"Marne has pulled them out of it, Margo. Discovering, somehow, that he might be threatened next, he phoned his friends and arranged this party, setting just the scene he wanted. Then he called Commissioner Weston and asked him to take over." Margo saw the merits of Marne's action. Weston would probably have advised against the party, even though the Chinese had harmed no guests during their raid at Dayland's, a point that Marne had doubtless remembered.

Marne's most natural purpose was, of course, to identify himself more fully with Dayland and Royce by proving, for the benefit of any inquisitive Chinese, that his friends were the same as those of two murdered men. Walstead, too, had belonged to the same set, which also helped.

In his turn, Commissioner Weston must have tacitly approved Marne's methods. The stage was set and Weston couldn't very well change it. Even if matters went wrong, the commissioner could not be blamed.

His argument would be that Marne, at the last minute, had asked him to invoke the machinery of the law and he had therewith complied, in keeping with the situation.

"They're going to let the Chinese right through," Harry told Margo. "Then the squad will move in after them. Our job will be to -"

"Look, Harry!"

MARGO was pointing to twinkles that occurred below. The glimmers couldn't be seen from the street, for they were purposely tilted upward. Police, from their various stations, were reporting to Cardona an influx of Chinese. As the twinkles continued, Margo exclaimed to Harry: "They can't be counting up the total! There are so many!"

For answer, Harry drew Margo back into the living room, across to a pair of folding doors that were closed. From beyond, they could hear the first creep of footsteps, that continue in steady procession.

The Chinese were arriving from the long stairway route up to the penthouse, and Shang Chou wasn't just depending upon a few this evening. He had unleashed a horde!

Into Marne's study they were flooding. The room was beyond those doors, hence Harry and Margo couldn't see what happened there. The witnesses who did were the two detectives. One was hidden behind a filing cabinet; the other in back of a clothes tree where overcoats were hanging. Between them was Marne's safe, a huge affair.

The study was large, but the arriving Chinese were filling it, for they numbered at least four dozen. All wore the bloused jackets the Dragon Cult favored, and these men in their native costumes were smiling blandly at each other. Some few were surprised to find that Shang Chou had ordered all hands on the job tonight, but they had expected to find a much larger turnout than usual.

Shang Chou had ordered them to remove Marne's safe bodily. They had demonstrated their ability at such a task by the way they had flung the half-ton idol, Yatku, down the Well of Wisdom to crush Shang Chou's supreme foe, The Shadow.

Crowding about the heavy safe, a dozen Chinese began to hoist it. When they had trouble, another dozen thronged forward to aid them. It was then that the two detectives bobbed into sight, shouting for the Chinese to raise their hands instead of the safe.

The order was echoed in louder terms from the door. Turning away from the puny revolvers of the corner detectives, the Chinese saw other headquarters men moving in, with Tommy-guns.

Reluctantly, the Dragon Cult men raised their hands. They saw Marne enter, flanked by Weston and Cardona. At a nod from the commissioner, Marne reached into his vest pocket, produced the Jade Dragon's head and held it to the light. A frantic babble came from the members of the Dragon Cult. Some started forward; only to drop back when the submachine guns were thrust their way.

By their babble and their gestures, Shang Chou's followers had revealed that the Jade Dragon was the main object of their quest, though Marne's wealth was to have been taken with it. The thing, now, was to disarm the jacketed horde and ship them wholesale to headquarters. Commissioner Weston raised his hand for silence, so that he could give the order.

With the gesture, Weston stiffened. So did the others who were with him: Cardona, Marne, and the detectives who held the Tommy-guns. The two men in the corner gulped, knowing that their revolvers would be useless against the odds.

This trap, so cleverly laid and sprung, had failed at the final moment.

In from the hallway, new Chinese had crept up in back of Weston, Cardona, and the rest, and were prodding their backs with revolvers. Over the shoulders of the commissioner and his companions, the corner detectives could see saffron faces that peered with triumphant grins All that was needed to complete the disaster was a surge by the horde of Dragon Cult men. Recovered from their own surprise, the jacketed Chinese were about to make it, when a weird challenge halted them. From the doorway it came, a thing that made the slant-eyed hearers blink, and listen in unbelief.

It was the laugh of Ying Ko, The Shadow!

CHAPTER XIX. THE WAY OF SHANG CHOW.

NEVER before had The Shadow taken over so vast a situation with such consummate ease.

Single-handed, he was placing a horde at bay. A horde of men who were eager to surge for safety; men fully armed, as The Shadow knew the Dragon Cult would be. But there was something in The Shadow's chilling mirth that mocked at weapons - something that the listeners understood.

To the members of the Dragon Cult, The Shadow stood as a power more than human; a being who could not possibly experience any disaster that they might try to supply. Earlier this evening The Shadow had faced them unafraid, and had flung them right and left, warding off every thrust they made with gun or blade.

Then, to show them how puny were the hazards that they produced, he had taken a greater one, by calmly leaving their midst with a straight step down the center of a well shaft, a thing which to any being but Ying Ko would have meant a quicker death than battle could give.

Some, among the Dragon Cult men, had believed that the plunge produced The Shadow's death. All doubters had been convinced of it after Shang Chou had ordered them to drop a ma.s.sive idol after The Shadow, and they had complied.