Maxwell Grant - The Man From Shanghai

Spark saw Ku-Nuan flattened in front of the vacated couch. Quickly Spark shoved inward, with a leveled revolver in his fist. The Shadow saw the arm and the gun; he swept a high, left-footed kick for Spark’s wrist. The kick was accurate. Spark uttered a shout as his gun went flying from his hand, a dozen feet across the floor. Gripping his wrist, Spark saw The Shadow.

The prisoner was again on the move, dashing across the floor toward Spark’s lost revolver. As he wiggled his half-numbed fingers, Spark saw The Shadow’s back; he spotted the cords that still bound the prisoner’s wrists. The Shadow dived to the floor, rolling to plant his body on top of Spark’s revolver. Spark rasped an oath.

He did not need the.38 that he had lost. His thought was to pounce upon The Shadow; to grasp the helpless fighter’s throat and pound his head against the floor. Spark thought that he could forever silence this prisoner before The Shadow could loosen his hands in defense. Spark sprang forward.

The move was the very one The Shadow wanted. His roll to the floor was a trick to make Spark attack. The Shadow was on his right side; his right foot forward, his left retarded, as though in running position. Both feet were toward Spark.

As the thug dived for The Shadow’s body, he was met by a surprise jujutsu move. The Shadow’s left foot kicked forward, catching Spark’s legs. Simultaneously, The Shadow pulled his right foot backward below the left, hooking Spark’s ankles.

Clipped in a hard scissors-slice, Spark was toppled instantly. The force was great; the leverage tremendous. Spark took a long, oblique dive, striking the stone floor on head and shoulders before he could use his arms to break the fall.

THE SHADOW gained his feet. Looking at Spark, he saw the thug move feebly. Spark was completely dazed. It would be minutes before he could rise to action. Important minutes, those, for The Shadow had not forgotten Wardlock. He knew that the secretary must have gone to the second floor to telephone Malfort. Wardlock would be back soon, wondering why Spark was no longer on the stairs.

The Shadow kicked Spark’s gun beneath the couch. He could not use the revolver with his hands bound; there was no time to waste in picking it up. There was another object that The Shadow preferred: that was Ku-Nuan’s knife.

Stooping beside the unconscious Mongol, The Shadow twisted about and picked up the knife with his bound hands.

Carrying the knife behind him, he dashed for the stairs. He reached the ground floor; saw a door that led to the kitchen. With his toe, The Shadow delivered muffled kicks against the door. A few moments passed; the door opened. The Shadow saw Rennig.

Helmedge’s ex-servant had suspected danger from the knocks. He was holding a heavy brass candlestick in his shaky, upraised arm. He recognized The Shadow as the recent guest who had come to the house; but could not decide whether he was friend or foe. The Shadow’s peculiar disappearance had puzzled Rennig.

“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was commanding. “Cut these ropes! There are men here who intend to murder your master when he returns!”

The Shadow did not specify that Helmedge was already dead. That would have forced too much explanation. It was best to let Rennig think that Malfort was Helmedge, particularly since the disguised plotter had received The Shadow as a friend in Rennig’s presence.

Rennig planked the candlestick on a chair. He took the dirk and began to cut The Shadow’s bonds. He managed the first ropes; the only one that remained was a tight cord, knotted between The Shadow’s wrists. As The Shadow spread his hands, Rennig pressed the knife downward against the knot. His strength was insufficient to make the cut.

“Quickly!” The Shadow’s whisper was a sharp one. “Press hard with the knife edge!”

As Rennig complied, The Shadow gazed toward the stairs leading from the second floor. He had sensed a possible approach; and his hunch was justified. From around the edge of the stairs came a glaring enemy. It was Wardlock, his moonish face flushed with excitement. The secretary held an upraised revolver.

Velvet-footed, Wardlock had stolen down from the second floor, to hear the whispers at the kitchen door. Turning, he had The Shadow covered from a range of less than fifteen feet. Wardlock’s teeth showed in a roundish grin. Deliberately, the secretary aimed.

Instantly, The Shadow leaped forward, pulling his arms with full force. Rennig had used both hands to press the knife edge against the knot. The Shadow’s jolt supplied the remaining force. As he tugged himself away from Rennig, The Shadow felt the last rope snap.

Though unarmed, The Shadow was free, launched in a furious leap toward the last enemy who blocked his path. Despite the fact that he was hurtling straight for the muzzle of Wardlock’s leveled gun, The Shadow had a chance for victory.

Heavy though the odds stood against him, The Shadow was taking the only course that offered final freedom.

TO Wardlock, The Shadow’s spring was a disconcerting move. Malfort’s secretary was dangerous, chiefly because he was deliberate. In aiming for The Shadow, Wardlock had trained his revolver for a sure, well-chosen shot. He had expected The Shadow to shift; to duck for cover perhaps. But Wardlock had not expected that bold, forward drive. It brought but one quick thought to the secretary’s brain. Wardlock, in that instant, knew that he actually faced The Shadow.

That realization made him drop back instinctively, hoping to gain cover if his gun shot failed. The hesitation ended Wardlock’s chance. In the time that he took to fall back three feet, The Shadow covered five times that distance.

Aiming for The Shadow’s face, Wardlock fired. As he did, his target sped forward, downward. The revolver barked a sizzling bullet past The Shadow’s ear. As Wardlock lowered the weapon, a trip-hammer arm shot upward. Fingers clutched the secretary’s gun hand.

Wardlock gasped hoarsely as he wrenched away. His twist turned him about and made him lose his aim. Before he could jab the revolver against The Shadow’s body, Wardlock was hurled against the wall. With clutching hands, The Shadow held the man’s gun arm and his neck.

Rennig, gaping from the kitchen door, saw a swiftly finished struggle. Wardlock’s revolver thumped the floor. The secretary’s body hoisted upward; then went plunging headlong.

Disregarding his fallen foe, The Shadow snatched up the revolver. He motioned for Rennig to bring the candlestick. Leading the way, The Shadow headed for the cellar.

At the bottom of the stairs, he heard pounds from above. Wardlock had taken only a minor jolt. For once, the secretary had forgotten stealth; he was coming to the cellar stairs to shout an alarm to those below. The Shadow took a quick look into the room that had been his prison.

There he saw Spark Ganza stooping beside the couch. The thug had seen his lost revolver and was groping for it. Near Spark was Ku-Nuan, rising weakly, his ugly, oversize head gripped between his hands.

Turning to Rennig, The Shadow pressed Wardlock’s revolver into the servant’s quivering hand. Quickly, he told Rennig to threaten Wardlock, should the secretary appear at the top of the stairs.

With that, The Shadow sprang into the prison room, straight for Spark Ganza.

THE thuggish lieutenant whipped up from beside the couch, bringing his regained revolver. The Shadow was upon him before he could aim. Plucking the gun from Spark, The Shadow jabbed the muzzle toward the thug’s body.

At that instant, a new attacker entered. Ku-Nuan came lurching squarely on The Shadow. Clawing, biting, the Mongol tried to seize the revolver. So did Spark. He jabbed a hard fist against The Shadow’s jaw; used his other hand in an effort to help Ku-Nuan get the gun. Reeling backward, The Shadow fired. Pressure suddenly relaxed as Spark sagged with a groan.