Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 259 - The Hydra

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THE HYDRA
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," December 1, 1942.
The original Hydra was a beast that grew two new heads for each one that
was cut off. The Shadow faced its counterpart - a master villain who called
himself the Hydra.
CHAPTER I
MONSTER OF CRIME
GUESTS were arriving at the home of Edmund Glencoe. They came in clusters
from taxicabs and limousines that rolled along the curved driveway leading up
from the great gates. Dozens of guests were absorbed by the huge mansion, as
though it patiently awaited more.
When Edmund Glencoe gave parties, he gave them in a very large way, which
was logical enough, considering the enormous size of his Long Island home. As
for the expense of such entertainments, Glencoe could well afford it, for he
was a millionaire.
Within the house, staid servants were ushering the guests into reception
rooms, where the arrivals met other friends who attended Glencoe's parties.
Those most familiar with the place became an overflow that trickled into a
glass-inclosed conservatory at one side of the mansion, the usual place where
the regulars gathered.
Conviviality filled the air. Everybody was happy to be at this party -
except Edmund Glencoe.
Not that Glencoe showed it openly. On the contrary, he was all smiles and
handshakes as he received the guests and sent them on their way. But when he
found his chance for a break, he took it.
Timed to a lull among the arriving guests, Glencoe stepped through a
curtained doorway to a hall, plucked the arm of a passing servant, and
ordered:
"Find Mr. Mance. Tell him I must see him in my study; privately, and at once.
Reaching his lavishly furnished study, Edmund Glencoe sat behind a desk
and waited. Alone, he was able to show the worry that he felt, and the effect
was very marked. A huddled figure, with drawn face the color of his thin gray
hair, Glencoe appeared more than worried. He looked frightened.
The door opened to admit Willard Mance.
At sight of his friend, Glencoe brightened somewhat. Mance was the sort
of
person who inspired confidence. He was tall, broad of build, a figure of
latent
strength. His face was tawny, of a chiseled type, the sort that went with a
man
of iron. His grizzled hair did not detract from his youthful vigor; rather, it
marked him as a man who possessed experience, along with force.
Mance's dark eyes flashed a look of understanding at Glencoe.
"I could tell that you were worried, Edmund," spoke Mance in a deep tone.
"But don't tell me that it's about those robberies that happened recently. No
harm could reach you here."
"That's what the police commissioner says," returned Glencoe nervously.
"But those crimes weren't just robberies. Certain wealthy people disappeared."
"Probably as a mere precaution." Mance inserted a cigarette in a holder
and reached in his pocket for a lighter. "Very foolish of them to run away
from
imaginary danger." He paused, about to flick the lighter, and asked sharply:
"Are you intending to do the same?"
Glencoe shook his head emphatically. Leaning across the desk, he tapped
it
rapidly.
"No, Willard, I'm not," declared Glencoe. "I'll tell you why. There's a
rumor around that those persons disappeared not because they feared crime, but
because they had a part in it."
Mance furnished an incredulous stare.
"That's what the police commissioner thinks," insisted Glencoe. "He's
holding a conference with prominent citizens tonight. Men like Dustin Bardell
-"
"An old fogy, if ever there was one!" interrupted Mance. "Come, Edmund,
be
sensible. There can't be an epidemic of hit-and-run crime staged by reputable
people. Granted that a criminal organization exists, it must have a brain."
"There is a brain," declared Glencoe solemnly. "It is called by a very
appropriate title: the Hydra."
Mance's eyes took on a puzzled look.
"The Hydra was a fabulous monster," explained Glencoe. "According to
legend, it had several heads, with its brains divided among them. If anything
happened to any of those heads, the others continued to function. What is more
-"
Glencoe was up from the desk, wagging his hand excitedly, when Mance
clapped him on the back and laughed in interruption:
"I suppose the Hydra grew new heads?"
"Exactly!" exclaimed Glencoe. "And that is what we fear this modern Hydra
is doing. It is a monster of crime that must be stamped out!"
Mance laughed again, said, "Come along, Edmund. Your guests are waiting
to
have you show them around the house. They want to see what new curios you have
collected."
Glencoe gave an obedient nod, but at the door he spoke an earnest
request:
"Will you do one thing for me, Willard?"
"Of course.
"Keep an eye on the servants." Glencoe gestured before Mance could
interrupt. "I know they're all reliable, but I'm afraid to trust anyone. So
please watch all of them."
"Including Selbert?"
"All except Selbert" corrected Glencoe. "After all, he is my confidential
secretary. I'd have asked him to perform this duty, but I was afraid it would
worry him. He's a nervous chap."
THEY went out to a reception room, where Glencoe summoned the guests to
begin a tour of the mansion.
Selbert immediately appeared; he was a dapper little man, who carried a
big book under his arm, the volume being a catalogue of Glencoe's curios,
antiques, and art treasures.
The first stop was at the music room, which Glencoe unlocked and invited
the guests to enter. They thronged after Glencoe and Selbert, because all were
anxious to view Glencoe's collection of rare violins and original folios of
music compiled by famous composers.
Looking past the crowd, Glencoe noted that Mance was by the door, near
enough to catch any conversation between two livened servants who were
standing
there.
Quite pleased, Glencoe left Mance to his task and devoted his own efforts
to displaying musical rarities. Nevertheless, when Mance spoke to the two
servants, he was careful to do so in an undertone, hiding his mouth under
cover
of the hand with which he removed his cigarette holder from his lips.
What Willard Mance said was:
"Head No. 4."
"Eye 4C," responded a servant. "The opening beyond the second piano is
ready."
"You made it large enough to remove the Borgian harp?"
"Six inches clearance, tested."
At that moment, Glencoe was pointing guests to the Borgian harp that
Mance
mentioned. The gold decorations of the priceless instrument were alone worth a
small fortune, its many jewels another sizable item. Mance turned to the
second
servant.
"Ear 4K," the fellow said. "Formerly 2B. The trucks have arrived behind
the tennis courts."
"Are any of the guest cars there?" queried Mance.
"None," replied 4K. "All were diverted to parking spaces on the other
side
of the house."
The guests came from the music room, shepherded by Glencoe, with Selbert
following patiently behind his employer, still carrying the bulky catalogue.
The next stop was Glencoe's art gallery, which formed a special wing of the
house.
While the guests admired a long tow of valuable paintings, Mance strolled
about looking over other servants.
Near a door, Mance turned his back and identified himself as Head Four to
a servant who proved to be Eye 4D. This Hydra spy informed him that the
selected paintings were already cut from their frames, but held invisibly in
place by tape that would give way at a single tug. Quite intrigued, Mance
strolled along the gallery and checked the work himself. It was perfect.
On the way from the art gallery to Glencoe's antique room, Mance paused
to
contact another of Glencoe's reliable servants. To Head No. 4, the servant
identified himself as Tooth 4B. When Mance asked him if he'd done the picture
job, the Tooth nodded, then beamed with pleasure when the Head complimented
him
on such clean work.
So it went throughout the tour, from Glencoe's antique room to the
heavily
locked wing on the second floor where the millionaire kept his main curio
collection, valued at a hundred thousand dollars.
By then, Mance had finished his survey of the servants, and Glencoe was
pleased to see his friend looking over some of the doubtful guests, even
sounding them out through casual conversation.
Doubtful, indeed, those guests!
Each one was an Eye, Ear or Tooth, all answering to letters prefaced by
the number four, which symbolized the Head they secretly served. Not once did
Mance nor any of his helpers overdo the countersign by which they introduced
themselves. It consisted merely in spreading a loose-clenched fist into an
open
hand, the fingers standing for the Heads of the Hydra.
At the finish of the insidious parade, Glencoe bowed his guests into
reception rooms, remarking that servants were busy setting supper tables in
the
conservatory. Plucking Mance's arm, Glencoe drew his friend aside for a few
words.
"You did nobly, Willard," complimented Glencoe. "All my qualms are ended.
Wait - here comes Selbert. We can discuss the Hydra matter later."
GLENCOE turned one way, Mance the other, but after a few paces, the
latter
paused. Mance's loose fist opened as Selbert approached; the dapper secretary
gave a similar gesture with a hand that clutched Glencoe's private catalogue.
Mance's undertone was a quick statement of identity.
"Head No. 4."
"Tooth 4A," whispered Selbert. He opened the catalogue showing where he
had torn pages from it. "I marked the wanted items, and left the sheets in
their proper rooms for the Eyes, Ears, and Teeth to find."
"All are Teeth from now on," declared Mance. "And you, Selbert - are you
ready?"
"I have the combination to Glencoe's safe," replied Selbert. "Ear 4B
reports that the light switch in the study is properly connected to the oil
tank."
Mance frowned, whereupon Selbert quickly informed him that the light
switch was seldom used, Glencoe preferring his desk lamp. When Selbert added
that he could rifle Glencoe's safe within the next ten minutes, Head No. 4
nodded his complete approval. Selbert continued to the study, while Mance
strolled off to find Glencoe.
The trouble was, Mance didn't find Glencoe. The host wasn't with his
guests. Mance's emotionless face began to show worry of its own, as he
detached
himself from friends and made a side trip to the study. The door was ajar, so
Mance pushed it open. By the glow of the big desk lamp, Head No. 4 saw all
that
he expected.
Glencoe's safe was open. In front of it stood Selbert, his hands raised.
The desk was strewn with the contents of the safe - cash, stocks, and bonds
already stacked in separate piles. In front of all was Glencoe, nervous no
longer.
The gray-haired man was covering his treacherous secretary with a
revolver. Hearing Mance enter, Glencoe sped a quick look across his shoulder.
"I'm glad you're here, Willard!" exclaimed Glencoe. "Look what I found!
Selbert, the man I trusted most, robbing my safe! I'll hold him while you
summon the servants - or, better still, call the police."
"A little more light would help," spoke Mance coolly. "Where is the light
switch?"
"Right by the door," began Glencoe. Impatiently, he added: "No, never
mind
the switch. It isn't important."
"I think it is," argued Mance, "and so is this!"
With a darted glance, Glencoe saw what Mance meant by "this." It was a
revolver that Mance himself had drawn and was aiming straight at Glencoe. With
a fierce gasp, old Glencoe swung about to meet his false friend's aim.
There wasn't a chance for Edmund Glencoe.
Mance's trigger finger tugged, while the thumb of his other hand pressed
the light switch that he had found.
The gun burst that dispatched a bullet straight to Glencoe's heart was
drowned by an exploding roar that shook the very foundations of the massive
mansion. The floor of the study was shuddering when it received Glencoe's
sprawling body.
Crime had struck in a titanic way, as planned by Willard Mance, Head No.
4
of evil's manifold monster: the Hydra!
CHAPTER II
ENTER THE SHADOW
SELBERT was right. The light switch on the study wall was connected to
the
tremendous fuel tank supplying the furnace of the great mansion. A big furnace
like Glencoe's took a lot of oil, a liquid that could explode with wrecking
power when pepped up with high-test stuff, as Glencoe's fuel happened to be.
Teeth of the Hydra had seen to that, along with other important details.
In fact, the full preparations for this tremendous crime hadn't more than
begun
to show themselves. The explosion from the cellar merely primed the holocaust
to
come.
Glencoe's mansion was built of stone, its walls as thick as bastions. If
it hadn't been of such strong construction, Mance and his Hydra helpers
wouldn't have risked a heavy explosion while they were still in the place.
Thus, though the building shuddered, it did not cave in. However, floors
heaved
when timbers buckled; partitions split asunder, while cracking ceilings
delivered deluges of plaster.
Every light in the house was extinguished, but darkness did not take
over.
Up through rifts in the floor, writhing in from broken partitions, came great
licks of livid flame like the tongues of Gargantuan gas jets. Guests shrieked
at sight of the searing fire which should have subsided, but didn't.
It wasn't just oil that fed the flames. Those hungry tongues found much
to
gobble. In one reception room, a whole stretch of paneling spurted into blaze.
Recently varnished by one of Glencoe's servants, the woodwork had been treated
with pure collodion, which ignited like a mammoth sheet of celluloid.
As guests fled to another reception room, the conflagration pursued them.
They fled from its hellish midst through the only remaining route, a wide
doorway to Glencoe's great front hall.
There the fugitives found that a mass of flame had cut off all exit
except
through the front door and a few adjacent windows. They saw a grand staircase
transformed to a huge torch, the reason being that combustibles had been
stored
in a closet beneath it. Most of the fugitives didn't worry over that. With
door
and windows available, they took those routes to safety.
Some, however, remained to battle the holocaust. What happened to those
few was tragic. Two guests grabbed buckets of sand that they happened to see
in
a vestibule. Sand buckets had been ordered months ago by Glencoe as a
precaution
against air raids, and sand could prove a big help in ease of fire.
This sand was a big help - to the fire.
As each man chucked a load of sand into the flames by the staircase,
there
was a brilliant puff, like a bursting skyrocket. That sand was stuff of which
fireworks were composed. It obliterated itself and the hapless men with it, at
the same time spreading the flame to new portions of the hall.
Similar was the experience of loyal servants who tried to use fire
extinguishers on the flames. The extinguishers were loaded with explosive
mixtures that blasted the moment that they sprayed. Other victims vanished
with
the fiery torrent that was now engulfing the great mansion with volcanic fury.
Yet amid that sea of blaze were paths that the roaring flames had not
reached. Byways through a literal hell, free for travel by a host of lesser
demons who knew their pattern. Demons who in their human form had announced
themselves as servers of The Hydra.
FROM the door of Glencoe's study, Willard Mance, Head No. 4, was shouting
orders to those workers between the crackles of the flames, while behind him
stood Selbert, top man of the Teeth. Their stretch of hallway was free from
the
seething fire, and they knew the routes to safety.
For along those routes Mance's workers were carrying the most valued of
Glencoe's treasures. Folios, violins, the great Borgian harp, were coming
through the rear gap of the music room. Two men with packs of rolled paintings
were leaving by one door of Glencoe's art gallery, while the fire swept in
from
the other direction to gorge itself on carved wainscoting and empty frames.
The best of Glencoe's antiques were being removed bodily, the rest
remaining as added fuel for the mighty fire; while from the second floor,
servants laden with the finest curios were coming down a rear stairway which
the flames hadn't quite surrounded.
All these routes were converging to one goal - a side door that opened
behind the conservatory and afforded a direct route to the trucks beyond the
tennis courts.
This explained why Mance, the Hydra Head, had ordered the holocaust so
arranged that fugitives would be cut off from all exits except the front. He
didn't want them to go through the conservatory, from which they could view
the
looting of Glencoe's treasures. Fire, a mighty mass of it, lifted to
staggering
proportions, was to be the cover-up for murder and robbery.
As yet, the conservatory was unscathed, but the time had come to add it
to
the pyre. Like a satanic majesty in the midst of his favorite element, Mance
ordered Selbert to that task, while the Hydra Head personally stepped into
Glencoe's study, where flames were beginning to appear, and gathered up the
accumulated wealth that strewed the desk.
Viewed from the front driveway, Glencoe's burning mansion was a most
horrendous sight. It formed a great pyramid of tapering flame, the fire
streaming up from the sides into long tongues that were lashing through the
roof, giving the effect that the whole interior was ablaze, though such was
not
the case.
At the right of the building was the only untouched portion - the
glass-inclosed conservatory, two stories high, filled with grass rugs and wall
hangings, wicker furniture and potted plants, the exterior adorned with
pillars
of dry, clinging vines.
The lurid glare revealed a garage to the right of the house; near it were
parked a few of the guest cars. But the glow did not show the parking space
beyond the tennis courts, for that area, the courts included, was directly
behind the great conservatory.
All over the front lawn were scattered guests. Some of them were burned
or
injured, and these were being helped off to the left of the house by
chauffeurs
who had come running from the dozen limousines parked there. One more car was
coming in the driveway, bringing a belated guest to Glencoe's ill-fated party.
The arriving car was a limousine, its passenger a gentleman named Lamont
Cranston.
A world traveler of repute, Cranston was a man who had seen many things
and always took them calmly. He instantly sized Glencoe's mansion as a total
loss, but at the same time recognized that it might still have occupants in
need of aid. There was just one way to reach such persons - through the
conservatory, which, so far, was undamaged. Since the driveway skirted in by
the conservatory, Cranston spoke to his chauffeur:
"Stop here, Stanley."
The voice was calm, and so was Cranston's face. Reflected firelight
showed
a visage that was serious and masklike, carrying a hawkish profile that fitted
a
man who could combine action with reserve.
The door of the limousine opened and Cranston stepped out. His
calculating
survey of the situation offset the fact that he wasn't attired in
fire-fighting
garb. Lamont Cranston was immaculately clad in evening clothes.
The car had stopped just past a line of very bushy shrubs that skirted
the
driveway. It was only a few dozen yards to the conservatory, but the windows
there were fairly high above the ground.
WHILE Cranston was taking a quick look for something that resembled a
door, only to see none, an odd thing happened at the corner windows of the
inclosure.
A man arrived within those windows and began to hammer frantically
against
the panes. The fellow was Selbert, and Cranston recognized the secretary from
a
previous trip to Glencoe's.
Apparently, Selbert was trapped; but if so, he wasn't using his head
about
it. All he had to do was yank a window open and jump out. If he happened to be
worrying about someone else inside the house, Selbert should by rights be
opening the window anyway, so that his shouts could be heard.
At least, someone did see Selbert's actions. A stocky chauffeur was
hurrying over from a car parked near the garage. Why that chauffeur should be
staying there, while all others were on the front lawn helping the guests, was
only a short-lived mystery. As he reached the corner wall, the chauffeur
stooped and grabbed up the nozzle of a big hose. In heroic style, he smashed
the corner window with the nozzle.
Then came a shout from Selbert, words which Cranston could hear beside
his
car, though he was the only person close enough to catch the call that Selbert
addressed to the stocky chauffeur.
"Turn it on, Kirthle!" ordered Selbert. "Make it quick! I'm going back
through!"
With that, Selbert turned about and picked a path through a
flame-bordered
doorway that led from the conservatory into the mansion. At the same time,
Kirthle beckoned and a pair of servants sprang into sight from the outer
corner
of the conservatory. Kirthle handed them the nozzle, while he dived to a water
spigot where the hose was already attached!
In through the conservatory window went a long stream that reached the
outward-lashing flames. Instead of subduing the blaze, the stream fed it. The
spurt from that hose wasn't water; it was gasoline, piped from an underground
tank near the garage!
It seemed that half the fire in the mansion came out to engulf the
conservatory. New fuel for the holocaust, delivered by design! The servants
knew that it was coming, for they fled around the house, leaving the hose
thrust through the broken window to continue its devastating work.
About to follow, Kirthle saw Cranston. Realizing that this lone witness
could testily to the incendiary origin of the giant conflagration, Kirthle
yanked a revolver. He was aiming the gun at Cranston when the latter turned,
saw the menacing weapon, and made a quick dart toward the open door of the
limousine as though to seek the shelter of the car.
Before Kirthle could follow with his aim, a strange thing happened;
something all the more amazing because the sweep of flame through the
conservatory was adding a tremendous burst of light. Amid all that glow,
Cranston was swallowed by blackness before he reached the car door.
Blackness that seemed to swoop at Cranston's beck, envelop him and take
him off to nowhere! As blackness whirled, the door of the limousine slammed,
but the inky mass remained outside the car. Living blackness of human size,
that issued a weird, challenging laugh which Kirthle knew was meant not alone
for him, but for the Hydra.
For that blotting shape had turned itself into a cloaked figure, whose
eyes, beneath the brim of a slouch hat, caught the glow from the fire-swept
mansion and transformed it into a burning gaze that promised ill to crime.
In a manner so swift that the transformation seemed under way before it
happened, Lamont Cranston had completely vanished, to be replaced by that
superfoe feared by all men of evil:
The Shadow!
CHAPTER III
MASTER OF FLAME
THE SHADOW was surging forward, intent upon taking Kirthle alive, to make
the fellow talk about the Hydra. Kirthle fired one frantic shot, missing The
Shadow by three feet. The bullet didn't even wing the limousine, for it was
gone from behind the path that The Shadow had retaken.
Kirthle wasn't the only smart chauffeur on hand. Stanley, Cranston's man,
was trained to pull away when he heard shooting start. Though Stanley regarded
it odd that a complacent gentleman like Cranston should be in the vicinity of
gunfire so often, the chauffeur never questioned his master's orders, nor did
he link Cranston with The Shadow. Among other elements in Stanley's training,
he'd learned to mind his own business thoroughly.
As for Kirthle, he was thinking only of The Shadow. Under the muzzle of
an
automatic that the cloaked fighter aimed, Kirthle tried another gun stab, that
didn't deliver. The first shot from The Shadow's gun preceded Kirthle's tug of
the trigger.
The leaden slug found Kirthle's forearm, just above his gun hand. Jounced
by the impact, Kirthle staggered around, his arm flinging wide, while his
loosened hand let his revolver scale against the wall below the conservatory
windows. Wounded and unarmed, Kirthle turned to run; then, seeing The Shadow
looming hard upon him, the stocky man turned back.
Diving for the wall, Kirthle grabbed up his gun with his left hand and
swung triumphantly, hoping to cripple The Shadow in turn. Within reach, The
Shadow made a swoop to grab Kirthle's arm, but the fellow made a successful
dodge along the wall, escaping the cloaked fighter's clutch.
It was death for Kirthle.
Down came a great chunk of the conservatory wall, a mass of molten metal
and white-hot glass. Kirthle hadn't realized how quickly the conservatory had
become a furnace under the feeding spray of gasoline which he himself had
started. Probably Kirthle never realized it, for he was buried out of sight in
an avalanche as deadly as a flow of volcanic lava.
Only by a long, swift dive did The Shadow escape the fiery debris.
Wheeling from the scorching flames that now were climbing the vine pillars,
The
Shadow made a wider circuit toward the rear of the mansion, hoping to overtake
the two treacherous servants who had helped Kirthle with the hose.
They were beyond the tennis courts, those crooks and others. The Shadow
couldn't see the trucks because of an intervening wall, but he did spy the
last
of the men who were bringing burdens from Glencoe's side door.
The Shadow gave them a weird laugh that made them falter; then, in
response to the mirth, came a deluge of gunfire from beyond the tennis courts.
That barrage was meant for The Shadow. Though it didn't reach him, it
allowed the burden carriers to escape. Attacked by the whole Hydra tribe, The
Shadow needed shelter of his own in order to fight back. He took the only spot
he saw, which happened to be the best, the very door from which the Hydra's
men
had brought the last of Glencoe's curios!
Once within that shelter, The Shadow jabbed a few shots toward the
distant
marksmen. Dropping deeper to let them spot themselves with unwary shots, The
Shadow suddenly lost interest in such random battle. Here within the
fire-gorged mansion, The Shadow was viewing the pathways through which The
Hydra's workers had maneuvered their departure with a vast supply of loot.
It wasn't a question now of rescuing helpless persons who weren't even
likely to be around. Here was The Shadow's chance to trap some of the Hydra's
clan in the very pitfall which they had designed as coverage for crime!
ONE candidate was already in sight. Turning a corner toward The Shadow
was
the very man who had signaled the destruction of the conservatory - Glencoe's
false secretary, Selbert!
Mere chance warned Selbert of danger ahead. Dropping back as a stretch of
floor gave underfoot, Selbert looked up and saw The Shadow bearing straight
toward him. With a wild look, the dapper man turned and dashed back around the
corner.
With a leap, The Shadow was across the cavity. Around the corner he
side-stepped as Selbert peppered frantic shots in return. Scrambling for
Glencoe's study, Selbert stumbled on the threshold. He was up again, clutching
his gun and a precious bundle, when The Shadow overtook him. With a wild
wrench, Selbert went through the doorway, right into the arms of Willard
Mance.
The Hydra Head was perfect in his pretext. He didn't waste half a second
asking any questions. One look told him that Selbert had met with something
supernormal, and Mance acted just as though he expected someone like The
Shadow. He pinned Selbert against the only stretch of wall that the flames
hadn't reached, grabbed the man's gun, and tried to get the bundle.
"I've got him!" bellowed Mance. "The traitor who murdered Glencoe and
robbed him! Help me... somebody!"
It wasn't just anybody who appeared. Staring across Selbert's shoulder,
Mance looked amazed when he saw The Shadow enter.
It looked like Selbert's crime, even though he hadn't done it. To all
appearances, Mance had reached the study too late to aid Glencoe and was now
demanding vengeance for his murdered friend.
That fact, plus The Shadow's own wish to check on Glencoe's death, worked
in favor of the Hydra's cause. The Shadow turned toward Glencoe's body and saw
the desk beyond it, strewn with papers that the flames had just begun to
devour. Mance had stayed to see that Selbert had missed nothing of value and
that sudden doubt flashed to The Shadow. He wheeled, automatic ready in his
fist.
Mance and Selbert were already gone, the Hydra Head shoving the Tooth
through the doorway to the hall, their departure drowned by a sudden crackle
of
flames that poured through the study walls. If Selbert had paused long enough
to
fire, he might have clipped The Shadow; but the secretary was too fearful, too
amazed by Mance's sudden shift.
As for Mance, his gun was out, but he didn't have it aimed when he fired.
His shot was wide, and he was smart enough to duck through the door ahead of
The Shadow's reply. Then Selbert was dashing for the corner with Mance behind
him, but all the while, the rugged Hydra Head was shooting back, hoping to
nail
The Shadow in the doorway.
From that shelter, The Shadow fired as Mance turned the corner. Again,
flames rallied to a criminal's aid. These were the flames that roared through
the study walls, flaring up from the supporting beams. Literally that fiery
mass swallowed the floor of the entire room, and The Shadow plunged as the
whole room caved into a flaming pit.
CLUTCHING the doorway as he went, The Shadow clung there watching the
collapse. Glencoe's body, the desk beyond it, finally the big safe, went
splashing into a sea of red fire that spouted like a mighty geyser, seeking
another victim in the person of The Shadow.
One heave and The Shadow was clear of the lashing flame, safe in the
hallway that formed a last oasis amid disaster.
The Shadow reached the corner of the passage, only to find it transformed
to another pit of flame that Mance and Selbert had just managed to bridge. The
route to the conservatory was cut off; it was from that direction that new
waves of fire had reached the doomed study. One path alone remained: the back
staircase to the second floor.
It led up and down; nevertheless, The Shadow took the stairs ahead of a
rising wall of fire. On the floor above, he saw the outline of a window
through
a raging torrent of smoke-clouded red. Floor boards cracked and fell as The
Shadow drove across them, but his lunging arms reached the window and drove
through the space from which glass had already cracked and fallen.
Again, The Shadow's hauling hands made up for lack of footing. Over the
sill, he struck headlong on a small, sloping roof of slate that held the
temperature of a griddle. That ordeal was short, for the roof gave as The
Shadow struck it and he scaled off to the ground, landing clear of burning
porch posts and a shower of loosened slates that seemed to hiss their heat as
they knifed into the turf and stopped there, upright, like Druid monuments in
miniature.
Cars were spurting away through a back driveway, off to the left of the
house. Seeing an abandoned sedan, The Shadow reached it, found the keys that
the frightened owner had left, and started the blistered car away from the
tremendous mountain of flame and smoke that now entirely obscured the whole of
Glencoe's home.
The chase, however, was short-lived. It ended at the emergency entrance
of
a hospital two miles from Glencoe's. The vehicles ahead weren't trucks, nor
even
the sort of getaway cars that crooks might use. They were limousines piloted
by
faithful chauffeurs, who had brought the burned and injured guests from
Glencoe's fiery party.
Mance and his Hydra followers had gone the other direction. With many
roads to choose, their four-mile start would be sufficient. Dealing with them
would be a matter of the future. Such was The Shadow's verdict as he turned
the
borrowed car about and started back toward the mighty beacon that had once
been
摘要：

THEHYDRAbyMaxwellGrantAsoriginallypublishedin"TheShadowMagazine,"December1,1942.TheoriginalHydrawasabeastthatgrewtwonewheadsforeachonethatwascutoff.TheShadowfaceditscounterpart-amastervillainwhocalledhimselftheHydra.CHAPTERIMONSTEROFCRIMEGUESTSwerearrivingatthehomeofEdmundGlencoe.Theycameinclustersf...

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