Gray Fist s-48

by Maxwell Grant

  "It's all set, Yat Soon," he declared. "I got the message you left for me outside. I took it to Gray Fist."

  "He has agreed to the terms?" questioned Yat Soon mildly.

  "Sure thing," replied Snakes. "He's got three prisoners. Two of them were guys that worked for The Shadow. The other is a dick named Joe Cardona. They're all downstairs. We're ready to bring them up."

  "Who is ready?"

  "Ruff Shefflin and his gang. You said the prisoners had to be brought here. Gray Fist agreed. But he's not going to let them out of sight of his crew—of Ruff's crew."

  Yat Soon considered the statement solemnly. At last, he denoted his acquiescence. He pressed the switch; the panel opened. Snakes Blakey issued forth to follow the arrangements.

  As soon as the mobster had gone, Yat Soon walked stolidly to the panel at the rear of the room. He paused there, in deep thought. At last, he pressed the switch and went through the rising opening.

  He had gone to carry this word to The Shadow. Ruff Shefflin and a crew of mobsters had not been in the previous discussion. Nevertheless, Yat Soon apparently expected his prisoner to abide by the unexpected arrangements.

  When the panel opened, a smile beamed on Yat Soon's usually placid face. The red-robed master closed the panel of The Shadow's prison. A clang from outside announced that visitors were at the brass gate.

  Yat Soon opened the portal.

  Mobsters shuffled into the reception room. With them they had three prisoners. Jabbing revolvers kept Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent in line, along with Joe Cardona. All were groggy. They had evidently been doped for this occasion.

  THERE were half a dozen mobsters in all. Ruff Shefflin was their leader. Snakes Blakey was with the crew. They shoved their prisoners against the wall. Snakes Blakey faced Yat Soon.

  "Here they are," he snarled. "Two of them belong to The Shadow. These two—and we brought the other guy along for good measure."

  "Where is Gray Fist?" came Yat Soon's query.

  "He's coming," laughed Snakes. "We'll wait for him. He's the fellow that wants The Shadow—Gray Fist is."

  Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were staring wearily about them. Their faces began to register surprise at this strange setting. Joe Cardona, beside them, seemed more alive than The Shadow's agents.

  Although he made no effort to defy the gun-wielding gangsters, the detective wore a challenging look.

  In fact, Cardona became more alert and defiant, as slow minutes moved by. It was the clangor beyond the front panel that caused Cardona's look to turn to one of intense interest. Then came words that brought the detective's head up straight.

  "It's Gray Fist!" exclaimed Snakes Blakey.

  The panel rose as Yat Soon pressed the switch. Into the room stepped a man clad in gray. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland stared. They recognized the figure that they had seen before. This time, in better light, the face was plain also. It was a face that neither could remember.

  A startled cry of recognition came, however, from another quarter. Joe Cardona, staring madly, knew the man who had just entered. He had recognized Gray Fist! This man who was dressed in gray was Landis Glascomb!

  THERE was no pitiful expression on the face of the financier. Glascomb's features were tinged with evil.

  He made no pretense to cover up his fiendish character. He was gloating, in an hour of evil triumph -

  sneering as he glanced at Joe Cardona.

  The detective, more alert than ever, knew the hideous truth. Landis Glascomb—as Gray Fist—had never trusted more than one minion. He had used Seth Cowry as an agent to gain power over men of big affairs— men whom Landis had studied, and whose weaknesses he knew.

  Fearing betrayal by Cowry, Gray Fist had obtained Snakes Blakey. Through the sneaky mobster, he had gained the services of Ruff Shefflin and attendant gangsters. They had put Seth Cowry on the spot.

  Ruggles Preston had also served as a worker to keep the victims in line—but Preston had never known the true identity of Gray Fist.

  With total ignorance of whom it was he served, Ruggles Preston had kept the name of Landis Glascomb on the list of victims. He had unwittingly watched his own chief all the while he watched the others!

  Snakes Blakey had been the only go-between; with Ruff Shefflin at his bidding, the sneak had done his work well. The death of Preston, however, had been a blow to Gray Fist. The fiend had feared that Joe Cardona had uncovered the list. He had sent his victims out of town; but he, himself, had remained, playing a pitiful part to lure Cardona!

  By learning that Cardona alone held the list, Gray Fist had been free to act. Snakes Blakey had been watching. He had posted mobsters. They had seized Cardona. Yet even had they failed, Gray Fist, as Landis Glascomb, could have proven his innocence of all wrongdoing. He would have appeared as the most unfortunate of all his own victims!

  Wild thoughts ran through Cardona's mind. His helplessness was the final one. The arch fiend stood free, proud of his villainy, so sure of his success that he made no further effort to conceal his identity.

  Nothing could thwart Gray Fist now. Only vague hope seared through Joe Cardona's brain. Then, the fantastic belief in some salvation ended as the detective heard the demand which Gray Fist made of Yat Soon.

  "I have come," sneered Gray Fist, "to hold you to your promise, Yat Soon. I have come for the prisoner you hold."

  "He is here," came the Chinaman's solemn reply.

  A harsh chortle came from Gray Fist's throat. This villain who was Landis Glascomb raised his right hand and clutched the air with a tightening gray-gloved hand.

  "None can thwart me now!" he cried, for all the listeners to hear. "None! Gray Fist holds the master of them all! Gray Fist holds The Shadow!"

  CHAPTER XXIII. GRAY FIST'S TREACHERY

  "YOUR prisoner awaits you."

  The declaration came from Yat Soon as the Chinaman made a bow to Gray Fist.

  "Where is his prison?" queried Landis Glascomb. "Where have you kept him?"

  Yat Soon made a gesture toward the rear panel.

  "You are sure -" began Glascomb.

  "He will make no trouble," interposed Yat Soon. "I shall keep my promise to place him in your hands."

  "After that -"

  "All will be well, Gray Fist. The Shadow will be yours to take. I have spoken with him, and he has asked only that you abide by your agreement. The prisoners must be released."

  A fierce snort came from Gray Fist's nostrils. The fiend waved his hand toward the prisoners and laughed.

  "Why should I release them?" he queried. "I tricked The Shadow once, but he escaped me. I can trick him surely, now that he is my prisoner."

  "Your promise," came the solemn tones of Yat Soon.

  "What are promises?" sneered Gray Fist. "They are made to be broken."

  "My promise to you?"

  Gray Fist stared at the blinking yellow face. His challenge was a menace.

  "You have kept it!" snarled the villain. "You cannot change it now. I have means to back the promises that I exact. Look about you and see!"

  Yat Soon stared at the toughened faces of Ruff Shefflin and his mobsters. All had drawn their revolvers.

  They awaited any order that Gray Fist might give.

  "Forget your guards, Yat Soon," chuckled Gray Fist. "My men are stronger. I have others, below. They will aid if necessary. At the same time, you have nothing to fear, provided that you do as I command.

  Bring forth The Shadow!"

  Yat Soon paused beside the wall. Gray Fist saw the Chinaman's hesitation. He scowled.

  "I have promised The Shadow," protested Yat Soon, "that you would abide by your terms. These men"—he indicated Cliff and Harry—"are his. You brought them here to release them -"

  "I brought them here to deceive you!" interrupted Gray Fist. "That purpose has been served. Any promise that you made to The Shadow is nothing. Come! Bring him from his prison!"

  With these words, Landis Glascomb drew his own revolver. He cle
nched it in his gray fist, and turned the muzzle toward the figure of Yat Soon. He motioned to the mobsters. They trained their guns on the panel beyond which lay The Shadow's prison.

  "We want him alive," asserted Gray Fist. "But if he makes a move, he must die! Be ready—all of you.

  Come, Yat Soon! Open the panel, before I shoot you where you stand!"

  Feebly, Yat Soon pressed the switch. He stepped back by the wall. Gray Fist and all his mobsters were covering the opened panel. Their guns sank; their faces showed amazement. Even Gray Fist was astonished by what he saw.

  Seated in a thronelike chair, in the center of the prison room, was Yat Soon! The very Chinaman who had opened the paneled door was now before them! His eyes were staring with a strange wrath. His commanding gaze brooked all attention!

  THE throned man spoke. His words came in stern, unanswerable terms, that rang out in bitter accusation. Not one of the invaders moved. They were like listening statues as they heard the statement of Yat Soon.

  "I am Yat Soon," announced the Chinaman. "You came to me, Gray Fist, to exact a promise. I agreed to do your bidding. I promised you The Shadow as your prisoner.

  "That was an honorable task—the keeping of a promise. I learned that you had made a promise to The Shadow. Therefore, I expected you to keep it. You have shown that you lied. You have no honor.

  Moreover, you do not trust the ones who treat you with the honor which is not your due.

  "You have brought henchmen here to make sure that I would keep my promise. That action releases me from my oath to you. I repudiate all friendship. Nevertheless, I shall keep my promise.

  "I shall give you what I promised. I shall give you The Shadow. Had you come here alone, you could have had him as your prisoner, unarmed. You chose to come with men prepared for battle. You yourself have made your choice. You have the armed strength that you need. The Shadow is there"—Yat Soon extended a pointing finger—"where you can take him. You have your opportunity!"

  All eyes turned from the prison room. As they did, the panel began to slide down. It dropped so rapidly that not a mobster could turn back to prevent it. Yat Soon, beyond the door, was safe.

  But he was only one Yat Soon! He was the second whom the invaders had encountered. Again eyes turned across the room, to the spot where the first Yat Soon had moved the moment that he had released the panel.

  Gray Fist and his henchmen faced the yellow-visaged Mongol who was the duplicate of the one upon the throne beyond the panel. Their eyes were ahead of their guns, for their astonishment had not yet left them. The first Yat Soon had taken all attention by revealing the second; the second had turned attention from himself by pointing to the first.

  Doubt and bewilderment swept every brain within that room, until the actions came that proved the secret of this amazing duplication. The hands of the first Yat Soon were rising. From the folds of the maroon robe, they were drawing two automatics!

  The golden dragons shimmered on the reddened cloth as the tones of a sinister merriment burst through the room. That mockery revealed the truth. From the lips of the first Yat Soon—the false Yat Soon—came the weird laugh of The Shadow!

  The chilling tones were the explanation of the terms on which The Shadow and Yat Soon had worked.

  The Shadow, as Yat Soon, had proposed to give himself up to Gray Fist. He had allowed the fiend fair opportunity to keep the promise which The Shadow had been given.

  Gray Fist had shown himself a traitor. The Shadow had raised the panel that Yat Soon—listening there—might make the final decision and the just one.

  Death to traitors! Death to betrayers! Such had been the maxim of Gray Fist. Yet he, the fiend, had acted as a traitor. He had betrayed a trust. In so doing, he had completed the fair understanding that had been made between The Shadow and Yat Soon.

  Yat Soon's promise had been kept. The Shadow stood before Gray Fist. The supercrook was backed by a squad of mobsters. He had the power to take the prisoner he wanted.

  But the laugh of The Shadow, rising strident as it reverberated through the square-walled room, told Gray Fist that his task was not ended!

  Death to The Shadow! Gray Fist and his mobsters sought it. The Shadow's laugh defied them to deliver it!

  CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHADOW STRIKES

  WITHIN the squared walls of Yat Soon's paneled room, The Shadow faced a concentrated mass of foemen. In all of his recent conflicts with hordes from the underworld, The Shadow had been forced to cope with odds.

  This time, the shock troops of gangdom stood before him. These henchmen of Gray Fist were hand picked. They had come prepared for trouble with The Shadow. Gray Fist had anticipated it.

  Ruff Shefflin, toughest of gang leaders, was at the head of Gray Fist's minions. Snakes Blakey, the sneaking go-between who so far had evaded The Shadow's hand, stood by Ruff's side. With them half a dozen fighters. More than that, these evil men of crime were backed by the superfiend: Gray Fist!

  Yet The Shadow had wished this meeting. He had planned it with Yat Soon. The Shadow had played fair with the arbiter of Chinatown. Yat Soon, since he had listened through hidden slits in the prison panel, had washed his hands of Gray Fist. The Chinaman knew the fiend's perfidy. He had left this encounter to The Shadow and Gray Fist. It was of The Shadow's choosing. No obligations remained.

  Perhaps Yat Soon thought that The Shadow was guided by folly. On the contrary, the wise old Chinaman may have had faith in The Shadow's prowess. But Yat Soon, in his judgment, was not one who interfered with quarrels that concerned no one but those involved. He had seen that a struggle lay between The Shadow and Gray Fist. He had decided to let the battle break.

  Nevertheless, Yat Soon, in fulfilling his promise to The Shadow, had performed a passive service that fitted well into The Shadow's plan. The amazement of the mobsters; the turning of attention; the final moment of revelation which came with the weird laugh—all these were factors upon which The Shadow had counted.

  He was a being who lived in split seconds. In action, The Shadow had a swiftness that exceeded the speed of normal thought. Here, in Yat Soon's reception room, with a squad of dangerous men before him, The Shadow had no fear!

  The opening roars of The Shadow's automatics formed a stern accompaniment to the crescendo of his terrifying laugh. While eerie mockery still echoed, The Shadow's mighty weapons blazed. Back to a paneled wall, The Shadow beat the first of his enemies to the shots.

  Two gangsters tottered as leaden bullets found their human targets. These were the two nearest The Shadow. As the mobsters sprawled, The Shadow, still wearing the masklike visage of Yat Soon, swung along the wall. His move was a well contrived one.

  Ruff Shefflin had aimed to kill. His bullet, discharged as The Shadow moved, missed the tall form in maroon. It flattened against the paneled wall, close beside the yellowed face of the false Yat Soon.

  Another mobster was aiming. The Shadow's bullet picked him in the side. The gangster screamed as he fell. His wild arms clutched and grasped Ruff Shefflin. The gang leader lost his aim that he was seeking.

  His second shot went wide.

  Others were firing at The Shadow. As bullets whizzed, the being in red dropped almost to the floor.

  Shots timed for the robed form again missed the target. A yell of triumph came from a gangster's throat.

  The man had thought that he had dropped The Shadow. The mobster's cry ended as an automatic barked. Shefflin's henchman sprawled gurgling to the floor.

  A huge splotch of deep red, crouched beside a panel, The Shadow was a menace that had proven its power. His rapid fire had thinned out the mobsters. Scattered bullets, fired wildly in return, had proven futile.

  Behind a cordon of dropping gangsters stood two men. Gray Fist, a revolver in his clutch, was letting the others fight while he kept watch. Snakes Blakey, too, was standing waiting. He was ready to fight with his chief when occasion called for it. Both, however, thought The Shadow doomed.

  Ruff Shefflin, breaking free from t
he grasp of the falling mobster, pounced forward, aiming as he came. A violent fighter, Ruff was ready to sound The Shadow's doom. The maroon-clad form, glistening with its golden dragons, rose to meet the fierce attack. Up came an automatic.

  The Shadow's finger pressed while Ruff's was trembling. The automatic barked. Ruff Shefflin never released his bullet. His body swayed. A bulging look came in his eyes. He toppled forward toward The Shadow.

  To those in back, Ruff's body seemed to poise as though an invisible force had held it. Then, from between the gang leader's arms and body, came two long hands projecting from red sleeves. The Shadow had gripped the gang leader's form. Ruff Shefflin, dying, had become The Shadow's shield!

  IT was a master stroke of strategy: one for which The Shadow had played. Behind his human bulwark, The Shadow, backing toward the wall, sprayed leaden hail into the remaining mobsmen. Ruff Shefflin seemed to be moving mechanically forward as The Shadow drew him along.

  Furiously, the mobsters sprang en masse. They wanted to seize their dying leader's form, to tear it away that they might slay The Shadow. Instead, they found themselves plunging into death. Each shot from The Shadow's automatics was timed to drop a mobster.

  One man gained his goal. Leaping, he threw his arms around Ruff Shefflin's body. A blazing automatic dropped this last attacker. With a death grip, the last mobster sprawled carrying Ruff Shefflin's form down with him.

  Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland had been groggy while they watched the fray. Joe Cardona, however, had dizzily responded to the tattoo of guns. Rising from the floor, the detective grappled with a wounded mobster and snatched the man's revolver from his grasp.

  Snakes Blakey saw the action. For an instant, the sneak's eyes turned to Cardona. Then, at a warning hiss from Gray Fist, Snakes saw Ruff Shefflin's barricading body fall. Before the sneak could fire, The Shadow sent a dooming bullet. Snakes wavered. His arm fell.

  It was Gray Fist, alone save for a few helpless, wounded minions, who employed The Shadow's own strategy. The monster caught Snakes Blakey's body. Thrusting his revolver under the sneak's arm, Gray Fist fired.