THE SHADOW had come to motion. With a swift swish, he was turning to follow the course of the fleeing man. Hard on Callard’s heels, he was picking up the trail.
But as The Shadow moved in his new direction, another flashlight gleamed. Its sudden ray came from less than twenty feet away. Its ray gave momentary revelation of The Shadow’s figure.
Partridge and Cray had come around the corner of the house, brought by the sound of Cardona’s shots.
Partridge had seen Callard. He had flashed the light toward the fleeing man; the beam had shown The Shadow instead.
In that passing glimpse, Partridge thought that he had spotted Dave Callard. So did Cray, who was in advance of his fellow servant. Already cutting across to block Callard, Cray pounced toward the spot where he had glimpsed the fading shape of The Shadow.
The servant was lucky in the darkness. His pounce brought him squarely upon the cloaked intruder. Cray grappled with The Shadow, shouting to the others for aid.
Dropping his rifle, a useless weapon in this combat, Cray struggled furiously as Partridge bounded forward with the light.
The glare showed Cray’s back; beyond the fighting servant, The Shadow. Again, the glimpse was only momentary; for Cray’s broad shoulders obscured Partridge’s vision. Rifle in one hand as a cudgel, flashlight in the other, Partridge hurled himself forward in hope of downing Cray’s antagonist.
The Shadow saw Partridge’s spring. With a terrific snap, he brought his body upward. In that one coup, The Shadow eliminated two assailants. First, Cray. The Shadow had caught the fellow in a jujutsu hold.
Then Partridge. With mammoth power, The Shadow sent Cray hurtling through the air, straight into the path of Partridge’s light, squarely upon the springing man who was coming with rifle swinging.
As Cray, his arms spread wildly, came down, he flattened Partridge on the lawn. Rifle went in one direction, flashlight in the other.
All this had happened before Cardona and the chauffeur could make a move. Joe, gripping his revolver as he stood beside the pillar, had gained no real view of Cray’s assailant. The detective thought that it must be Callard.
Raising his gun, Joe blazed bullets through the darkness. The slugs found no target. The Shadow had wheeled away through the night before Cardona had managed to begin his hurried aim.
The chauffeur was flashing his light across the lawn. It showed the front hedge, through which Dave Callard had fled. But it gave no sign of The Shadow. He had abandoned Callard’s trail to choose strategy of his own.
Silent but swift in the darkness, he had cut back to the one spot where none would expect to find him.
He was choosing the shelter of the house.
Cardona and the chauffeur were on the move. Cray and Partridge had regained their feet. Flashlights were sweeping the hedge as the four hurried across the lawn.
The Shadow glided easily into the shrubbery beside the portico. From that vantage point, he could view the actions of those whom he had so cleverly eluded.
FROM two hundred yards away came the roar of a motor. At the hedge, Cardona pointed out tiny lights of an automobile that was pulling away from a lane down the road. Dave Callard was making a getaway.
Partridge and Cray raised their rifles and fired after the disappearing car. Their bullets were wide; the automobile passed from view.
A whispered laugh from The Shadow as he heard the servants growl because of their ineffective shots.
Neither Partridge nor Cray were competent marksmen.
Suddenly Cardona’s gruff voice sounded. The detective was pointing off past Weston’s car. Beyond the side hedge were the moving lights of another automobile.
The car was coming along a little lane. It rounded the corner of the hedge, rolled to the front drive and entered. The four men watched it pull up by the portico.
An anxious face peered from the window as Cardona approached. The detective recognized Mallikan.
The shipping man smiled weakly as he identified Cardona.
“I lost my way,” explained Mallikan, stepping from his coupe. “I found myself on the side lane in back of the house. I heard shots as I came along. Did you have trouble here?”
“Yes,” returned Cardona. “Callard took a pot-shot at Dolver. By rights, he ought to have cut across the lawn to that side lane you came along. Instead, he was out front here.”
“He managed to get away?”
“Yes. You almost ran into him.”
Mallikan’s face showed a worried expression in the light of the portico.
“That would have been bad,” decided the shipping man. “I carry no revolver of my own; I have no permit and I know nothing about firearms. I am glad that I did not encounter Dave Callard.”
Cardona led the group back to the house. The chauffeur was beside him, with Mallikan. The Shadow then glided from his hiding place, took a swift turn in the opposite direction and started around the house.
When he neared the little side door where he had first seen Partridge, The Shadow stopped and crouched by the gloom of the wall. Sheltered under the wing of the house, he saw men who were standing there.
Commissioner Weston was holding the brass candelabrum. Beside him were Courtney Dolver and Clyde Burke. Lessing was there also; under his right arm, the servant held his rifle; from his left hand he gingerly dangled a gleaming revolver.
CARDONA and the others were arriving. Weston nodded a greeting to Mallikan; then spoke to the detective. As he did so, the commissioner reached over and took the revolver that Lessing was holding.
“Lessing found this by the bay window,” explained Weston. “It is a revolver of .38 caliber; one cartridge is empty. It is the gun from which the bullet was fired. Luckily, the assassin missed his opportunity. The brass candelabrum stopped the shot.”
“We ran into Callard out front,” stated Cardona “He got away from me; then managed to shake off Partridge and Cray. That was what all the shooting was about.”
“You exchange shots with him, Cardona?”
“No. We fired after him. He didn’t use a gun at all. I guess this revolver you found explains why. He dropped it, like he did with the gat at Shurrick’s.”
Weston nodded. He saw Mallikan looking toward Dolver; so he introduced the pair. Dolver’s face showed pallor; but the importer managed to frame a weak smile.
“It’s too bad you didn’t see Callard,” said Mallikan to Dolver. “You might have been able to identify him with your assailant at the penthouse.”
“I never saw his face,” returned Dolver. “That is, no more than his chin. It was a rugged one; rather square.”
“Like mine,” nodded Mallikan, rubbing his own jaw.
“Yes,” agreed Dolver, “and he was about your build, Mr. Mallikan. Broad-shouldered; perhaps taller, but that I could not say. He seemed to be crouched.”
“That answers Callard’s description,” assured Mallikan. “Well, Mr. Dolver, you have been fortunate. So for that matter, have I. If I had not lost my way here, I might have run squarely into Dave Callard.”
“You came in by the lane?”
“Yes. I stopped some distance back to take my bearings; then came along.”
Weston ended the conversation by suggesting that the group go into the house. Cardona was grumbling because the revolver found by Lessing bore no fingerprints. The group entered the side door; the portal closed, lights went out. Full darkness reigned beside the house.
Totally obscure, The Shadow moved across the lawn. His vigil here was ended for the present; for he knew that police would now patrol the grounds. Further details would come from Clyde Burke; points that would be discussed within the house.
Weird despite its repressed mirth, The Shadow’s laugh whispered presagement through the thickness of the dark night. His dark form blended with the darkness, vanished.