Dolver led the procession, the flaring candelabrum held low as he clutched it in his right fist. The center portion of the stick bulged two inches thick above the importer’s hand.
As they reached the window, the candles began to waver. Dolver stooped beneath the level of the high sill and held the flames there until the breeze subsided.
Dolver then pointed upward with his left hand, toward the shade that he had indicated.
“Look, commissioner,” he said. “Do you see the markings? Wait until I raise the candle higher.”
Dolver had turned slightly. As he spoke, he came up, shielding the candelabrum with his body. Still pointing with his left hand, he turned himself toward the window. His right hand moved upward, straight in front of his body; the flames from the candles showed the dull-green markings.
“I see them,” exclaimed Weston, while Dolver was still moving. “Look, Cardona—”
A roar sounded from beyond the window. Daggerlike, a burst of flame tongued inward directly toward the heart of the man who was squarely before the window: Courtney Dolver!
With the shot came a loud clang. Dolver staggered back with a terrified cry. The candelabrum was wavering in the importer’s fist, the candles fizzing from the jolt. Cardona caught the man; Dolver released the candelabrum and it clanged to the floor.
Weston had jumped aside instinctively; Clyde Burke had ducked toward the wall. Courtney Dolver was still framed in front of the blackened window, supported there by Joe Cardona. Weston shouted at the detective.
“Drop him, Cardona—”
The detective released Dolver and dived to the floor. Dolver had clutched the sill; he was still in the danger zone. Making amends for his previous lapse, Cardona seized the importer’s ankles and yanked Dolver flat.
Weston was drawing a revolver; Cardona did the same. A servant dashed into the living room, carrying a rifle. It was Cray. Doors slammed elsewhere, evidence that Partridge and Lessing had heard the shot and were on their way outside.
Cray reached the window; rifle in one hand, the servant hurtled the sill. Cardona bounded after him, revolver in readiness. Commissioner Weston stood just to one side of the window, his own gun ready should he be needed in the chase.
Courtney Dolver had come to his hands and knees; eyes bulging, the importer stared toward Clyde Burke, who was crawling forward. The reporter motioned to Dolver to keep below the sill.
“Did he clip you?” queried Clyde, anxiously. “Are you hurt?”
Dolver shook his head. Raising one hand weakly, the importer pointed to the heavy candelabrum. The brass piece was lying on the floor, its flames extinguished.
Clyde Burke stared at the bulging portion of the candlestick, just below the four branches. He saw the thickened section that had projected just above Dolver’s fist.
The brass bore a deepened dent. Beyond it, on the floor by the window, lay a mutilated pellet. Clyde Burke reached for the bit of grayish metal. It burned his fingers as he touched it. That pellet was the bullet that had been fired from the dark.
A shot had been aimed directly for Dolver’s head. But only that protecting rod of brass had prevented the bullet from reaching a living mark. Death, Clyde Burke realized, had been close to Courtney Dolver.
Strange chance had stopped a murderous thrust.
CHAPTER XII. FIGURES IN THE DARK
THE SHADOW had seen the shot in the dark. Watching the three-paned bay window, The Shadow had seen the figure approach it. Then had come the report of the gun; the flash of flame tonguing toward the window. After that, blackness. As he crouched, peering and listening, The Shadow had caught no token of any person fleeing from the shelter of the house.
True, the angle of the bay window served against The Shadow’s observation. Moreover, there was a corner of the house not far beyond the living room. Someone could have fled in that direction. Hence The Shadow swung suddenly along the side hedge, moving parallel to the house.
It was while The Shadow was taking this course that men surged out from the house itself. First, Cray, springing through the bay window; then Cardona after him.
As The Shadow progressed farther, he saw a light come on from the wing of the house, just past the corner of the main section. The light was above a little porch; it showed Partridge standing at an opened door, rifle in hand.
A flashlight glimmered at the corner; its beam swept the lawn. Cardona flashed a torch of his own; this new glare showed the man with the first light. It was Lessing; he had preceded Partridge from the doorway. The latter had lingered to turn on the porch light.
Like Partridge and Cray, Lessing had a rifle. Cardona, swinging up to him, came past the corner and saw Partridge on the porch. Cray was close to Cardona; the detective bellowed orders to the three.
“Spread out!” was Cardona’s command. “Get around the house! Everywhere. I’m heading around by the front!”
The servants followed the injunction. Lessing zigzagged out across the lawn, swinging the beam of his light toward the hedge. The passing glare showed The Shadow against the blackness of the bushes; but Lessing failed to see that motionless form. Like a chameleon, The Shadow had blended with blackness.
Cray and Partridge were rounding the back of the house. The Shadow could see Cardona running to the front; there Joe was barking to Weston’s chauffeur, who had clambered from the commissioner’s car at sound of the shot. Cardona ordered the chauffeur to watch the front of the house, using the car as his base.
TAKING advantage of Lessing’s turning, The Shadow cut toward the front hedge. Lessing was coming over to look along the side fringe of the lawn. The Shadow chose to avoid the servant’s search.
He swung past Weston’s car; then cut in toward the house itself, to avoid Joe Cardona, who was out on the front drive. The Shadow reached a darkened spot by the far front corner of the house.
Cardona was moving in toward the front porch. The light was still burning in the portico; but its rays did not carry past clumps of bushes that were close to the wall.
Weston’s chauffeur had decided to beat the bushes on the left, where the car was situated. Cardona was coming to search among the bushes on the right.
From this position, Joe turned his flashlight toward the nearest bushes. Instantly, he delivered a shout and swung his revolver upward.
A man sprang up from cover. Husky and broad-shouldered, he hurled himself upon the aiming detective.
Cardona’s gun arm was jolted upward. Two shots barked wide from Joe’s revolver. The detective had no chance to fire again. He was locked in a fierce struggle with his foe.
The Shadow whirled swiftly from the corner. Skirting the shrubbery, he came swinging in through darkness. Less than twenty feet from the combatants, he could see both faces as they staggered into the range of the porch light.
Eye to eye, those fighters delivered harsh tones of recognition. For Joe Cardona and his antagonist had met before. The man who was battling the detective was Dave Callard!
The fray was equal; but The Shadow could see its nearing finish. He was not the only person who had become a witness to the struggle.
Weston’s chauffeur was springing up to the portico; revolver in fist, the uniformed man was coming to Cardona’s aid. But before the rescuer arrived, Cardona and Callard went tumbling forward. They jounced a corner pillar; then plunged headfirst into the darkness of the bushes beside the porch.
As the chauffeur arrived and flashed his light, Dave Callard came up from the ground. With a mad leap, the man from China sprang off toward the front hedge, cutting across at an angle. Cardona’s head had bumped the pillar; the ace detective was rising groggily to look about for his assailant.