A weird glow had replaced the flares. Smoke was pouring from a cabin.
The junk was on fire!
Other wreaths curled upward from spots of the deck as the dried wood of the old Pung-Shoon blazed like tinder.
Amidst the rising holocaust, the terrible man on the deck swept back toward the cabin from which he had come. Not a single shot defied him.
The Shadow’s revolvers were empty. He tossed them away, and stooped to pick up the revolver which Ling Soo had let fall.
Something gleamed through the air. A knife was whistling from the rigging, its sharp point driving straight for the back of the stooping man.
Was it instinct that told The Shadow? Or did his keen ears sense the approach of that murderous blade, delivered from the mast, high above?
With his hand upon Ling Soo’s gun, The Shadow dived suddenly away. The shimmering blade passed within an inch of his twisting body. It struck the deck at the exact spot where Ling Soo’s gun had lain.
With point buried deep in the wood, the blade quivered. It had missed its mark!
But The Shadow did not let the thrust remain unanswered. Swinging upward, the muzzle of his revolver seemed to follow the path along which the knife had come. No one was visible, behind the sail where lay the cowering wretch whose skillful hand had sent the blade along its way.