Masters of Death by Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson

Author:Maxwell Grant & Walter Gibson [Grant, Maxwell & Gibson, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Espionage, Fiction, Thrillers
Publisher: Street & Smith
Published: 1940-05-18T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XII. MIND VERSUS MIND

THE gaunt features of Kent Allard showed their usual worry, but this time there was a cause for their expression. Not that The Shadow was actually worried; he had long ago forgotten how that emotion felt. But he had, at least, lost some of his usual confidence.

Two nights ago, he had fought a terrific battle and had won it, saving the lives of others through tactics that had outmastered the strategy of Shiwan Khan. The Shadow had expected further results from that victory, but they had not come.

Crooks who had been easy to trace were gone entirely from the scene. Shiwan Khan had spirited them away, as effectively as if they had been creatures of a dream. Neither The Shadow nor the police had obtained a clue to the whereabouts of the missing big-shots.

Certainly, Shiwan Khan had not disposed of them. Even their failure to eliminate The Shadow could not have enraged the emotionless Golden Master, particularly when the blame rested upon only one man: Dobie Grelf.

They had been real enough, those fighters, as The Shadow could testify. They had not been yidams, or other phantom creatures, that Shiwan Khan claimed he could produce by mental means. They had left too many of their number on the field.

Nor could Shiwan Khan have transported them into a bardo, or land beyond. Such a world was imaginary in itself. If Shiwan Khan wanted a bardo, he had to fake one. It followed, therefore, that the missing crooks were still somewhere in Manhattan; but that did not prove that they could be found.

One public enemy, Prex Norgan, had been in town almost a year without being discovered.

There was something else that impressed The Shadow, none too favorably. Despite his precautions to protect his identity of Allard, he could sense that he was being watched. Such a sensation was a tricky thing to analyze, but The Shadow had been able to check its actuality.

The Xinca servants were his index. Those stolid servitors were restless. Their tribal instincts, that made them keep together when jungle beasts approached, were at work here in New York. Perhaps the Xincas did not realize that their watchfulness had increased, but The Shadow could observe it.

This night was drizzly. Darkness was very thick outside the window. Extinguishing the light, The Shadow dropped his limping pose; he raised the sash and swung across the sill. Clinging to the ledge, he stretched out and peered toward the corner wall. He saw a scrawny form sidle from sight like a spider seeking a crack.

Dropping back into the room, The Shadow closed the window. He turned on a lamp as he passed it, and approached the door, leaning on his cane.

The Xincas were slow, reluctant, as they brought him his black garments. Speaking reassuring words in their native tongue, The Shadow garbed himself in cloak and hat, dropped the cane and made a quick wheel out into the hall.

He had a gun in readiness, but it was not needed. No living creature was in sight.

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