The Shadow’s path lay ahead, but only a superhuman effort could enable him to take it. A leap across that pit was possible, with a running start; but the approaching wall of steel, pressing through the passage like a huge ram plowing through a snow bank, would soon eliminate the short space in which the leaper could gain sufficient spring.
The Shadow did not hesitate. He threw his tall form flat against the moving wall. With long, swift strides, he sprang to the edge of the pit and shot through the air with hands upraised, bound for the safety on the other side.
It was a bold, powerful leap, planned in the nick of time, and executed to perfection but it came to an unexpected end. Hurtling through the air, The Shadow’s body encountered an invisible obstacle that gave beneath his form, then swung back and forth with elastic action.
The Shadow was hanging in mid-air, swaying above nothingness, suspended by an unseen clutch. His hands, outstretched before him, were tangled in skeinlike threads. His body was wrapped in the folds of a network; his legs were hampered by a tangling grip.
The Shadow was in the toils of Choy Lown; he had fallen into the master snare of the Oriental schemer. He was twisted in the midst of a gigantic web, which held him helpless. Below that web yawned certain death!
CHAPTER XV
CHOY LOWN SPEAKS
THE snare, designed by Choy Lown, was one of the most subtle traps ever conceived by human cunning. The artful old Chinaman had scorned so easy a device as the simple pushing of a victim into space. The open pit which had appeared so suddenly in The Shadow’s path had been planned as a blind that would make the victim take the quickest, shortest course to safety.
The Shadow’s flashlight had not shown the web that stretched from wall to wall above the pit. Pliant, wirelike threads, patterned after the complicated design of a spider web, had been joined to form a gigantic meshwork that could capture a human form.
The snare was not a single web; it was composed of many portions, so cleverly arranged that the force of a flying leap would completely entangle a person and render him helpless. This was the obstacle with which The Shadow now was struggling.
The darkness made The Shadow’s task seem impossible. His flashlight was beneath his cloak; his hands were so engaged that they could not reach it. Each effort to fight against the all-resisting meshwork meant further entanglement in the web.
The Shadow’s twisted form ceased its struggle. The black-garbed figure lay huddled in mid-air, like a gigantic fly awaiting slow death in the web of a mammoth spider. To fight against these toils was useless.
As long minutes drifted by, The Shadow did not move. He lay like a creature without life. The gently swaying web retained him comfortably, yet formed a prison that offered no escape. Should those slender bonds have broken, the captive would have fallen to his death; but the threads held, for they had been woven by the thousands.
Choy Lown could have intended but one fate for the victim who might fall into this mesh. That fate was death. Long, continued struggles would bring weakness. Death would be slow, but positive. No mercy would come from Choy Lown. He had planned this as a huge trap for the first human who might reach it. Death to intruders was Choy Lown’s philosophy.
In contrast to a lingering submission, there was one other course. A furious struggle within these bonds would snag the victim further, but could suffice to break the meshwork from its moorings. Then the web would fall, carrying its helpless prisoner down to the bottom of the pit, where death would be immediate.
That was the extent of Choy Lown’s consideration. Here, while strength still belonged to him, The Shadow might choose between quick death or lingering doom. He had been halted on the verge of his objective; this was to be his end.
THE motionless position of the huddled black shape seemed to indicate that The Shadow had chosen to submit to his fate without an effort. But after many minutes had passed, the cloaked man began to move. His arms, his legs - they were cautious in their efforts. The Shadow was testing the strength of this mammoth web.
To a slight degree, this strange prisoner was frustrating Choy Lown’s device, for while he could not sufficiently alter his position to free a portion of his body, at least his cautious actions were not entangling him further. So artfully designed was the web that The Shadow’s great spring had automatically rendered him helpless; but now he was skillful enough to keep his position from becoming worse.
The web was a network of many portions, all fastened to the corners of the oblong room that formed the widened center of the passage. Thus The Shadow’s body was swinging as though in a hammock, moving back and forth over a space of half a dozen feet. The fact that the meshes came from the sides of the room made it impossible for the swing to approach either of the solid portions of the passage.
Back from the spot where The Shadow had come, the steel barrier now was flush against the wall, a sheer cliff rising from the pit. Ahead, the passage still lay open to the curtains at the end. In making his terrific leap, The Shadow had jumped well upward, so that, in the faint light from beyond the curtains, he now viewed that farther passage from an angle.
Safety was close - but how could it be reached? Inch by inch, The Shadow tried to creep upward in the net. His hands, moving toward the vertical, were touching the ceiling; but no grip was afforded there.
Nevertheless, The Shadow’s brain was working coolly. His eyes, peering from beneath the brim of the hat enmeshed above them, were staring shrewdly at the end of the passage - ahead and below The Shadow’s form. Now with determined effort The Shadow commenced a strenuous struggle.
He did not seek to free himself; instead he urged his body back and forth, seeking the momentum of a powerful swing. Each forward motion became more violent. The web stretched; then receded. Forward - backward - forward - backward - the grim monotony kept on. The Shadow was not enmeshing himself further; but he was apparently striving uselessly. For the only result could be a breaking of the fastenings that held the web.
What was the answer? That The Shadow had chosen immediate death in preference to a lingering demise in the pit?
No! Despite his helplessness, The Shadow was striving with master precision. His body was moving forcefully now; each swing was a mighty heave forward; each return an automatic recoil. If The Shadow’s efforts were to succeed, the fastenings would break; but they would not break haphazardly. They would tear away in accordance with The Shadow’s plan.
The climax came. As The Shadow used all his might to give a forward, downward swing, a portion of the web broke away from the wall at a rear corner. That one fastening was followed by all the others that lay most distant from the farther passage. The Shadow’s forward urge became a flying plunge that snapped the foremost fastenings. The form in black dropped toward the oblivion of the pit!
NOTHING remained to stay The Shadow’s fall. As Choy Lown had designed it, the web had failed under repeated struggling by the victim. But The Shadow, in his keenness, had modified Choy Lown’s plan. Fruitless struggle would have caused The Shadow to drop straight down; concentrated effort had altered that plunge.
The Shadow’s fall was a forward dive. With greater impetus, it would have shot him squarely into the passage instead of the pit; but the swinging had not yet gained the required momentum. The Shadow was plunging short of his objective; but as his body described a falling curve, his hands and arms caught the edge of the passage, and his head remained above. Poised with the weight of his legs and body swinging downward, The Shadow was hanging on the edge of oblivion.
Under ordinary circumstances, The Shadow could have scrambled to the passage with ease. But a fearful, desperate struggle now confronted the master of mystery. The plunge had not freed him from the web. He was still tangled in the troublesome skeins and the huge net, with its myriad of threads, was hanging from his body like a shroud.
Fortunately, the web, so thin as to be invisible in ordinary light, weighed only a few pounds. If The Shadow could draw the weight of his own body
above the brink he would be saved. That was his endeavor now; and his fingers vainly sought sufficient hold upon the floor of the passage.
Somehow that steady clutch managed to impress itself upon a roughened board. With a mighty heave, The Shadow urged his body upward. Inch by inch, he pressed forward until his form lay prostrate on the floor, clear of the terrible pit. It had been an exhausting effort; but The Shadow had won.
Even now, The Shadow lay virtually helpless, for the entanglements of the web had increased rather than diminished. But now he held a distinct advantage over these enfolding bonds. Before, his body was a handicap because of its own weight. Now with the web no more than a loose meshwork, escape, while difficult, was not impossible.
Gradually, The Shadow’s right arm was drawn inward while probing fingers found a pathway through the threads. The hand reached the black cloak. A sharp-bladed knife unfolded in the black-gloved hand. The fingers used it to sever the tough threads and cut a wide gap in the net.
When the task was finished, The Shadow gradually emerged from his shroud-like mesh. He raised himself to his feet and swept the last portions of Choy Lown’s web from his body, stepping clear upon the floor.
Picking up the defeated web, the black-clad master tossed it into the pit. Standing on the brink, The Shadow emitted a whispered laugh. The shuddering sound was answered in long, sinister waves from below, as though a horde of waiting ghosts had cried back to the man who had eluded their abode of death.
THE SHADOW stole along the passage. His hands parted the silken curtains. A steel barrier prevented further advance. Wise Choy Lown! Despite the cruel web that protected his sanctum, he was clever enough to provide against chance shots that a wild victim might fire in the last moment of despair.
The Shadow’s laugh was mocking now. Here, with a barrier before and one behind, his sardonic mirth could not be heard. Sheets of steel? They were no terror to The Shadow. Not when he had time to deal with them!
His fingers found a crevice at the bottom of this barrier; the passage ended and the door extended below its termination. The Shadow stooped beneath the tiny light that hung just past the curtains, the light whose faint rays he had seen before. The Shadow peeled off his gloves, to reveal the gleaming fire opal.
He plucked at the right side of his cloak. The lining opened, and a small mass of blackish powder poured into the waiting left hand, which laid it carefully upon the floor. The hand poised back upward, and the iridescent gem gleamed with changing colors from the third finger. Then the right hand went to the other side of the cloak, and opened it. A grayish powder came forth.
The hands mixed the powders and let them sift down into the crevice at the bottom of the steel barrier. Then they produced a small metal tube, which, when opened, disclosed a glass vial. Uncorking the vial, the hands of The Shadow moved back and forth along the crevice, while a liquid trickled down to join the powder.
Then the black-clad form moved swiftly back toward the pit where it dropped and lay huddled on the floor just short of the edge. A moment later a dull explosion thudded from the barrier. Fumes of nauseating gas swept back through the passage. The Shadow waited for a few seconds; then rising, started forward, his head buried in his arms. The steel barrier wavered as The Shadow threw his form against it. The barrier gave. The sinister figure in black plunged forward into a lighted room.
Rising upright, The Shadow stood erect, while his hands, coming from his cloak, swung two automatics into view.
The gleaming eyes of The Shadow then witnessed a strange scene. The room, through which a few smokish fumes were trickling, might have been a chamber in the Imperial Palace of Old Peking. It was furnished with beautiful oddities of Chinese furniture. The floor was carpeted with garish Chinese rugs. Dragon tapestries hung from the walls, glittering with threads of gold. Beyond, at a carved desk, sat the wise old Celestial, Choy Lown.
The man must have been one hundred years old. His face, dry as parchment, was filled with sharply creased marks. His scrawny hands were resting helplessly on the table. From the odd, drawn face, two keen eyes were peering at the invader in black.
Choy Lown was half-stunned by the terrific cataclysm that had preceded the advent of The Shadow. He had not yet recovered from the fearful shock of seeing his impassable barrier totter from its fastenings. All his snares lay without his sanctum. Here, where he had never believed a visitor could enter, he had no protection.
The Shadow laughed. The automatics disappeared beneath his cloak. He swept forward to the table, his flowing garments swishing as he approached. Choy Lown stared with transfixed eyes, fascinated by the crimson lining that swung in view as the cloak opened slightly.
“You know me?”
The question came in The Shadow’s sinister whisper. It was addressed to Choy Lown.
“Yes I know you” - the old Chinaman replied in perfect English - “although I had never expected to meet you. You are The Shadow.”
“I have destroyed your snare,” declared The Shadow, his voice a sibilant shudder.
Choy Lown bowed and spread his hands. The gesture was more elucidating than words could possibly have been. It was Choy Lown’s symbol of resignation. It indicated that had The Shadow failed, his death would have been justified. Now that the black-clad phantom had triumphed, Choy Lown could see no cause for quarrel.
“I have a question to ask you,” came The Shadow’s forceful voice.
“I shall answer it,” responded Choy Lown quietly. “You have gained entrance to my sanctum where none but myself has ever before entered.”
The Shadow’s black-garbed form bent across the table as his unseen lips voiced the purpose of his quest.
“Who is Koon Woon?” His question was direct.
CHOY LOWN looked up and blinked. His eyes were staring. The name was significant to him.
“Koon Woon is in Penang” he replied.
“Koon Woon is not in Penang,” returned The Shadow. “Koon Woon is here - in America.”
A flicker of horror passed momentarily across the old Chinaman’s face.
“Koon Woon - here” - his words were short syllables - “Koon Woon - and Lei Chang - where is he?”
“Here also. I have come to learn about them.”
Choy Lown paused thoughtfully. At length he spoke in a tone of wisdom.
“You are The Shadow,” he said in a voice that showed a tinge of awe. “You have found the way to Choy Lown - a way that would never have been opened had you asked. You have saved your own life. You have spared mine. You are a man of miracles. Choy Lown is your friend henceforth.”
Drawing pen and paper toward him Choy Lown began to inscribe Chinese characters. He was thinking in his own language, as he wrote the story of Koon Woon. It was his intention to translate his inscriptions later, but that was not necessary. The Shadow, moving around beside the table, was reading the Chinese writing with his hidden eyes.
The silence was broken only by the scratching of Choy Lown’s pen. When the old man had finished the upward inscription in true Chinese fashion, he laid the pen and ink aside.
“That is the story of Koon Woon,” he said. “Koon Woon of Penang - Koon Woon, The Master of Lei Chang. Few have heard of Koon Woon. I have seen him. I know the truth.”
The old Chinaman was staring fixedly as though his eyes were visualizing a terrible sight from the past. Then his thoughts returned to the present. A scrawny hand reached for a locket that hung from the old man’s neck. Opening it, Choy Lown brought forth a tiny disk which bore a silver character upon its jet-black surface. He held it toward The Shadow.
“This is the token of Choy Lown,” declared the old Chinaman solemnly. “It is Choy Lown’s gift to The Shadow as a sign of friendship. With it, you can always send word to Choy Lown through those who serve him. To you, The Shadow, the way will henceforth be open to Choy Lown’s sanctum.”
As the hand that wore the flaming fire opal received the black disk, Choy Lown stretched forth his other hand, and with a sin
gle pointed finger pressed three buttons that were on the side of the disk. The muffled throb of mechanism came from the passage through which The Shadow had entered.
“The way is open,” announced Choy Lown. “It shall ever be open for The Shadow, the man who knows no fear. He may always come and go, to and from the secret abode of Choy Lown.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE ATTACK
ANOTHER morning had dawned at Lower Beechview, and Mildred Chittenden had enjoyed a restful night. High noon had arrived when she appeared upon the lawn and began to stroll about the grounds. Jessup and his two men were at work on the side of the house away from the grove. Harvey, Mildred knew, was in the house, keeping to himself. Craig Ware was not in sight.
Jessup saw the girl approaching, and tipped his hat. Mildred noted that the two men were busy rolling a large barrel up an incline from the cellar. She spoke to Jessup.
“Where is Mr. Ware?” she questioned.
“He went away this morning,” replied Jessup. “Up to Connecticut. He won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” said Mildred thoughtfully. “I remember that he was going away. I’m sorry that he will be away. The place looks beautiful this morning, Jessup. Perhaps that is because I enjoyed a good rest for a change.”
“Glad to hear that, ma’am,” responded Jessup. “I was up most of the night, watching the grounds. One of my men will be on duty tomorrow. I hope that will make you and Mr. Chittenden feel less worried.”
“I’m not worrying any more,” said Mildred, with a laugh. “It just seemed rather spooky out here, I suppose, after the city.”
Jessup turned to order the men who were moving the barrel. Mildred saw now that there were three or four of the large containers, and that they offered considerable trouble in handling. One was going on a wheelbarrow now.
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