The meeting was coming to its end, and apparently it had been a brief one, otherwise Xitli would have ordered the door of the throne room to be locked.

The throned masquerader had given his Aztecs new instructions for this evening; their chant, which The Shadow understood, was merely their way of saying that the commands of the fire G.o.d would be obeyed.

With an automatic wedged through the crack of the door, The Shadow was preparing to end the cult of Xitli by proving that the fire G.o.d was very human; a fact that a single bullet would establish. But he wanted Xitli alive, and therefore was taking very careful aim toward the flame-robed figure. The Shadow's exact.i.tude proved fortunate for Xitli.

Just as The Shadow was ready to squeeze the trigger, Xitli gave a gesture with one hand. Something struck the stone floor of the room; there was a vivid spurt of flame. The dazzle blinded The Shadow, as it did the Aztecs. When he obtained a clear view of the throne, Xitli was gone.

The Aztecs were coming from the throne room. Still blinking, they did not see The Shadow. He drew rapidly away, to the door of an exhibit room. His eyes were keen again, but the Aztecs also had regained full vision.

Battle, at this time, would be fruitless. To meet the Aztecs on their home ground, where they could dive for every cranny and fling stone axes from cover, would mean odds much to The Shadow's disadvantage, with no chance of finding the master murderer who ruled this cult in the guise of Xitli.

Having work ahead, the Aztecs moved toward the stairway, and The Shadow followed. To all appearances, Xitli had gone ahead of the stony-faced tribe. At present, the Aztecs were the persons to be followed, as on that night when they had murdered Carland.

But whatever the crime that Xitli had designed for this evening, with the Aztecs as the perpetrators, The Shadow intended to block it.

The trail led down through the museum cellar, where the Aztecs drew away a loosened block and exited through a grating on the ground level, a few feet above.

There were numerous gratings around the museum; they led to drainage pipes that carried water away from the foundation of the pyramid. The Aztecs had simply used the grating in reverse; whether Xitli had loosened the stone for them, or had left the task to his followers, was something of less importance than the fact that the secret route existed. As before, The Shadow kept close behind the Aztecs, after he, too, had used the grating as an exit. But tonight, the trail was much more certain, because The Shadow called in two waiting aids to help him.

Those two were the Xincas, and they were right in their element. Not only could they move as craftily as the Aztecs; they looked like the squatty men, and could approach very close to them, since the Aztecs mistook them for companions.

Thus, when stretches of light forced The Shadow to remain behind, the Xincas carried through. One followed the Aztecs; the other waited for The Shadow. At no time did the trail show signs of breakage.

The amazing thing was the destination. The Aztecs chose the very area where they were being hunted: the waterfront!

POLICE were on hand in plenty, but the Aztecs filtered right through the loose cordon. In the main, they chose alleys; but at intervals, they scaled low roofs. They formed as insidious a swarm as any that The Shadow had ever hunted; coppery men, who moved with the stealth of reptiles and, moreover, resembled snakes in the hissed signals that they exchanged.

At last, the Aztecs reached their goal. They became a close-knit cordon around the doorway of an old, forgotten frame house that was squeezed among other buildings. The door was evidently the rear entrance to the house, and to cover it, the Aztecs chose various vantage spots.

Some lay in the shelter of a little fence; others crouched in an alley. The rest were on top of adjacent sheds, from which they could fling axes with increased effect.

The Shadow drew the two Xincas to a deserted house, pointing them to a low roof. Taking their positions, they produced arrows and short, thick bows.

The Xincas were deadly with such weapons, and their present duty was to be ready with a barrage against the Aztecs, should it be necessary to cover The Shadow's advance. There was enough light, fringing the yard that the Aztecs watched, for the Xincas to pick out the hatchet-armed fighters.

Then, along the darkness of the ground, The Shadow entered the death yard, alone. Entry was easy, for the Aztecs were watching the rear of the frame house. Approaching the door, however, was a feat requiring all The Shadow's skill.

He had to move with the trickling effect of cloudy smoke; and did. His black figure was as flitting as the shadowy motion of the wavering palm trees near the door that he sought.

Inch by inch, it seemed, The Shadow blotted the darkened door itself, and gradually eased his way inside, m.u.f.fling the very creaks of the woodwork with the folds of his enveloping cloak.

He was inside, the door closed behind him; next came a pa.s.sage to a room where he heard voices. The Shadow approached, and peered at faces that he had seen before.

Pierre Laboutard was in conference with his motley band; this was their new hide-out, and Laboutard, backed by Jaro, was a.s.suring them that they had nothing to worry about. He didn't consider it good policy even to lock the door, or place guards about.

"Perhaps the police find us," suggested Laboutard. "If they do, what can it matter? Like many other people, we are staying away from trouble. So we wait, and say nothing. But if the police do not find us, so much the better."

Laboutard's comments brought approving nods. His men weren't asking him about the "other job" that they had once discussed. They had done enough crime in the past to be particular about the present. Asfor the future, it would have to wait until the Aztec scare was ended.

A jangle sounded from a side room, reached from the hall where The Shadow stood. Drawing back, The Shadow waited while Laboutard went alone to answer the telephone. He saw the crafty look on Laboutard's face, listened while the man talked to someone who had called. There was a light in the little room, and through the crack of the door The Shadow observed a tightening of Laboutard's expression.

"Ah, oui," said Laboutard. "They have been done, those things you wish, but not by me. So you wonder why I call, eh?"

The Shadow recognized that Laboutard was referring to the murders of Carland and Dorn, tasks on which he had hedged. The man who wanted those murders done had found a better way. He had taken advantage of the Aztecs, and made himself their ruler.

Laboutard, at this moment, was talking to the master mind who called himself Xitli!

OBVIOUSLY, Laboutard knew who Xitli really was, and had sent him word to call this number.

Smoothly, Laboutard was planning a shakedown. He wanted hush money from the master plotter who styled himself Xitli. Naturally, Laboutard wasn't putting it too bluntly. His words were actually purred.

"You promise me that I could kill those men" - Laboutard was referring to Carland and Dorn - "and while I wait, pouf! - I find it is already done. It is not fair that you should forget me, after we make the bargain."

His face shrewd, Laboutard listened to Xitli's reply. Evidently Xitli was not willing to pay for work that the Aztecs had done in place of Laboutard's men. But the wily Laboutard expected such refusal.

"But I tell my men so much," insisted Laboutard. "I tell them everything m'sieu', about those men you say for us to kill. Everything, oui, except why you wish such murder."

A brief pause; then Laboutard added, cunningly: "You think I do not know why you wish murder? Ah, you are very foolish. You should remember that I come from the bayou, where I paddle many places in my pirogue. I see many thing while in my canoe. I learn - Ah, you understand?"

Triumph gleamed on Laboutard's shrewd features. He was driving home the very point he wanted. But there were things that Laboutard could see, and learn about, without making another trip to the delta of the Mississippi. Things right here in New Orleans, which were happening right around him.

Shadowy patches were creeping in upon Laboutard, climbing onto the wall beside him. Suddenly startled, Laboutard remembered his old enemy, The Shadow. He wheeled from the telephone and gave a sharp cry of alarm.

But it wasn't sight of The Shadow that caused Laboutard's consternation. The Shadow was still away from view, beyond the hallway door. Other figures had caused the creeping blackness.

Pierre Laboutard was enmeshed by a half circle of Aztecs, chunky warriors who had come in from the windows of this room while Laboutard was busy at the telephone. They were menacing him, with their raised hatchets, as if waiting a signal to bury the weapons in their victim.

From the dangling telephone receiver that Laboutard had dropped came a harsh, significant chuckle: the tone of Xitli!

CHAPTER XV. LINKS IN CRIME

FACED by the horrendous Aztecs, Pierre Laboutard showed frantic changes of expression that told a story which needed no words. Peering from the doorway, waiting with leveled gun, The Shadow could read the entire tale. It summed to this: Laboutard knew too much.

Xitli had foreseen that Laboutard would try a shakedown, demanding cash for silence regarding the motives of, as well as knowledge of, the man who had ordered the deaths of Carland and Dorn. So Xitli had postponed his telephone call until his Aztecs were on the ground. The jangle of the telephone bell had been the signal for the squatly killers to creep in upon Laboutard.

At that moment, The Shadow could have taken toll among the Aztecs. But to do so would have been sure death for Laboutard. Other Aztecs had crept in from the windows, to support the ones who held Laboutard encircled. The newcomers were watching the door, and would handle matters from that direction.

So The Shadow waited in the darkened hall, preserving Laboutard's life for the simple reason that Laboutard was the one man whose testimony could prove the ident.i.ty of Xitli.

Numbly, Laboutard groped for the telephone receiver and found it. Then, in gasps, he was pleading over the wire, promising anything if Xitli would spare him. The Shadow had foreseen that Xitli would give Laboutard a chance to beg; otherwise, the Aztecs would have struck down their victim without waiting.

"Ah, non!" gulped Laboutard. "I did not mean that I would ever talk. I meant that because of things I know, I thought that I could be useful to you... Ah, oui, I can do anything you ask, and my men will help... Non, they do not know why you wished murder. None know, I swear it; not even Jaro!"

The plea seemed to bring results, for Laboutard's voice returned to normal, as did his expression. Then: "You think I work for someone else?" queried Laboutard. "That I take something from the museum, and from the Amazonia?... Very well, I say I have done those things. I take treasure from the boxes, and no one find out... Oui, I do it for the man you name, and he has given me the pay...

"Ah, very good!" Laboutard's tone showed his approval of Xitli's cunning. "You wish me to rob the man who has the treasure... Why not? If he do not watch it, he should lose it... We go and take it, right away, and bring it wherever you say."

This time, the pause was longer, and Laboutard showed a trace of worry.

"You wish to know the place?" he queried. "But if I take my men there, it should be enough -"

Xitli's tone came harsh, from the receiver. Hearing it, Aztecs shifted forward. The edges of their hatchets actually grazed Laboutard's neck. There was no more argument from Laboutard.

"I tell you where!" he exclaimed hurriedly. "We put all the treasure in the old Monseca crypt... Oui, the one that stands in the corner of the little cemetery, but which no one ever use... Very good. I send my men with Jaro, and I bring these men of yours..."

Xitli must have spoken more instructions, for Laboutard gingerly pa.s.sed the telephone receiver to one of the Aztecs. Hearing the voice of Xitli, the Aztec gave a guttural reply. He pointed Laboutard toward the door; but when Laboutard moved in that direction, two Aztecs closed in beside him.

They stopped Laboutard when he reached the hall, where The Shadow, by then, was deep in darkness near the stairway. Laboutard called for Jaro; the lieutenant poked his face from the rear room. He didn'tsee the Aztecs; they were still in the doorway of the side room.

Laboutard ordered Jaro to go to the Monseca crypt and pick up the treasure. Jaro began to sputter something.

"Do what I say!" stormed Laboutard. "Take it all to the old truck, and leave it. Where it goes later, is my business. But it means more pay for all of us."

That was good enough for Jaro. He told the men in the rear room to come along.

Meanwhile, the Aztecs were drawing Laboutard back into the side room. They had closed the door when Jaro pa.s.sed. Nor did Jaro and the entire crew encounter The Shadow.

He avoided them by moving a short way up the stairs. As soon as the last of them were gone, The Shadow crossed the hall and reached the side room.

The door came open a trifle. An Aztec peered out, to make sure that Jaro's men had left. The Aztec did not see The Shadow, for the cloaked watcher had edged toward the rear room.

But the moment the Aztec pressed the door tight shut, The Shadow sprang forward. Grabbing the doork.n.o.b, he slashed the door inward and came upon the Aztecs with a sudden laugh of challenge.

At that moment, the stony men were surrounding Laboutard, waiting while one of their number talked to Xitli on the telephone. An order was coming across the wire, one that Laboutard should certainly have understood by this time.

His own men gone, Laboutard, surrounded by Aztecs, was definitely on the spot. The Shadow was actually coming to his rescue!

THE Aztecs were no longer worried about the door. That was why The Shadow's entry came as a surprise, and brought them all away from Laboutard.

Reversing his spin, The Shadow was back into the hall, blazing shots while stone hatchets came flying past him. It was life for Laboutard, if the fellow had shown sense enough to dive for a window.

Instead, Laboutard yanked out a revolver and drove for the hall, shooting vain shots that he hoped would reach The Shadow!

Like whippets, the Aztecs were after him. Those who still had hatchets used them on Laboutard's skull, felling him on the way. The rest were plucking up their weapons from the places where they had lodged.

To make it worse for The Shadow, the door from the yard clattered open, showing a pair of waiting Aztecs, cutting off retreat.

With Laboutard dead, The Shadow had no reason to wait. He made for the outer door in one long dive, disregarding the fact that the two blockers were already lunging toward him, their hatchets swinging.

The lunges became sprawls, even though The Shadow lacked time to use his automatic. With a bound, he was across his flattened foemen, who were writhing on their faces, each with an arrow projecting from the center of his back. The Shadow's Xincas had picked off the murderous men who threatened their chief.

Whirling across the yard, The Shadow avoided other hatchets that were flung from sheds. Again, he owed his life to his bow-and-arrow specialists. Their quivers handy, the Xincas were quick to tw.a.n.g fresh shafts, that downed the hatchet throwers before any could complete a proper hurl. Then, his Xincas with him, The Shadow was away in his car, leaving the field to police who had been attracted by the shooting. He knew that the officers would not encounter any Aztecs. Having finished Laboutard, Xitli's followers would prefer departure, taking their wounded with them.

MEANWHILE, Jaro and his men were well on their way to the Monseca crypt. They had lost no time in getting away from the waterfront, where there were too many police to suit them.

Far from earshot when The Shadow attempted the rescue of Laboutard, Jaro and his mixed crowd had no idea of what had happened in the hide-out.

The Monseca crypt answered the description that Laboutard had given Xitli. It was a mausoleum of a type very common in New Orleans, and it stood in a corner of a small cemetery that was slated for removal.

The Monseca family had built the crypt, but had shortly afterward migrated from New Orleans. Never visited, the empty mausoleum made an excellent place for the storing of secret treasure.

Approaching the crypt, Jaro and his men found it unlocked, which did not entirely surprise them.

Laboutard had been paid for storing the stolen treasure there, and it was never Pierre's policy to double-cross a client.

Even Laboutard's recent dealing with Xitli was not a departure from custom, for Laboutard, by his own system of reasoning, felt that he was the one who had been betrayed in such matters as the murders of Carland and Dorn.

Knowing nothing of Laboutard's game, nor his death, Jaro and his company entered the crypt and began to stack the heavy sacks that they found there. They had been at work only a few minutes, when a guard reported that someone was approaching.

With drawn knives and guns, the invaders waited. As they heard the door swing open, then shut, they used their flashlights.

In the glare stood Graham Talborn.

Obligingly, Jaro hung an electric lantern from the wall, so that Talborn could see the faces of the crowd.

Talborn promptly recognized them, but the exporter did not show his usual affable manner. Instead, he demanded sharply: "Where is Laboutard?"

"He is coming later," rejoined Jaro. "Maybe he is at the truck, waiting until we bring the sacks."

"Did Laboutard send you here?"

Jaro nodded, in answer to Talborn's question. Eyes narrowing, the exporter looked around the group.

Seeing that Jaro had them quite under control, Talborn addressed the lieutenant.

"When I hired Laboutard," stated Talborn, "I had to let him know my game: that I was secretly bringing in treasure from Mexico with the shipments to the Mayan Museum. Later, you men found out the full facts.

It seemed best to tell you, so that you would be careful never to injure me by mistake."

"That is right," agreed Jaro.

"So it means," continued Talborn, "that you actually worked for me. Any order from Laboutard,regarding this treasure; would have to come from me."

Again, Jaro nodded.

"But I did not tell Laboutard to bring you here tonight," a.s.serted Talborn. "This is his own idea, and it means just one thing. He is trying to double-cross me, although I have paid him in full. If he will do that to me, he will do the same to you!"

The argument bore weight with Jaro. It promised him the opportunity that he had long wanted: to supplant Laboutard as chief of the motley organization. Too long had Laboutard been letting Jaro do the heavy work; the lieutenant had remained loyal, purely because he knew that Laboutard was reliable.

Talborn's words put an end to Jaro's shreds of esteem toward Laboutard.

Naturally, Jaro did not guess that Laboutard had made a deal with Xitli, under stress; that otherwise, Pierre would not have double-crossed his former employer, Talborn. Even had he known it, Jaro would hardly have rejected his present opportunity. Looking among his men, he studied their faces to see how they stood.