Burke darted across the room and sent the chair toppling backward to the door. His action was all that kept Dixon from receiving a bullet squarely in the forehead.
Rodney's last shot was timed with a quick motion of his free hand to his pocket. His arm jerked and a small object fell to the floor and exploded.
There
was no sound except a glassy tinkle. Instantly, streamers of white vapor shot into the air. It spread in a dense fog, obscured the crook in the doorway.
Tear gas!
COUGHING, Vincent crept on hands and knees to the door. His outflung arms met only vacant air. Rodney had fled under cover of his gas barrage. His feet thundered down the staircase. Vincent made no effort to follow him, although his whole body burned with the grim desire to overtake and capture Rodney and his ugly little henchman.
Duty to the stern commands of The Shadow kept Vincent in that room. He could not leave the room until the orders were changed. So he staggered to his feet and helped Burke throw open the window and dissipate the thick, choking fumes.
The fallen Dixon was moaning faintly in his overturned chair.
'Are you hurt?' Clyde Burke cried.
'No, no! Lift me up. My arm's doubled under me. I'm afraid it's broken!'
The two agents of The Shadow righted the chair with a quick heave between them. Their faces were grim.
Clyde and Harry reloaded their guns. The first attack had been beaten off,
but there might be another.
DOWN in the tangled shrubbery of the grounds, Squint and Rodney fled toward the road. Squint, the faster of the two, was in the lead. It was he who swerved with a startled cry.
He saw the same black-cloaked figure that Bruce Dixon had seen earlier.
It
rose like an ascending wraith from the dark surface of the ground.
Squint dodged as black-gloved hands reached for his throat. Gasping, he tripped over an unseen root and plunged heavily on his face.
His mishap gave The Shadow time to deal with the more resolute Rodney. He closed with the snarling killer and disarmed him with a quick jerk of his wrist
and hand. The gun flew off in a tangent and vanished.
Rodney fought furiously, and for an instant seemed to be conquering The Shadow by the very fury of his fists. The Shadow gave ground, seemed to falter.
But it was only a momentary weakness, and it changed to strength in the twinkling of an eye.
The Shadow had seen Squint rising to his feet. He threw Rodney aside with a tremendous shove and whirled to meet this new menace.
Squint was no match at all for The Shadow. He screamed as his arm-bone scraped in the socket of his shoulder. The gun he had tried to fire slipped from his pain-loosened fingers. Moaning, he reeled backward, intent only on getting away from this black-robed wraith that had risen to block his escape.
The Shadow wanted Squint to flee. It left him free to deal with Rodney, who was again charging like a clumsy bear. The same thing that had happened when The Shadow fought his battle with Bruce Dixon was now repeated. He began to fight defensively, as if he had lost heart.
Rodney thought he had The Shadow at last. But The Shadow, slipping suddenly away, ran like a deer in a direction opposite to that taken by Squint.
As he ran, a paper fluttered to the ground.
Paul Rodney, who had eyes like a cat, saw the paper fall and abandoned his
plan to pursue his antagonist. He reached, scooped up the paper. Hastily scratching a match, he read its contents.
Laughter issued from his throat. He was staring at an exact duplicate of the paper that Bruce Dixon had found.
RODNEY whirled, followed the path Squint had taken. It took him to a gate in the stone wall. He darted through, raced toward the car where Squint was already behind the wheel. The car's headlights were dark, but the engine was throbbing harshly under the hood.
'You rat!' Rodney cried, fiercely. 'Were you going to scram and leave me here?'
'Hell, no!' Squint whispered. 'I wanted to be all set for the get-away.
Get in, quick! We're licked if we don't scram in a hurry!'
'Licked nothing,' Rodney purred. 'I got something to show you, as soon as we're on our way. Drive straight for the Carruthers house - that burned-down dump where we croaked Snaper and Hooley.'
'Why there? That's a devil of a place to hide out.'
'It is? It's the best place in the world to find the Cup of Confucius!
The
Shadow made a bad mistake to-night. He tipped his hand!'
While the car rocked along, Rodney held a scrap of paper before Squint's eyes so the ugly little chauffeur could read it.
The car increased its speed. The whine of the rubber tires on the dark highway was like an ominous croon of death.
UPSTAIRS in the Dixon mansion there was tense quiet. Arnold Dixon's hands were no longer bound. He trusted Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke now. His beseeching eyes seemed to implore them not to leave him.
Vincent watched the square outline of the open window. Clyde kept his attention riveted on the door. They were armed and ready. They had heard sounds
of a furious fight taking place somewhere below in the estate.
It might mean a renewed attack from the staircase or from the sheer surface of the ivy-covered wall. Vincent knew that a determined man could climb
that wall, if he were desperate enough. He gave it tense, undivided attention.
The stone that flew without warning through the open window almost struck Vincent's hunched shoulder. It landed with a thump on the floor, rebounded against the wall.
Vincent pounced on the object before he saw clearly what it was. His first
thought was that it might be a bomb. But it was a plain, jagged stone. A sheet of paper was wrapped about it, tied securely in place with a tight loop of cord.
Harry Vincent ripped the cord loose, spread the paper flat under his eager
eyes. He uttered a low exclamation.
The paper contained a hasty scrawl in a hand that was familiar to Harry.
There was no doubt in his mind but that The Shadow had written this message.
The note was terse. Vincent frowned, but Clyde Burke's eyes gleamed when he read it:
Vincent remain with Arnold Dixon. Do not leave under any circumstance.
Burke report immediately to burned house on shore road. Signal sparrow chirp.
Speed.
Clyde Burke whirled, his face aglow with delight. Vincent showed no sign of the disappointment that filled him. He merely extended his hand, said 'Good luck!' and watched Clyde race from the room. He heard Clyde depart on the motor
cycle on which he had come out from New York.
CHAPTER XVII
THE INDIAN'S NOSE
IT was pitch-dark in the tool shed where Bruce had so callously thrust William Timothy and his niece. The lawyer couldn't see Edith Allen, but the sound of her shrill scream made his ears tingle.
'Quiet!' he told Edith. 'Screaming won't help us get out. I have the means
of escaping from here in less than five minutes!'
His sharp whisper was confident. Edith became silent. In the darkness, she
