CHAPTER III:

Tarzan made a decision. He assumed that the Orientals had taken something from the Assassins' lair. He would find out what it was and then take action to either help or hinder the surviving Orientals as he saw fit.

He moved along the mountainside, careful to remain out of sight, until he was able to sprint unseen back into the jungle. Then he began to trail the escaping Orientals.

He soon realized that he was not alone in his pursuit. A group of six Assassins, who had apparently left their lair by another exit, were moving to cut off the Orientals. Tarzan watched them from a high branch as they moved through foliage. To his mild surprise, he was that they were led by a rather beautiful, dark-haired woman armed with pistol, sword and crossbow.

The jungle lord let them move out of sight, then himself took a path that would move well clear of them and hopefully cut off the Orientals before they did. As he moved, he slung his bow once more over his shoulder. Uncoiling the grass rope from belt, then quickly and expertly tied a noose in the end.

He took up position in front of the approaching Orientals, still hidden in the trees above the jungle floor. A minute later, the six men appeared below him, moving underneath the tree in which he sat. Tarzan let the end of his rope drop, draping the noose around the metal container still being carried by one of the Orientals. Jerking the rope upward, he tore the container from the man's grasp and quickly recoiled the rope. Carrying the container under one arm, he swung off into the jungle. Below him came shouts of dismay and a fusillade of wild shots.

More shots followed, but not this time directed at Tarzan. The Assassins had also caught up with their enemies and the two factions were again locked in battle.

Tarzan paused and examined the container. It was unmarked and he could hear some sort of liquid sloshing around inside. It was slightly warm to the touch. He briefly considered opening it, but had no idea if it was safe. The ape man did not know fear, but he was not reckless.

Then the wind shifted and the scent of still more men came to Tarzan's sensitive nostrils. The scent came from the direction in which the Orientals had been moving. Did they have allies ahead? The sound of gunfire had once again died away-one side or the other had achieved victory.

Tarzan moved towards the new scent. He was beginning to feel a little frustrated. He was gathering a lot of information, but nothing that allowed him to come to any conclusions. He only knew that he did not want the League of Assassins setting up shop in his jungle. But could he consider the Orientals his allies or still another set of enemies?

He came to the edge of a large clearing and paused, momentarily astonished by what he saw. Parked in the center of the clearing was a small zeppelin, about the size of a city bus. The air ship was tied to makeshift moorings and the gondola-large enough for perhaps twenty people-was equipped with two large propellers. Both propellers spun, but Tarzan could barely hear the hum of the engines. Several Orientals stood guard nearby.

Twenty yards to Tarzan's right, two of the men from the group that had stolen the container came running out of the jungle. Gunfire barked from behind them, dropping one of them. The zeppelin's guards fired back. Bullets pinged off the gondola.

A man appeared in the gondola's open hatch, holding an oddly-shaped rifle with a wide barrel. Pointing his weapon at the Assassins' position, he pulled the trigger. The weapon fired with a dull thud and something flew visibly from its barrel. It landed near the clearing edge and exploded, releasing a cloud of thick smoke. Instantly, the gunfire from the Assassins ceased.

It was here that fate took a hand. The wind shifted again and some of the smoke wafted towards Tarzan. The ape man, first assuming it was simply a smoke screen to cover the zeppelin's escape, was not concerned. Only when the sickly smell of the smoke reached his nostrils did he abruptly realize that it was actually some sort of gas.

Holding his breath, he turned to leap further back into the jungle. But it was too late-the one brief breath he had taken allowed the toxin to flood into his bloodstream. Suddenly, the jungle lord's usually perfect balance deserted him. He stumbled and fell, dropping the canister as he landed heavily on the ground. The fall left him dazed and the effects of the gas blurred his vision. He tried to stand, but the jungle seemed to spin around him and he fell again. His ears filled with the pounding of his own blood and everything went dark...

MEANWHILE:

The door to the dark room-located somewhere in New York City-opened and a shadowy form noiselessly entered. The form seemed to blend into the dark as it moved with perfect confidence through the unlit chamber. For a moment, it seemed as if the form had dissolved into the darkness. But then a desk lamp clicked on.

The light formed a small circle atop the desk. Two gloved hands reached into the light. One of the fingers of the right hand was adorned with a ring on which was mounted a bright red jewel.

The hands clutched a trio of envelopes. The first of these was opened. At first, it seemed that the paper inside was blank. But then words gradually faded into view.

"Talk of something mysterious in Chinatown," read the message. "A number of tong members recruited for as yet unknown project. Several have been seen in an abandoned warehouse." The note gave the address of the warehouse. The signature was "Roy Tan."

Roy Tan was an agent of the Shadow, one of a number of such men and women who worked constantly to gather information about the underworld.

The message faded again until the hands once again held a blank paper. This was set aside and the second envelope opened.

Once again, invisible ink gradually became visible. This message read "Brink Durgan and his gang called off bank job. They were visited last night by a Chinese wearing a business suit. Tried to follow Chinese but lost him. Durgan and gang have bought tickets to Gotham City on this evening's train. Intentions unknown." This message was signed "Clyde Burke." Burke was a crime reporter for the New York Clarion. He was also an agent of the Shadow.

The third envelope was opened. This one was a message from Cliff Marsland. Marsland was publically known as a gangster and a gunman. Few knew that he was really another of the Shadow's agents.

This message simply informed Marsland that he had returned from a mission of minor importance in Albany and was available if the Shadow needed him.

A soft laugh seemed to fill the room. The Shadow was gathering information. Now it was time to act!