By then, the last of the sightseers had pa.s.sed the alley and were returning to their bus.

Deep within the abode of Shang Chou, Chenma was standing just within the doorway of her apartment, whispering to Tseng, the doorman. She was asking him if the meeting of the Dragon Cult was over.

Solemnly, Tseng replied that it had not yet begun. Then, for the third night in succession, Chenma spoke chidingly to Tseng.

"Remember, Tseng," she said, "that we are in America. Though a Manchu, I have adopted American ways, and you must do the same. The next time you count 'One, two, three' - do it like this."

Chenma demonstrated with the newspaper clipping that bore the pictures of Walstead, Marne and Royce, from left to right, the order in which Chenma counted them. Lifting her finger, she pointed to the clipping and demanded: "Now, show me Number One man."

Tseng's fingers stroked his scraggly beard. He pointed his forefinger at Walstead's picture, then shifted it and made a jab at Royce's, declaring triumphantly: "Number One man!" Chenma gave a nod, and sent Tseng away to tend his door. She was folding the clipping, to keep it for a later lesson, when she heard a whisper close beside her. Gloved fingers plucked the clipping and spread it. There was a grim tone to The Shadow's whispered laugh.

He saw, without further inquiry, why Chenma's last tip-off had been wrong. Tseng had counted faces in the Manchu style, numbering them from right to left. Chenma was not to blame. Nor was she willing to lay the fault on Tseng.

"As always, Tseng was honest" Chenma told The Shadow, in an undertone. "But that is past. Much more is still to happen. I have kept a record of all that I have observed. There is time for you to see it before Shang Chou arrives."

"Time, in that case," insisted The Shadow, "to see the room where the Dragon Cult meets."

Chenma hesitated; then nodded. Leaving her own door, she conducted The Shadow through Shang Chou's apartment, into the secret meeting room. In subdued tone, she was telling him about the silver idol of power and the Well of Wisdom, pointing to them as she mentioned them. Then Chenma's gaze turned to a sheaf of paper slips upon a taboret.

"The ones that are marked with Shang Chou's symbol are important," explained Chenma. "Whoever receives one, must partic.i.p.ate in crime. Those who receive blanks remain in Chinatown.

"Look at them, Ying Ko, and you will learn the number that Shang Chou will send to seek another piece of the Jade Dragon. I shall watch, in case Shang Chou returns."

HURRYING through Shang Chou's apartment, Chenma looked along the pa.s.sage. She could hear the footsteps of arriving members of the Dragon-Cult men, so she hastened back to the meeting room.

The Shadow had finished examining the slips and had replaced them. Hearing Tseng open the main portal, to admit the first comers, The Shadow was coming through Shang Chou's own door when Chenma met him.

He closed the door and gestured Chenma to her apartment. On the way, he questioned what she had meant when she referred to the Jade Dragon. As rapidly as she could, Chenma told him. She wanted to show Ying Ko the record book, but he told her to keep it until later.

"If Shang Chou plots crime tonight," explained The Shadow, "there is no time to lose. I am almost certain who will be the coming victim. Nevertheless, Chenma, you must send the usual message to Dr. Tam. If I am wrong, he will notify me as soon as he hears from you."

Chenma understood. Hitherto, the Dragon Cult had moved too swiftly to be overtaken before the stroke of crime began. This was one time when The Shadow intended to be first.

Moving out to meet Tseng, Chenma was talking to the doorman when The Shadow's silent form glided past, unseen, as it took the pa.s.sage leading back to the little window. She could not even tell Tseng that Ying Ko had visited these preserves. It was a secret that Chenma would entrust to no one but herself.

Learning that the last of the Dragon Cult men had entered the meeting room, Chenma hurried into her own apartment. She was there when Shang Chou arrived. The dragon master informed her that she was again to attend a meeting of his faithful followers. Willingly, Chenma accompanied Shang Chou to the meeting room.

There, Shang Chou's first act was to produce the Jade Dragon. Triumphantly, he produced another segment and set it into place. This piece of jade differed from the rest. It was pointed, like a long tooth,and it formed the tip of the dragon's tail. As the onlookers acclaimed, Shang Chou pointed to the single gap in the center of the dragon's body.

"Tonight, we shall fill that s.p.a.ce," he declared emphatically. "After that, there will be but one more piece to gain, the head of the Jade Dragon. We shall reserve it until last. So listen, faithful followers, while I tell you of this evening's quest."

Listening, along with the cult members, Chenma hoped fervently that The Shadow had divined what was to come, for Shang Chou, even while he talked, was pa.s.sing out the paper slips. Tonight, even Shang Chou had no time to lose.

If only The Shadow knew!

IN his Chinatown office, the worthy Dr. Tam was talking with faithful Lee Sook, who had proven so adept at picking up Chenma's last-minute messages. Tam was very worried, for Lee Sook had brought him serious news.

"No word from Ying Ko!" exclaimed Tam. "No one saw him enter or leave by Chenma's window. And now, while Ying Ko's absence is still unexplained, you bring word, Lee Sook, that the Dragon Cult men have left their places for a secret meeting with Shang Chou. Soon, they will be back, ready for new crime. If we only knew where to reach Ying Ko!"

Tam's statement ended emphatically upon the name that meant The Shadow. As though such mention stirred it, a whispered laugh crept through the office. Dr. Tam looked up, while Lee Sook turned, startled. There was no need to reach The Shadow. He had reached them.

"I left before the meeting," The Shadow told Tam, calmly, thereby announcing that he had been to Shang Chou's. "First, I shall send a warning to the place where crime most logically will strike" - he was reaching for the telephone - "and then I shall travel there. Send Lee Sook to pick up another message from Chenma, in case I should be wrong."

While Tam was dismissing Lee Sook, The Shadow called the apartment of Louis Walstead. Coming back from the door, Tam heard the black-cloaked caller inquire for Inspector Cardona, but the voice The Shadow used was that of Lamont Cranston. Instead of Cardona, Commissioner Weston came to the phone.

"h.e.l.lo, Cranston," The Shadow heard Weston say. "I came over here to relieve Inspector Cardona. I'm expecting Alexander Marne. He phoned me at the club, said Walstead wanted to talk to us this evening.

What it's about, Marne doesn't know. Why don't you come over, too?"

"I might," returned Cranston, "if I thought it would prove important. Why don't you ask Walstead, first?"

"I haven't seen him yet," Weston answered, "but you've given me a good idea. I'll use your call as an excuse. Walstead is in his study, and I didn't want to disturb him before Marne arrived. Hold the line, Cranston."

The next two minutes were painfully slow, trying even The Shadow's patience, but the result they brought was startling. Weston's voice suddenly came across the wire, charged with excitement. He was trying to shout a dozen things at once.

"Walstead isn't here!" he exclaimed. "Gone from the study, n.o.body knows where! He didn't tell Cardona, the servants, or anybody. Walked right out on us!"

"You had detectives posted, commissioner -" "They were watching for people coming in, not going out." Weston couldn't waste time on interruptions.

"There was a cab leaving when I came. Maybe Walstead took it. Wait -"

The pause was short. During it, The Shadow heard muttered sounds from Weston's end of the line.

Then: "He's gone to the Pan-Occidental Steamship pier!" Weston fairly shouted. "The liner Canopus leaves in an hour, and he's on it. One of the servants just found a note he left for Marne, on the table in the hall.

The receipt for the steamship ticket was an Marne's desk. Stateroom BX. I'll meet you there, Cranston -".

Weston cut himself off by hanging up, but The Shadow's receiver landed almost as soon. Turning to Tam, The Shadow told him the latest development. He was stepping toward the door as he spoke, and he paused only long enough to add: "This fits with my belief that Shang Chou is after Walstead. Somehow, Walstead has been drawn from safety into danger. If Chenma amends this opinion, Tam, you will know where to reach me."

From The Shadow's grim tone, Dr. Tam was sure that the opinion would not be amended. As The Shadow left, Tam hurried downstairs, too. He saw only a sweep of blackness, leaving by the lower door, and when Tam reached the street, even that hazy outline had vanished. Tam saw a cab spurt away from across the street, thought that he caught the trail of a parting laugh.

A laugh which could have been meant for certain men who did not hear it. Men whom Tam saw after The Shadow's cab had wheeled a corner of a street leading out of Chinatown. Those men were bland-faced Chinese, reappearing in shop windows or coming from doorways, where they had been paying visits.

They were the Dragon Cult men, just returning from the meeting with Shang Chou. They looked like the cult members who had been delegated to handle the alibi angle; but that very fact, by Tam's a.n.a.lysis, proved that the crime-bound members of Shang Chou's clan had not yet started.

This alibi business could not be cut too thin. Always, crafty Dragon Cult men had fixed it nicely for the others. If The Shadow had chosen the right goal, he would find success; of that, Tam was sure. But the question of The Shadow's choice bothered Tam while he went up to his office, and for five long minutes more.

At the end of that period, Lee Sook appeared and tendered Tam a slip of folded rice paper Tam's fingers were actually nervous as they opened Chenma's message. Then, as the worthy doctor fixed his eyes upon the name the note contained, his lips formed a very happy smile.

The name was Louis Walstead.

Turning to Lee Sook, Dr. Tam gave a solemn nod, which stated, as plainly as words, that this was to be The Shadow's night of victory.

Crime was on its way, but The Shadow had ridden ahead!

CHAPTER XV. DEATH GREETS THE SHADOW.

DESPITE the numerous lights upon it, the steamship pier showed many stretches of darkness, enough to furnish a perfect path to the gangway. The Shadow knew, because he chose those splotchy areas as soon as he left Moe's cab. His final strides took him under the black side of the steamship Canopus, from where he studied, to find the quickest way to get on board.

There were several prospects, but the quickest was the gangway. The best, too, thanks to a turn of circ.u.mstances. It happened that almost all the pa.s.sengers had gone on board the Canopus, while it would be some time before the call came for "All Ash.o.r.e!"

A ship's officer, at the bottom of the gangway, had stepped away to look toward the sh.o.r.e end of the pier, where a commotion had begun upon the arrival of some automobiles. There was a steward at the upper end of the gangplank, but some pa.s.sengers were demanding his attention It was a timely moment, so The Shadow took the rare opportunity. Around the end of the gangplank, he was a part of the night itself, swooping on board the liner.

A deckhand saw blackness end its glide, and gave his shoulders a puzzled shrug. Pa.s.sengers heard a swish behind them and looked around, but they didn't see the shape that went through a companionway.

A professional stowaway would have envied The Shadow's arrival on the Canopus, the cloaked investigator wasn't playing a stowaway's role. Instead of heading toward the hold, he chose a stairway that led to the deluxe cabins, those that bore letters instead of numbers.

He was getting close to BX, when a steward came plodding in from the end of the corridor. The Shadow swished into a little side pa.s.sage to let the steward pa.s.s.

Sometimes a trivial delay could produce irrevocable consequences. This was one of those times. So far, The Shadow had not seen a trace of doubtful visitors on board the Canopus. Indeed, in his careful style, he had given no one the benefit of any doubt. He'd taken sight of respectable faces, on the chance that he might spy unwanted ones among them.

There had been none. To all appearances, The Shadow had outraced the speediest men that Shang Chou could send. Even though BX was the first door past the side pa.s.sage, it was good policy to pause and let the steward go by. The Shadow did not want any troublesome run-in with members of the ship's crew. He wanted to talk to Louis Walstead, alone.

Of course, there was a chance that the steward might be a fake. If so, it was all the better to wait. He'd give himself away, if he stopped at the door of Stateroom BX, which was another reason why The Shadow waited.

The steward didn't stop at Walstead's door; but, for that matter, he didn't go by The Shadow's pa.s.sage.

Instead, he halted at the very corner of the pa.s.sage, as if something had jolted him.

His quick stop was justified, for the sounds he heard were of a jolting sort. They were m.u.f.fled gun shots, three of them, fired almost in unison from beyond the door marked "BX"!

The stiffened steward had just begun to turn about, when a human avalanche struck him. The Shadow had no time for courtesies, as he swept from the side pa.s.sage. Nor did he need the steward's aid; rather, he preferred to bowl the fellow headlong from his path. For The Shadow was gripping a drawn automatic in one gloved hand, as he grabbed the stateroom door with the other.

The door shot inward before The Shadow could shove it. Yanked from the other side, it plunged The Shadow into the stateroom. He did not try to halt his drive; instead, he lengthened it.

Clearing a form that was slumping to the floor, he wound up with a full-about swing that brought him face to face with an ugly trio, who hadn't time to get their revolvers around. DESPITE the dimness of the cabin, The Shadow saw yellow faces above the glitter of revolvers. Faces that were blurred, with thick black hair topping them. Eyes glared from those countenances - slitted eyes, that were all alike in viciousness. Moving lips were just visible, as they muttered snarling words in Chinese.

On the floor, a fallen man was groaning. His face was turned toward the corridor. Between two of the a.s.sa.s.sins who wore the Chinese jacket costumes, the entering light showed the stricken man to be Louis Walstead. From his moans, The Shadow knew that his wounds were mortal.

The Shadow laughed, nevertheless. But there was no mirth in his tone. It was meant for the three who faced him - men whose smoking revolvers were frozen in their fists, under the moving probe of The Shadow's automatic.

The laugh told that The Shadow was prepared for a long-sought climax. He was going to solve the riddle of the Chinese a.s.sa.s.sins who did the vanishing acts.

He could solve it by bagging the a.s.sa.s.sins in person. From the motion of his automatic, it looked like the big .45 would settle it in one-two-three style. The Shadow's laugh was a challenge that invited attack, with death as the reward for the first man who tried it.

As the attack came, The Shadow reversed his decision. He had calculated in terms of three, not four.

The fourth man, the attacker, was not a Chinese. He was the steward from the corridor. He was on the rebound quicker than The Shadow antic.i.p.ated, and he heard the laugh, too. He'd also seen a ma.s.s of wheeling blackness as he sprawled; so, blindly, he went after blackness again, and found it.

Blackness in solid form. Lunging in from the door, the steward tripped across Walstead, gained impetus from his plunge, and caught The Shadow in a frantic grip just as the cloaked warrior whipped away!

Guns chattered. The Shadow's was first; he used it across the steward's shoulder, as they reeled away in a fashion that would have brought a sprawl, had they not bounced from the stateroom wall.

The shots were wild, the only sort that The Shadow could deliver from the midst of a spinning grapple, but they weren't as wild as the guns that responded.

The three killers, shouting wildly in Chinese, were not only ducking, but were doing other things, while they tried to blast The Shadow. One was springing out into the hall; another was stooping to grab up a suitcase, and follow; while the third was diving behind the door, planning to close it.

Away from the aim of guns, The Shadow was cutting in toward the doorway, when he and the steward floundered across a chair. His three foemen didn't wait for him to prop up on an elbow and clip them.

The one in the corridor was shouting for the others, and they came. The second man was carrying the suitcase; the third pulled the door shut behind him.

Rolling the steward from him, The Shadow sprang to his feet, s.n.a.t.c.hed open the door, and followed.

Pa.s.sengers and visitors on board the Canopus were treated to as mad a race as could have been seen.

They saw three Chinese, streaking as if all the imaginary devils of Old Cathay were after them. Three Chinese who went hurdling down the gangway, followed by a weird, pursuing laugh.

Witnesses couldn't see the thing that laughed, until it began to talk, too, with guns. Then their eyes were attracted to a black-cloaked shape that whirled upon the deck.

The Shadow wasn't shooting after the three fugitives. A human gun turret, he was blasting along the deck,where other guns were answering from the hands of more Chinese, who ducked as they fired. How many more these numbered, no one was quite sure, though conservative estimates made it half a dozen.

These reserves accomplished two things. They diverted The Shadow's attack from the fugitives, and they saved their own hides, by making quick darts for the interior of the ship. Then, with a sudden laugh, The Shadow turned from the gangway and went after the Chinese on board the Canopus.

A look along the pier had shown him what the arriving cars meant. Commissioner Weston was here, with some detectives. They were capable of rounding up the three fugitives, while The Shadow settled those who were still on ship.

But Weston didn't prove as good a strategist as Cardona would have.

SEEING the fugitives duck toward the other end of the pier, Weston gestured his small squad toward the gangway to see if more were coming. A few Chinese appeared along the deck rails, made gun gestures at the police, and fled.

Then, hearing The Shadow's laugh again, Weston realized that those on board were being handled. He looked for the three fugitives; they were gone.

So were the Chinese on board the Canopus when The Shadow swung around the deck to find them. He ran into pa.s.sengers who were pointing down to the water; others, who were picking up Chinese jackets and trousers. The scared tribe had peeled their outer garments and were making the quickest getaway available.

Down the gangplank, The Shadow saw a pouring flood of Americans, mostly frightened visitors, who wanted to get off the ship. Beyond, he saw other excited men, yelling to the police from near the end of the pier.

Weston arrived with the detectives, to find the same evidence of the fleeing Chinese that The Shadow had seen: jackets and trousers, flung in heaps.

Unable to get through the crowd to reach the gangway, The Shadow made for the stern of the Canopus.

There, he watched the detectives blaze shots at bobbing shapes out in the river. The Shadow could have supplied a few shots, himself, and his fire would have shown the accuracy which the detectives did not display. But The Shadow did not fire.

The bobbing things were logs, tin cans, and other flotsam. There was not a Chinese among them. Good swimmers could do wonders with the hull of the Canopus sheltering them, and there were plenty of places for human water rats to go.

Alone on the stern of the steamship, The Shadow deliberately removed his cloak and hat and folded them together, as though he intended to dive overboard and swim beneath the pier in search of missing Chinese.

Instead, he simply slid his automatic into a holster deep beneath his dress coat. He had become Lamont Cranston, a gentleman in evening clothes, visiting on board the steamship Canopus.

Strolling to the gangway, Cranston watched the other visitors scurry from the pier. Americans, all, some of whom Cranston recognized as acquaintances, but not a Chinese among them.

Below, Cranston saw Weston meet a man who had just come to the pier. The arrival was Alexander Marne. The two approached the gangway, and when it cleared, they came on board. Noting that both Weston and Marne were apprehensive, Cranston let his features show the same expression as he went with them to look for Walstead's stateroom. Marne had called Walstead's apartment to learn if Weston was there, and had been told about the note that Walstead left for him.

Hearing that Weston had gone to the pier, Marne had hurried there, too.