The chair served as buffer. The swinging arm sped it to the wall. The Shadow’s shoulders struck the chair legs and cracked them into pieces. The thud that his head received was eased by the slouch hat that was clamped down upon his eyes. Jolted, but still conscious, The Shadow was ready for Hoang Fu’s next move.
That stroke had already begun. Diving forward, the Mongol was twisting the long-bladed knife from Roucard’s heart. The dirk came free, accompanied by a torrential gush of blood.
Hoang Fu saw The Shadow trying to rise, by clutching the broken chair. Backing almost to the outer door, the murderer swung his hand straight backward; then, with a whipping underhand swing, he sent the dripping blade straight for The Shadow’s heart.
The Shadow’s arms moved as Hoang Fu aimed. Gloved hands had gripped the seat of the broken chair; they swung that improvised shield forward and outward. Hoang Fu had hurled his dagger with precise marksmanship; but The Shadow’s protective move proved quite as accurate.
The whirring blade drove straight into the wooden chair. So terrific was its speed that the obstacle did not stop its point. The blade sped completely through the wood; it was the hilt that stopped its progress. Wisely had The Shadow thrust his arms to their full length. They jolted back as the blow came; but tightening muscles absorbed the shock.
Gleaming before The Shadow’s eyes, inches only from his heart, was the point of that Chinese dagger with which Hoang Fu had sought to deliver another death.
THE SHADOW cast the chair seat aside; his lips delivered a fierce laugh in challenge to Hoang Fu’s evil hiss. Rolling over, The Shadow managed a dive in the direction of the automatic that lay by the wall. Twangs of pain slowed his progress; but with a final crawl, he gained the gun.
Hoang Fu was no longer at the door. The killer had loosed his only weapon; seeing The Shadow’s move, he had opened the door and fled along the corridor.
Coming to his hands and knees, The Shadow could hear the slam of the fire escape window. The Shadow rested, panting; a new sound reached him. Voices were coming from the direction of the elevator. The commotion must have been heard downstairs; hotel employees were coming up.
Gaining his feet, The Shadow limped into the adjoining room. As he closed the door, he heard startled cries from the door of Room 228. Moving out through Room 226, The Shadow found the hall vacant. The arriving employees had gone into Roucard’s room.
Half limping, The Shadow reached the stairway and descended. He took the obscure passage to the side street. Strength returning, he glided off into the darkness of the night. Too late to pursue Hoang Fu, he had been forced to let the killer escape with those all-important papers that had belonged to Raymond Roucard.
Yat Soon’s belief had been realized. Crime had developed; murder had crossed the path of the Fate Joss. One course alone belonged to The Shadow. He must move to deal with coming crime and, in that task, remove the Fate Joss from all fields of strife.
CHAPTER VII
THE JOSS RETURNS
IT was late the next afternoon. A dusky sky clouded Manhattan; beneath it, the present residence of Chichester Laudring appeared as a forgotten abode. The windows were still barricaded, the house looked quite as untenanted as it had the day before.
Inside, however, lights were aglow. Confident that the shutters had no telltale cracks, Laudring had ordered Satsu to turn on the lights downstairs. Seated in the dining room, Laudring was enjoying an early dinner of canned salmon and baked beans. His repast ended, he settled back in his chair to light a panatela, just as Satsu, solemn of face, came in from the kitchen.
“Still sulking, eh, Satsu?” chuckled Laudring. “What’s come over you, man?”
“I have advised you, sir,” replied Satsu, “that we should leave this house.”
“And I told you why we are staying,” declared Laudring, his tone angry. “We’ll leave here tonight; after it becomes dark. I do not intend to be seen leaving this place. It is too dangerous!”
“Wise is he who risks new danger,” quoted Satsu, “when he leaves old danger far behind.”
“A good proverb, Satsu. But it doesn’t apply in this case. No one knows we’re here — except Roucard, who is friendly — so why am I in danger?”
Satsu made no reply. Laudring’s attitude became less critical.
“Since we found those canned goods in the kitchen,” he remarked, “there’s no reason why we shouldn’t stay here as long as we want. But tonight is long enough. This place doesn’t worry me, Satsu. It bores me.”
Strolling into the parlor, Laudring chose a chair in the corner. He noted a small radio; turning it on, he was rewarded by the sound of music. Satsu came in from the hall, raising a warning hand. Laudring smiled and turned down the set.
“Nobody will hear it,” he decided. “Not when I have it low, like this. Humph! The music has stopped. I wonder what’s coming next. Ah, here it is. A news report from WNX.”
Satsu went out into the dining room to clear up the dishes. He could not hear the radio in that room. Busily, the Korean carried the dishes into the kitchen. As he began to wash them, he heard footsteps. Turning about, he saw Laudring. The tall man’s face was pale.
“There’s been murder, Satsu!” exclaimed Laudring. “Murder — last night, after midnight. Raymond Roucard — the fellow who took away the Fate Joss — knifed by some Chinese.” Satsu stared, apparently speechless.
“We’re getting out of here, Satsu,” informed Laudring. “Forget the dishes. Come along with me. Where are the keys I gave you?”
“Here, sir.”
“All right.” Laudring took the keys. “The bags are all packed. We won’t wait for dark.”
Laudring started for the hall. He stopped at the door that led to the cellar. Satsu saw him insert the key in the lock. The Korean protested.
“Don’t go down to the cellar Mr. Laudring,” said Satsu. “Time is short, sir. You said yourself that we are leaving—”
“I want to take a look down there,” interrupted Laudring, angrily. He had opened the door and was turning on the light. “Maybe I dropped something; or maybe Roucard did.”
“But the cellar is empty, sir; and it may be a place of danger.”
“Empty and dangerous? Ridiculous, Satsu. Come.”
Laudring descended and Satsu followed. As on the night before, Laudring led the way. He passed the coal bins. Satsu heard him gasp. Once again, Laudring was struck dumb with terrified amazement; and Satsu saw the reason when he arrived beside his master.
Standing in its old spot was the Fate Joss, glaring with its gold, bejeweled eyes. Beside it, just as they had been before, were the muzzled War Dogs.
BLINKING, Laudring surveyed the hideous tableau. His arms dropped limply as he turned to Satsu.
“The Joss!” gulped Laudring. “It — it has returned. But it was gone last night! I saw this cellar, vacant. So did you, Satsu! We bolted those inner doors ourselves!”
Grasping the Korean’s arm, Laudring became wild-eyed as he pointed beyond the glaring image of the Fate Joss.
“The doors!” he cried. “They’re still bolted! It’s uncanny, Satsu! Unreal! The Fate Joss — it has true power — it is back with us. Following me, with its War Dogs!
“Out, Satsu! Out! Let us get away from here. I feared those golden eyes when I first saw them in the temple of Je Ho. Then I lost my fear; but it has returned. Upstairs, Satsu! Come!”
Laudring faltered as he started for the passage to the stairway. Satsu supported him; they gained the stairs and reached the top. Laudring leaned gasping against the wall, while Satsu, also excited, locked the door and pocketed the key. The Korean helped his master into the parlor.