Moy Ming was smarter than Harry guessed.
That gurgle was a cover-up for more than Moy Ming's thoughts. Uttered in Harry's ear, the sound drowned other noises. Big washing machines were being slowly shoved from their corners. Moy Ming could see them; but they were behind Harry's back.
Moy Ming gulped frantically. This time it was a signal.
Two huge Mongols bobbed from their hiding places behind the washing machine. They were no longer cautious, for they were close enough to make a sure attack.
Harry heard them as they sprang. He pitched Moy Ming to the floor and swung to meet his new adversaries. The Mongols were weaponless; they were depending upon their big hands to smother Harry to the floor.
In that instant Harry made a good copy of The Shadow's fading tactics. With a twist, he was away from the clawing hands. Backed to the corner beside the closed door, Harry dropped to one knee and aimed his gun at the attacking pair. He would have had time to drop them in their tracks, had it not been for Moy Ming.
Sprawled almost at Harry's elbow, the Chinaman propped himself quickly with his hands and reared his head like a striking serpent. His wide-opened mouth descended upon Harry's gun hand. Teeth sank into Harry's fist. Moy Ming shook his head to one side and carried Harry's aiming hand along.
Before Harry could offset Moy Ming's tactics, the Mongols landed. Harry sprawled upon the floor; his gun slipped from his hold. Moy Ming's bite eased up. There would be no more trouble from Harry Vincent. Disarmed, The Shadow's agent was helpless in the grip of two formidable foemen.
ARMS pinned behind him, Harry was shoved to his feet. Staring toward the rear of the room, he saw a door open. Into the light stepped Shark Meglo, followed by a pair of thugs - new followers whom he had recently recruited.
Seeing that Harry was helpless, Shark motioned the two outside. When they had gone, he bolted the heavy door.
Harry realized that Shark must have spotted him outside of Moy Ming's old place; that it was Shark who had faked the shoemaker's call. What Harry could not figure was how Shark had learned that he lived at the Hotel Metrolite.
Shark had gained that news by a telephone call to Henshew's apartment, soon after he had received the inscribed half dollar from his chief. The message had said for Shark to handle Harry. All Shark needed was word where to find the victim.
To Harry Vincent, such facts were unimportant at the moment. He could see the murderous glint of Shark's eyes; he knew that killer again intended to deliver death. This time, Harry was to be the victim; and doom seemed a certainty.
In the past, Harry had been pulled from snares like this; but always, rescue had come from The Shadow.
This capture had come during The Shadow's absence. Any chance that Harry might have for life, would have to arrive without The Shadow's action.
CHAPTER XI. CROSSED THRUSTS
SHARK MEGLO did not intend prompt death for Harry. That was apparent through the orders that he gave to Moy Ming and the Mongols. Moy Ming became active, while the big captors still gripped their prisoner.
As Harry stared, he saw Moy Ming pull two broad ironing-boards from the wall and set them end to end.
Next came big clothes-wringers. Grinning like an ape, the Chinaman clamped the wringers to the far ends of the boards. Shark dug in a corner and found some odd lengths of rope. He brought them to Harry's captors. Aided by Shark, the Mongols began to tie the prisoner.
Harry started a valiant battle. Moy Ming had to pitch in, clawing furiously, before The Shadow's agent could be subdued. At last, Harry lay prone on the floor, under the bulk of the Mongols, while Shark and Moy Ming tied his wrists and ankles.
That done, the Mongols hoisted the prisoner and laid him face upward on the ironing-boards. They held him stretched on the improvised table while Shark affixed the wrist ropes to one wringer, and Moy Ming attached the ankle cords to the other. Both wound the wringers until the ropes were taut.
Harry could feel the strain. His ankles were drawn one direction, his arms pulled full length above his head, were stretched the opposite way. Moy Ming, Shark's crafty tool, had transformed ordinary laundry equipment into one of the most terrible of torture devices.
Ironing-boards and wringers made a rack, of the sort used in the Middle Ages.
Shark turned the wringers over to the big Mongols. With Moy Ming beside him, Shark went to the center of the room and viewed Harry's strained face. The snarl that Shark gave was not pleasant. He raised two fingers; wagged them, so the Mongols could see. The huskies slowly tightened the wringers, each in an opposite direction.
Harry's arms tugged at their sockets. His ankles felt ready to crack. Shark stopped his wigwag. The men at the wringers locked them in place and awaited further orders.
'Don't feel so good, does it?' sneered Shark, as he faced Harry. 'A little tighter, it'll feel worse. That's what you'll be getting, bozo, if you don't talk!'
Despite his strain, Harry managed a blank look. Shark gave a guffaw.
'Don't try to kid me,' he snorted. 'You were at Silsam's! So was The Shadow! You were working for him! Maybe you know who he is. I'd like to know, too.'
Harry chewed his lips. He knew what silence meant; more torture, until his bones would snap. Moy Ming had hooked the ironing-boards so that they would not buckle under strain. The clothes-wringers were heavy enough to haul a ton weight, under the leverage that the big Mongols could give the long handles.
Harry felt that he was through. The sooner death came, the better. The best way to start the finish was to ignore Shark Meglo.
Harry turned his head away, looked for some chance object upon which he could concentrate his gaze.
He wanted anything that would help him hold his thoughts away from the racking pains that would soon tear through his limbs.
THERE was a small window in the rear wall, just below the ceiling. It had no shade; that indicated that the window must be below the level of a small courtyard. Probably the space outside the window was topped by a grating. Neither Shark nor Moy Ming supposed that any one could peer into their torture chamber, through that window.
Shark was glaring at Harry. Moy Ming was copying the stare. The Mongols were silently waiting at the wringers. Only Harry looked to the window, hence the prisoner alone saw the face that suddenly appeared there.
It was a wizened face; pale but foxy. It pressed to the pane, its little eyes shifting everywhere, to make sure that no one but Harry was looking in its direction. Once the quick eyes met Harry's, the face shifted away. Only the blackened window pane remained, when Shark happened to glance there.
With an effort, Harry repressed the smile that tried to force itself to his drawn face. Rescue was at hand.
He had recognized the face at the window.
The peering man was 'Hawkeye,' a crafty agent who prowled the underworld in search of information for The Shadow.
Hawkeye was teamed with Cliff Marsland, a husky chap who had a reputation in the badlands.
Gangdom classed Cliff as a crook and a killer. Actually, Cliff was working for The Shadow.
Silently, Harry thanked himself for remembering that routine call to Burbank. Like other active agents, Harry sometimes failed to consider the dangers that might lurk in simple missions, such as this visit to Moy Ming.
Burbank, filling long, dreary hours at his contact post, had a habit of weighing all details that were passed to him. When absent, The Shadow depended upon Burbank much more than the other agents supposed.
Burbank's methodical mind had worked promptly after Harry's call. Burbank had decided that if Harry's mission proved simple, the presence of Cliff and Hawkeye could do no harm. Should things go wrong -
as they had - the other agents would be necessary. So Burbank had called them to give instructions of the sort that The Shadow would approve.
Into Harry's thoughts came an interruption that seemed very far away until Harry snapped from his reverie. Shark Meglo was snarling new threats. They were final. Harry turned his head to meet Shark's glare.
