"If I could write the whole thing off, by getting rid of the property for the amount I loaned Carland, I would be satisfied. But I can't keep trying to convince you that you ought to buy. I've merely given a rosy picture of the proposition, and the rest is up to you."

For answer, The Shadow drew a check book from his pocket. In Cranston's leisurely style, he wrote out a check for sixty thousand dollars and handed it to Brendle.

"That covers the loan," he said, "with ten thousand dollars over, which I expect you to pay to Yvonne Carland, after deducting interest. If this property was good enough to interest Jonathan Dorn, it issatisfactory to me."

"I hadn't looked at it that way!" exclaimed Brendle, in a tone of surprise. "I was thinking purely in terms of James Carland. But you are right, Cranston. Dorn intended to buy -" Brendle paused, gave his head a rueful shake. "Or did he?"

"Carland claimed that he did."

"Not precisely. Carland said that Dorn was willing to finance the rice project. But frankly, Cranston, it is impossible to rely on anything that Carland stated. However, you have offered a solution to the problem."

Folding the t.i.tle deeds, Brendle placed them in his pocket. Then, picking up the check, he tore it into small pieces. He expected Cranston's face to register surprise; but it did not. Nevertheless, Brendle felt that there must be some puzzlement on Cranston's part; inwardly, at least.

"Our best plan is to leave the proposition open," explained Brendle. "If you wish, you can give me a letter stating that you value the property at sixty thousand dollars, which you evidently do, and that you are willing to buy. That, in turn, should satisfy Yvonne regarding her debt to me.

"We can then proceed to have the land inspected from a marsh tractor. If it proves suitable for planting rice, I shall gladly sell it to you at the price named. In fact, I can sign a contract to that effect. With a clause, by the way, stating that any amount in excess of fifty thousand dollars will go to Yvonne Carland."

Therewith, Brendle proceeded to draw up a memorandum stipulating the terms. He made two copies, and handed one to The Shadow. Brendle emphasized the point that the contract would specify the sale of rice land, not salt marsh, which automatically protected Cranston.

"If you see Yvonne," Brendle added, "you might show her the memorandum, Cranston. If I told her, she would simply think that I was trying to eradicate the debt. She mistrusted her uncle - of that, I am sure - and this Talborn business must have worried her, too.

"Think of it, Cranston! Only last night, I was looking everywhere for Talborn, wondering where he had gone. All the while, he must have been watching that precious crypt where he had stored a quarter million in smuggled treasure."

DINNER ended, both men left the hotel. The Shadow went to his car and blinked a signal with a little flashlight. It brought no answer, which meant that the Xincas had gone. Their departure was in keeping with The Shadow's plans. A soft laugh came from his lips.

Driving from the parking lot, The Shadow thought over the case of Graham Talborn. The police had appraised the treasure, and the estimate given by Brendle, a quarter million dollars, was about correct.

It would have been all profit for Talborn, too. Being in the export business, he could have shipped his spoils far and wide. Much of the treasure was pure gold or fine jade, which could always find a market.

Again The Shadow laughed.

Not only had he balked Talborn, but he had spoiled the game for Xitli before the masquerader could acquire Talborn's treasure as his own. But the crimes of the self-styled fire G.o.d were by no means settled.

The Shadow did not share the increasing popular opinion that Xitli's main purpose had been to obtain the loot that Talborn secretly possessed. Behind the machinations of Xitli lay a larger game, something concerning Carland and Dorn.

One person might, unwittingly, be able to supply proofs that The Shadow needed. That person was Yvonne Carland. It would be easy to talk with the girl and subtly urge her to unravel the past. As Cranston, The Shadow would start proceedings by telling Yvonne that he proposed to buy the rice lands.

Yvonne wasn't at her hotel when The Shadow stopped there. He called Andy at the Hotel Luzane, but received no answer. Next The Shadow tried Professor Hedwin, again with no success. He finally decided to go to the Hotel Luzane. There he learned that Hedwin had gone out, but that the clerk had not seen Andy leave.

It struck The Shadow as rather curious that one should have been noticed, the other not, particularly as the clerk's desk was directly opposite the elevators and the lobby quite small.

The Shadow went upstairs; he tried Andy's door with a special key and found the room empty. Then, as a matter of routine, he went to Hedwin's room.

Gargly sounds greeted the opening of the door. If ever eyes had expressed welcome, they were Andy's when they saw Cranston in the doorway. With a speed quite unusual for Cranston, The Shadow released Andy from the Mayan chains and removed the strangling thong. After feeling his throat and finding he still had one, Andy gulped his story.

"The professor has gone haywire!" he said. "He went to the museum, and didn't trust me enough to take me along. I can't exactly blame him, because he guessed that I was spying on him - something that the detectives asked me to do.

"It's the Xitli stuff again. The professor can't think of anything else. Sometimes I wonder -" Andy caught himself, urged by a fading loyalty toward Hedwin. "I'm wondering about Yvonne. She was on the telephone when the professor grabbed me. You don't think that she went to the museum, too?"

Andy wasn't merely changing the subject; he was really anxious about Yvonne. Calmly The Shadow told him not to worry, and suggested that they go to the museum, which suited Andy.

Riding in Cranston's car, they made a rapid trip, and to Andy's delight they found it open, with a few lights on the ground floor.

Starting in through the museum door, Andy felt himself restrained by Cranston's grip. He heard the calm tone of his companion: "Wait, Andy. Suppose we enter quietly and look things over. Professor Hedwin does not trust Fitzhugh Salter. He may have treated Salter as he did you."

THEY moved quietly toward Salter's office, where, again, Cranston's hand drew Andy back. From a turn in the dim corridor they saw the door of Salter's office. Two men were standing there, shaking hands. One was Salter, the other Hedwin; they seemed on the best of terms.

"I owe you an apology, Salter," Hedwin was saying. "I thought that you might have stressed the Xitli story and thereby caused me inconvenience. I was annoyed, of course, when the police came to the hotel."

"As I was, when they came here," returned Salter. "So I reserved comment until after they talked to you, professor. We agree on one thing, Hedwin" - Salter was smiling pleasantly - "and that is that neither of us care to be disturbed." Hedwin came shambling toward the outer door, apparently engrossed in his thoughts. But his eyes took on a keen light when he heard a slight slam behind him, indicating that Salter had gone back into the office and closed the door.

Hedwin did not see Cranston or Andy; they had drawn toward a deep corner of the corridor. But they saw what Hedwin did next.

Turning about, the professor tiptoed past Salter's office toward the elevators. As soon as he had turned a corner, Andy started forward. The Shadow let him follow as far as Salter's office. There, the gripping hand a.s.serted itself again.

Deftly, without the slightest trace of noise, The Shadow turned the k.n.o.b of Salter's door. Opening it a crack, he motioned for Andy to listen.

Salter was on the telephone. He was calling police headquarters. They heard him requesting detectives to come to the museum. Coolly, Salter was telling them that he had obtained new facts concerning Xitli, the fire G.o.d.

Perplexed, Andy looked toward Cranston, who was silently closing the door. The Shadow pointed toward the outer door. More puzzled than ever, Andy came along.

"Wait here," was Cranston's suggestion when they stood on the outside steps. "When you see the police arriving, go into Salter's office and be there when they come. Let Salter do the talking, and learn all you can."

With that The Shadow strolled away. Andy watched Cranston's figure enter the parked car and decided that his friend intended to wait there. It happened that the car was too obscure to allow Andy a view of the cloaked shape that emerged.

Clad in black, The Shadow was skirting toward the museum, totally unseen by Andy. Nor did the watching man hear the low, sibilant whisper that came from somewhere near the shrubbery. In answer to that call, two chunky men joined the figure in black. They were the Shadow's Xincas.

Then all three were gone without a single glimpse on Andy's part. The lights of police cars were coming toward the museum. Remembering Cranston's injunction, Andy turned to go inside. More puzzled than ever, he was wondering what the next events would be. One person alone could have told him: The Shadow!

CHAPTER XVIII. THE CHANT OF XITLI.

FITZHUGH SALTER was not at all surprised when Andy Ames entered his office. He took it for granted that Andy had heard from the police. A few minutes later the police themselves were stamping into the curator's office in a fashion that made Salter motion for silence.

"I have something to tell you," declared the curator. "Something which may be in the nature of a demonstration, though I am not quite sure. Meanwhile" - he glanced at the half circle composed of six detectives - "I must insist upon absolute silence."

The quiet was broken by new footfalls coming in from the outside door. Hurriedly, Salter went to quiet the newcomers. He came back with two more detectives and another man: Eugene Brendle. As soon as Salter closed the door, Brendle explained that the detectives had called him, to which Salter nodded.

"I asked them to do so," he said. "Odd things have been happening in this museum, Brendle. Matterswhich concern both of us, as well as others."

He turned a half-doubtful glance toward Andy. In Salter's gaze Andy recognized a revival of the curator's old feud with Professor Hedwin.

If Salter had known how Hedwin had treated Andy before coming to the museum, the curator's doubt would have vanished. However, since Salter decided not to protest Andy's presence, Andy simply followed Cranston's injunction to remain silent.

Andy was thinking about Yvonne, and his worry was increasing. He finally rea.s.sured himself that Yvonne could not have come to the museum, or Salter would have mentioned it. When Salter began to speak, Andy did not realize that the curator's own statement proved that Yvonne could have come without Salter's knowledge.

"Professor Hedwin believes in a cult of Xitli," Salter told the group. "In my opinion, such a theory was more than unproven; it was preposterous. Such, I say, was my opinion. I have modified it within the past few days. When Aztecs were reported in New Orleans I began to wonder.

"Hedwin laid great stress upon the throne room of Xitli. He claimed that the basalt block which he brought back from Cuicuilco was the throne seat of Xitli. But, mind you, in all his talk of Xitli rituals involving a living fire G.o.d, Hedwin never declared that a real Xitli existed.

"He made it plain that someone, masked as Xitli, could control the cult. It would be possible, by Hedwin's own a.n.a.lysis, for a clever man to a.s.semble Aztecs in the top floor of this museum and there give them orders which they would accept as law."

Opening a cabinet, Salter produced a phonograph record. Moving a screen from a corner, he revealed a recording machine. Running his fingers along a crack, he drew a thin, green wire into sight.

"I stayed in the museum purposely," declared Salter, "and on certain evenings I was sure of two things: that persons were moving about, and that someone was using the elevator. So I installed a microphone in Xitli's throne room and carried the wiring down here.

"Last night I not only heard all that happened in the throne room, but I recorded it. Unfortunately, my knowledge of spoken Mayan is limited. I was forced to play the record over and over to make sure of all that Xitli had said to his Aztecs. It would have been no use to call the police until my work was finished.

"By then the thing had happened. The Aztecs had done what Xitli told them. They had gone to the waterfront and murdered Pierre Laboutard. Fortunately" - Salter showed a relieved smile - "the loss of Laboutard was not serious."

"But they killed Talborn, too!" exclaimed Brendle. "If you had notified the police in time, you might have saved him, Salter!"

"Not at all," insisted Salter. "There was no mention of Talborn, or the Monseca crypt, in the recording.

Xitli must have learned about the place where the treasure was hidden through Laboutard. This translation" - he placed typewritten papers on the desk - "proves that he told his Aztecs not to harm Laboutard until Xitli gave the word."

THE detectives were picking up the sheets, but Brendle was more interested in the phonograph record.

He asked Salter to run it through, but the curator shook his head.

"Not yet," he said. "I have a new disk on the machine in case the cult meets again tonight. Though the Aztecs apparently can go in and out at will, I purposely left the museum open to encourage them if theycame here. I was gone myself for a matter of fifteen minutes."

That statement was the one that should have impressed Andy. It meant that Yvonne could have come to the museum and entered un.o.bserved. But Andy was thinking in terms of Professor Hedwin, who had stayed inside the museum after leaving Salter's office.

At this moment the professor could be up in the throne room, garbed as Xitli, ready to receive the killers who formed the Aztec cult!

Startling though the thought was, its realization was far more sensational. Almost in response to Andy's thoughts, a crackling came from the loud-speaker above Salter's recording machine.

Excitedly, the curator sprang to the corner and started the blank disk that promised to receive again the words of Xitli, to keep them as permanent evidence.

From out of the crackling came the voice of the masquerader; a m.u.f.fled tone, yet startling. It was fluent, proving the speaker's knowledge of the strange tongue that he spoke. Salter, motioning for silence, was listening intently.

As the voice paused to receive a return babble from Aztec throats, Salter whispered excitedly: "I can understand it! His words are more coherent since I improved the reception -"

The voice of Xitli interrupted. Salter was nodding, at moments excitedly, at others solemnly. He kept pushing back the persons who asked him to translate the things he heard. There were intervals when Xitli let the Aztecs reply, but Salter managed only to wedge in a few remarks.

"This is their last meeting," said the curator. "Xitli is telling them that their work is done. They are to disband and return to Mexico."

Again, after a necessary pause while Xitli spoke, Salter relayed the words of the fire G.o.d.

"He is speaking of a sacrifice," declared Salter. "The Aztecs are clamoring for one. He is telling them to wait until the time when -"

Xitli's voice had begun again, rising above the clamor of the Aztecs. Before Salter could say another word, a low chant began. Strange, discordant, it became a terrifying thing; into its weird cadence came the beat of drums.

At every break there was a word from Xitli, as though the fire G.o.d had picked up the burden of the chant and reduced the others to a mere accompaniment.

Turning from his corner, Salter started toward the door, moving mechanically, like a man in a strange dream. He was reaching in his pocket for a revolver. Moving after him, the detectives did the same.

At the door, Salter paused, listening to the swelling of the chant, which had reached a hideous, outlandish pitch punctuated by the sharp articulations of Xitli.

"Come," spoke Salter. "A few of you - no more. It would not be safe for many. But if we watch -"

At that instant the chant was broken; not by the voice of Xitli, nor the hammering of drums, but a shriek so ardent that it seemed the only human thing in all that vocal horror. To most who heard it, the scream was an appeal for help from some unknown person whose distress was so packed in the cry that words would have been superfluous. To one, the shriek signified more. Andy Ames realized that only one person could have uttered it: Yvonne Carland. His worst fears had been realized. Yvonne had fallen into the power of the Aztec cult.

She was the sacrifice that the fiends demanded from their monstrous leader, Xitli!

ONE man stood in Andy's path; that man was Fitzhugh Salter. He had sprung about, was waving his arms, apparently to tell his numbed companions that a mere venture to the throne room of Xitli would mean their doom. But Andy wasn't one to be convinced by Salter, though the detectives were willing to take the curator's advice.

Shoulder first, Andy bowled Salter from the doorway, sent him sprawling across the corridor. Andy had the gun that he had used in Mexico, and he tugged it from his pocket as he sped for the elevator.

His boldness influenced the rest. Brendle came from the curator's office with a flood of detectives that nearly trampled Salter in the rush.

As he ran, Andy could still hear the chant of Xitli coming from the loud-speaker in the office, above the surge of many feet. It was loud, discordant, still carrying a note of frenzy; but there was no repet.i.tion of Yvonne's scream.

All was a blur to Andy as he reached the elevator. Rescue was his motive, but over him had come the appalling thought that he might be too late to save Yvonne. Yet Andy's ardor did not fade. If he could not save Yvonne, another motive would inspire him; that of revenge upon Xitli, G.o.d of fire!

CHAPTER XIX. XITLI SPEAKS.

THEY dashed into the throne room in the same positions as when they had left the curator's office, Andy ahead of the detectives. But in the race along the corridor of the top floor, Andy doubled his lead on his companions. He had one thought: to reach the throne room in the least time possible and consider consequences later.

So ardent was Andy's dash that he lunged into the fateful room before he could stop himself. A fire was burning in the center of the floor; beyond it, Andy saw Yvonne, attired in Aztec costume, senseless on a slab in front of Xitli's throne.

In the throne itself was the green-masked, feathered fire G.o.d, his flame-hued costume blending with the flickering of the flames. Poised between the palms of Xitli's gauntlets was a stone knife, its handle against one hand, its point against the other.

The knife of sacrifice!

Too well did Andy know the practices of the ancient Mayas and their successors, the Aztecs; their way of sacrificing maidens to appease their mythical G.o.ds. But all that was summed in Andy's one desire - death to Xitli!

Rescue or revenge. It would be one or the other, dependent upon whether or not Yvonne still lived. By downing Xitli, Andy could end the curse of the fire G.o.d and the power that went with it. But Andy found no time to aim his gun, let alone pull the trigger.

He had precipitated himself into the midst of the Xitli cult, and Aztecs were upon him in a wave.

Floundering, his revolver spinning from his hand, Andy saw the cleaving edges of hatchets brandished above him, ready to descend in time to the still persisting chant and the beat of the drums.

The thing that saved Andy was the voice of Xitli. At the fire G.o.d's harsh command, the Aztecs restrainedtheir weapons. Then Andy found himself faced about, his arms pinned behind him. They had dragged him to the throne at Xitli's order Other Aztecs had covered the doorway. They were flanking it, their stone hatchets at their fingertips.

Stopped almost under the blades were a pair of detectives who were motioning back to others, telling the rest to wait. They had fallen into a trap almost as bad as Andy's.