The Shadow - Serpents Of Siva Part 10

The Shadow was hearing the voice of Siva!

CHAPTER XVI.

WHERE MURDER LURKED.

THE Serpents had withdrawn to obscure corners of the temple when Cranston rejoined Leeth. They were waiting until some of the visitors had withdrawn; but soon they would be on the move. That was something that The Shadow knew.

Singhar Bund politely presented Cranston with a Siva token, remarking upon the virtue that the charm possessed. Commissioner Weston showed puzzlement to find his friend so gullible. He intended to question Cranston on that score,later.

For the next few minutes, Weston could not shake Leeth. When the commissioner looked around, Cranston was gone. Weston supposed that he had left with some departing visitors. He was right. Stepping from the temple, Weston saw his friend at the bottom of the stairs.

The commissioner hurried to the street. There were not many pedestrians; still, he couldn't see Cranston among them. Weston was still looking back and forth when a wiry young man stepped from a taxi, to give a cheery wave.

"h.e.l.lo, commissioner," announced the newcomer. "Remember me - Burke of the Cla.s.sic?"

Weston nodded. He knew Clyde Burke well enough. What he didn't know was that the supposed reporter was actually an agent of The Shadow. Clyde had been sent here by Burbank.

"What about the meeting?" questioned Clyde. "Is it finished?"

"Yes," returned Weston. Then, dryly: "We did not invite reporters."

Clyde ignored the comment.

"Who else was there?" he persisted. "Any prominent persons, beside yourself? Other members of the Cobalt Club?"

"Lamont Cranston was present," replied Weston. "He left, a few minutes ago. I am trying to find him."

Weston was treated to a new surprise - that of a reporter forgetting his a.s.signment. With a mutter that the story wouldn't count for much, Clyde hopped back into the cab and rode away.

One block distant, Clyde dived for the nearest telephone booth.

Something was up, and Clyde knew it. Although Clyde had played a secondary part in recent events, he was well acquainted with their importance. He knew, for instance, what might be due tonight. Chances were that The Shadow could be reached indirectly, through Joe Cardona.

Tonight, the ace inspector was at his desk in headquarters, mulling over the latest clues in connection with the Mayland case. That was why Clyde telephoned Cardona.

The call did not go through. Cardona's line was busy. Worst of all, Clyde could guess the reason. He almost pictured the scene at headquarters.

THERE, Joe Cardona was riveted at a telephone. His swarthy face had lost its usual blandness. Cardona was nodding, gulping responses as he heard the words of a ghostly speaker. Joe Cardona knew those eerie tones.

The Shadow was on the wire!

The mysterious voice finished; the line cut off abruptly. Cardona remained motionless, as though his brain echoed with the news that he had heard. Coming to life, he slammed the receiver and sprang to his feet, He beckoned to a bulky detective sergeant who sat at another desk.

"Let's go, Markham!" snapped Cardona. "We'll need a pair of picked men - good ones - and a squad, besides. I'll tell you all about it while we're on the way."

They were out in the hallway. The telephone bell was tingling again; it was Clyde's call coming through. Cardona hesitated; shook his head.

"He wouldn't be calling again," declared Joe, referring to The Shadow.

"Whoever else it is, can't be important."

Soon, Cardona and Markham were riding northward in a police car that carved traffic ahead of it. But they were not the first along that route.

Blocks farther north, another car was speeding to the same destination. When that first car halted, it stopped near a narrow, towering apartment building where the lights of a penthouse formed tiny specks, twenty-odd stories above the street. After that first car parked, a figure glided from it.

The shape was a living one, but too elusive for observing eyes to follow.

It blended into darkness; came to a sheltered spot beneath the tall building.

The tone of a whispered laugh was captured by a drift of breeze. Then, silence; complete.

Five blocks from the same building, the police car halted. Squad cars pulled up behind it. Cardona gave orders. With Markham and two others, Cardona flagged a taxi. He ordered the driver to go slowly.

Within a few blocks, Cardona noted roving cabs. He saw spots near the big apartment house that looked like lurking places. He had the cab pull up at the apartment house itself, but chose a spot so dark that he and his companions could make a guarded exit.

Telling the cabby what to do, Cardona and his comrades followed the very route that The Shadow had taken.

The cab driver lighted a cigarette. He was about to move ahead, when another taxi pulled alongside. Its driver hailed: "h.e.l.lo, hackie! Anything wrong?"

"Just lighting a smoke," replied Cardona's cabby. "Then I'm pulling into the feed line up ahead."

The second cab's motor stalled. Its driver was making sure that the other taxi was moving into the feed line. That part of the street was lighted. The cab showed empty when it arrived there. The roving cabby drove away.

THE doorway that Cardona found led to a service elevator. No one was aboard it. The group stepped into the car and rode to the top floor. There, Cardona told one of his men: "Take the elevator down to the bottom. Then come up the stairs. It's a long climb, but it's going to be worth it. Stick outside the tower door."

That door was locked from the inside. Cardona opened it; stationed the second d.i.c.k there. With Markham following, Joe opened an opposite door. He whispered for silence as they stepped into the hallway of the penthouse.

Markham gaped at the magnificence that surrounded them. There was a living room thick with heavy Oriental rugs; its walls were adorned with Italian tapestries that must have cost a fortune. The furniture was of the finest mahogany that Markham had ever seen.

One doorway opened into a library, where rows of vellum-bound books lined the shelves. On the other side was the entrance to the bedrooms. Straight ahead, a door opened to a terrace that was tiled with marble, a tinkling fountain in its center.

Cardona had already told Markham what this place represented. The penthouse was the New York residence of Cuyler Selwood, mid-West motor magnate.

Its lavish furnis.h.i.+ngs were trivial, compared with those of his Michigan palace.

Selwood was in New York at present; usually, his penthouse was manned by a retinue of servants. Tonight, the place was curiously silent. Its tomblike hush was disconcerting, even to Cardona. Though he represented the law, Joe would ordinarily have stopped on the threshold.

Right now, he was buoyed to a special duty by memory of that voice from the telephone. Cardona liked to play hunches; but it was more than a hunch, that call.

When The Shadow paved the path, Cardona had never known it to be a falseone.

The ace stole across the thick-napped rug, with the detective sergeant at his heels. They reached the terrace, where new splendor greeted them.

The parapets surrounded an Italian garden, transplanted from some Roman villa. There were benches beneath flowering arches. Beyond the central fountain stood a group statue in marble, formed of carved mermaids and dolphins, raised above a mirrored pool.

Two huge vases in the nearer corners of the garden were the hiding spots that The Shadow had ordered. Cardona sent Markham to one; he was about to take the other station, when he heard a voice within the penthouse. Cardona peered through the crack of a partly opened door, to observe the speaker.

The man had come from the library. He was portly, baldish; wearing a rumpled smoking jacket. His pudgy fingers drew a cigar from lips that were topped by a close-clipped mustache.

"Raymond!" bawled the portly man. "Why don't you answer? Craig - where are you?"

The man was Selwood; his face was purplish with anger, because the servants did not answer. He turned toward the roof; paused as he heard a telephone bell tingle.

"h.e.l.lo!" Selwood was savage; then his tone became sarcastic. "So it's you, Eleanor. My favorite niece, because you are the only one I have... No, I'm not angry with you. I'm just annoyed by what you told me this afternoon...

"You must give up that foolishness. Spending money on that flimflam Hindu stuff is ridiculous! I knew something had come over you. I could tell it by the way you kept a moony smirk on your face."

SELWOOD paused. His face showed a grimace. He pressed one hand to his heart; tried to speak over the telephone. It was half a minute before he found words. Then: "No, no, Eleanor," he said. "I'm all right. I overexerted myself, shouting for the servants... I remember now, that Raymond had to go for that prescription of mine. Yes, and Craig has probably made his evening trip to the kennels, to look after the wolf hounds...

"Yes, the doctor was here this afternoon. Told me to go easy. Said I'd get over this morbid complex of mine. Only sometimes, Eleanor - you're not the only one who has heard me say it - I find that life tires me, in spite of all my wealth."

Whatever the niece replied, it must have been sympathetic, for Cardona could see a slight smile spread on Selwood's lips. The millionaire placed the telephone on its stand; removed his hand from his chest. He puffed at his cigar, as he came slowly toward the door where Cardona watched.

Joe was out of sight when Selwood entered the garden. He saw the portly man pace slowly past the fountain, then approach the side of the roof where he had the best view of the city's lights. The life that the glow offered seemed to soothe Selwood. His puffs on the cigar became more contented.

A figure writhed from the penthouse door. Neither Cardona nor Markham saw it, for both were watching Selwood. The thing crouched low as it crept along a pathway, like a human snake. Another serpentine figure came silently from the penthouse; took the same writhing course along the path where overhanging vines hid the marble's whiteness. There was a rustle from a window of the penthouse. Cardona looked up through the vines beside him. He couldn't trace the figure that twisted along the parapet, any more than he could have spotted a python in a jungle. But the sound told that danger was due; when it was suddenly repeated, Cardona waited no longer.

Fully alert, he spotted the first creatures that had crawled to the garden; for they were in back of Selwood, at a place where the blackness ended.

Cardona saw brownish faces with leering, monkeyish teeth. He heard the whistle of a sibilant signal.

Cardona answered that hiss with a shout to Markham. Joe was bounding out from cover; and the brawny detective sergeant followed him. With all their speed, they were too late. Cardona saw a brown man rise, whip a thin cord about Selwood's neck.

The millionaire went backward with a gurgle, into a ma.s.s of brownish arms that rose like viper heads, ready to hoist him from the parapet when his struggle ceased. They were working faster than Cardona could pull his revolver from his pocket.

The scene was a horrible nightmare, that needed some jolt to break its spell. The needed break came - more chilling, more fearful than the sight of Siva's living Serpents. And it came from a place least expected.

From the statuary group beyond the fountain pealed the weird mirth of a hidden avenger.

That tone was the eerie laugh of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XVII.

BLACK FLIGHT.

THE Serpents of Siva whirled at The Shadow's challenge. They needed mere seconds to dispose of Selwood; but they knew that seconds were not enough. Nor could they resist an answer to the cloaked foeman whose ident.i.ty they knew.

Selwood flattened inside the parapet, the torturing cord gone from his thick neck. The scrawny Serpents lashed out into fanwise formation, to attack The Shadow. The speed with which they found cover was amazing.

So, too, was the answer of The Shadow's guns. Muzzles spat flame from above the cl.u.s.tered statuary. Bullets sizzled the fringes of the quick-chosen hiding spots, huddling the dacoits in their cover.

Once that gunfire ended, the stranglers would have had their chance anew, provided that The Shadow had been the only foe who menaced them. But The Shadow was counting on a pair of capable reserves, in Cardona and Markham.

They could see where The Shadow's bullets spattered the marble. The shots told them where the dacoits crouched. Though the snakish killers had wriggled from the sight of the headquarters men, they had not gained shelter from a rear attack. Cardona and Markham blasted bullets into the vines that The Shadow's gunfire indicated.

One Serpent shrieked, came diving toward the fountain, clipped by a slug from Cardona's Police Positive. The others gave up their lurking tactics. They bounded from cover, sweeping out their strangle cords as they sped for Cardona and Markham. Murderers by instinct, the dacoits had a skill at self-preservation. They were taking the best course for it.

One brownish devil reached Cardona; another was making for Markham. They wanted to speed nooses around the necks of their antagonists; twist them, helpless, as s.h.i.+elds against The Shadow's fire. With their rapid advance, the strokes could have been accomplished against any marksman, other than The Shadow. Even his aim could not drop the dacoits as they sped for their prey; but The Shadow sent his shots when they reached their objectives.

There was a timely instant, when the first Serpent locked with Cardona.

Joe's arms went wide as the noose coiled above his shoulders: but before the dacoit could twist behind Cardona, The Shadow fired.

The dacoit spilled, twisting like a crippled reptile. Before Cardona could pounce upon the writhing Serpent. there was a burst from The Shadow's other gun.

A clipping bullet literally slashed a dacoit from Markham's floundering grasp, just as the detective sergeant was losing the momentary grip that he had gained.

The last dacoit was loping through the penthouse. He was safe from The Shadow's fire; he thought that his fellow Serpents had disposed of Cardona and Markham. That was why the creature did not zigzag, nor look behind him.

The dacoit's mistake was his final one. Cardona and Markham were at the doorway leading from the terrace before the Serpent reached the pa.s.sage to the elevator. The pair unloaded a barrage. Their bullets rolled the dacoit to the floor. Looking about, they saw that The Shadow's targets had ceased their writhing.

Serpents of Siva had been wiped into oblivion; and with the triumph, Joe Cardona had found crime's answer.

"I know where that bunch came from," snapped Joe, to Markham. "They belong to Singhar Bund - the Hindu that runs the Siva racket -"

A CLANG from the elevator interrupted. Into the penthouse came a flood of fresh fighters, headed by Lucky Belther. Cardona and Markham were ducking behind furniture when the Arms began their fire; but they couldn't stand a chance against those odds. They needed The Shadow as badly as before; and their cloaked ally supported them.

Lucky and his crew forgot the open path to the terrace, to deal with Cardona and Markham. Hardly had crooks aimed toward corners, before The Shadow's laugh reached them from the garden doorway. They wheeled, to see the cloaked shape silhouetted against the marble background.

They heard The Shadow speak again - with bullets.

Beaten to the first shots, mobsters sprawled. Those who fired, peppered wide of The Shadow, for they had no time for accuracy with their diverted aim.

Cardona and Markham supplied shots from their barricades. Hard upon that rapid fire came the flanking attack of the two detectives, posted at the top of the stairs.

One crook survived that scorching test. Lucky Belther again proved that his nickname was deserved; this time, without requiring aid.

He made a lone dash for the elevator; The Shadow triggered a bullet after him, but the shot was necessarily high. Cardona and Markham had sprung out to the middle of the room, forcing The Shadow's change of fire.

Lucky sprang between the two detectives. When their guns spurted in his direction, the sliding door of the elevator received the bullets. Lucky was away, in flight.

The Shadow followed, taking the long stairway to the street; the delay did not disturb him, for he knew what was due below. The roar of battle was audible before he reached the ground.

Lucky had joined a reserve crew, only to find them harried by Cardona's squad. The police were closing a cordon, to hem in the crooks.

There was battle through that neighborhood. Police patrol cars had cut into deal with roving taxicabs, manned by Eyes who sought to relieve the hard-pressed Arms. The thugs were faring badly. They were heavily outnumbered; and the police knew where to look for them.