The Shadow 211 by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TURNING about, Yvonne saw that her uncle’s door was ajar, a dim light coming from it. She felt he ought to know what had happened; that he might be able to do something about it. Still, it wasn’t wise to call him; judgment told her to approach his room cautiously.

Not having bothered to put on slippers, Yvonne was able to reach the door very silently. But the moment that she peered through the opening, a total horror froze her.

She saw the same darkish hands that she had viewed before, but this time they were dealing with an object more pliable than iron bars. Those hands were tight-clenched upon a human neck, bringing a face into the light.

Whatever horror Yvonne felt was written tenfold upon the features above those gripping hands. The face belonged to James Carland; it was petrified in death.

The killer’s pressure had seemingly bulged Carland’s eyes and forced his tongue to its full extension. As Yvonne swayed, the movement enabled her to see the murderer’s coppery face, as well as his tawny hands. It was a stony face, yet its very mold seemed one of venom. The man was relishing his evil handiwork as only a savage could.

Memories of her museum visit swept through Yvonne’s brain. This man was an Aztec, a member of the Xitli cult that Professor Hedwin had likened to the thugs of India. He was a strangler, whose weapons were his fingers; a fiend inhuman, who served an ancient fire god. Those thoughts came almost in a single flash, and Yvonne’s mind was too crowded to think of anything else.

Her scream therefore was involuntary, and louder than any she would have normally given. It must have carried through the outer courtyard and off into the alleyways beyond. Her own vocal effort even startled Yvonne from her lethargy before the Aztec could spring about.

The girl was dashing frantically along the hallway while the killer was still reaching for the stone-headed knife that he wore in his belt. Yvonne’s one hope was to reach the balcony before she could be overtaken.

She managed it so well that she was scrambling through the window before her pursuer reached the hall. But on the balcony she encountered a new menace.

A figure came over the rail, another of the squatly Aztecs, his hatchet already in his hand. Sight of the frail, cringing girl slowed the would-be killer, but only because of his contempt. He was choosing the side of Yvonne’s neck, above her shuddering shoulder, as a target for his weapon. The girl’s eyes went shut, her lips were gaspless, as she saw the hatchet begin its swinging curve.

The roar that came from the courtyard was indefinable to Yvonne. It was the burst of a gun, accompanied by echoes from the walls about. To Yvonne it sounded as a blast of doom; which it was, but not for her. A whir of air went by her cheek; a lunging body struck the balcony rail beside her.

Opening her eyes, Yvonne saw

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