Maxwell Grant - The Shadow 048 by Gray Fist

Author:Gray Fist [Fist, Gray]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-11-14T23:19:17+00:00

With the statement, the man raised his right arm. He thrust a clenched and threatening hand toward the faces of his prisoners. The hand was wearing a large gray glove. It seemed to loom larger than the man behind it, like a photograph out of perspective. The men on the cots stared at that outstretched hand.

They saw the fingers open, then close into the clutching form of a fist.

“This,” declared Gray Fist, in his discordant tone, “is the hand with which I grip my enemies. Those who have felt the clutch of Gray Fist have never known it to loose!”

Cliff Marsland was studying the features of the speaker. In the dim light, Gray Fist seemed grotesque.

The harder Cliff stared, the more he found himself blinking. A sense of dizzied weariness made him give up the effort. With a tired, sidelong glance, Cliff observed that Harry Vincent was leaning back against the wall at the end of his cot. Harry’s eyes were closed; yet despite his fatigue, he too, was listening.

Cliff copied the action. He saw a purpose in it. He feared that Gray Fist would become demanding; that this fiendish captor would want to know the identity of the master whom his prisoners served. By feigning grogginess, Cliff realized that he might be able to escape a cross-examination at the hands of Gray Fist.

A chuckle came from Gray Fist. It broke into a harsh strain of chortling laughter. The captor had evidently divined the thoughts that his victims held.

“Rest yourselves,” ordered Gray Fist, in an ironical tone. “You need not worry that I shall inquire into your affairs. I know the parts that you have played. You are servants of that ridiculous masquerader who calls himself The Shadow.

“I have proven my superiority to The Shadow. My henchmen are stronger than you. The ease with which they captured you is proof of that fact. But they did more than capture you. They learned the crude method by which you communicated with The Shadow.

“You—the pair of you—were mere tools in the hands of a so-called master who was no more than an apprentice. Those who serve me are crafty as well as capable. Last night, one of you telephoned a message to an agent of The Shadow.”

Cliff Marsland opened his eyes instinctively. Gray Fist, his arms now folded, was more blurred than before. The fiend chuckled as he saw Cliff’s surprise.

“My men traced that call,” continued Gray Fist harshly. “They found the place where The Shadow’s agent was in hiding. From there they traced another line—to The Shadow’s own abode.”

GRAY FIST’S words ended with a tantalizing chuckle. Cliff closed his eyes and set his jaw. He realized now where his mistake had been. That telephone booth, beside the window! Snakes Blakey must have been watching from the outside, and noted the dial numbers when Cliff had rung up Burbank.

“There were two men whom The Shadow sought,” remarked Gray Fist, in a scornful voice. “One was Seth Cowry. He is dead. He has been dead— ever since he thought himself too important because he knew Gray Fist.

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