Whirling, The Shadow dashed through bushes, toward the gate. As he took that direction, he again emitted his strident, unmistakable laugh. The weird crescendo quivered upon other ears. Matt Theblaw’s sedan was whizzing from the gate. Matt and the gorillas with him caught The Shadow’s challenge.
A revolver barked from blackness. The bullets sizzled past the opened window of the sedan. A second shot, as The Shadow dashed forward. With the echoes of his fire came that gibe that only he could utter.
Matt Theblaw fumed as he dropped his hold upon Lamont Cranston. Whirling about, the tall crook jabbed his hand from a window and opened wild fire from the fleeing sedan.
“The wrong guy!” muttered the crook. “We’ve got the wrong guy!” Then, in a harsh rasp to Louie: “Get going! Keep going! It’s The Shadow! He’s in the clear!”
The Shadow’s laugh had ended. Again came the staccato bark of a revolver. The Shadow was at the gate, squarely in the middle of the road, when suddenly his evening-clothed form was outlined in a blaze of light. Stanley was coming from the driveway in the limousine. The chauffeur applied the brakes when he saw his master.
“Mr. Cranston!” cried Stanley, leaping from the big car. “Are you hurt? How did you get free?”
Trembling, the chauffeur was holding a revolver that he had pulled from a pocket in the car. Without a word, The Shadow swung and plucked the weapon. With agile stride, he sprang to the wheel of the limousine. With Stanley’s gun as reserve, The Shadow shot the big car forward, leaving the chauffeur bewildered by the gate.
Far ahead, The Shadow caught the twinkle of the sedan’s tail-light. The limousine, heavy and powerful, clung hard to the winding road as its driver impelled it forward. Steadily, The Shadow was closing the gap between himself and the fleeing sedan.
Raising the gorilla’s gun with his right hand, The Shadow delivered three quick shots. Revolvers answered from the sedan. The chased car veered to the center of the road, almost into oncoming traffic. Approaching cars took to the shoulders.
The Shadow sped the limousine up on the right. His laugh rang clear, taunting, vengeful, terrifying. His left hand flashed the revolver that he had snatched from Stanley. A mobsman fired blindly toward the limousine. The Shadow answered; his bullet sent the gorilla sinking back into the sedan.
Matt Theblaw fired once and ducked. The cars were almost alongside. A mobster took pot shot from the front seat. The Shadow picked him off with the second of two swiftly delivered slugs. Lamont Cranston’s face was showing white at the window. Matt had dropped from view.
Again, The Shadow raised his strident laugh. He had a bead on Louie, but he did not fire. The driver must have known his danger; he slung the sedan to the right to force The Shadow’s car to the ditch. The Shadow jammed the brake. His big car slowed enough to avoid the crash.
Then, as Louie saw a clear path to the left, the sedan kited suddenly in that direction. Half skidding, it took to a side road as the limousine kept straight. Louie caught his grip on the wheel; the sedan righted and kept in flight.
From the limousine came final shots; with them, the last taunt that The Shadow chose to give. The tones of that fear-provoking mirth brought tremors to Matt Theblaw and Louie. But to Lamont Cranston, The Shadow’s laugh gave hope.
The sedan kept on in its flight for safety, far along the side road that Louie had thought himself lucky to find. But the limousine, still on the main road, was following a course to Manhattan. The Shadow had given up the chase of Lamont Cranston’s abductors.
HALF an hour later, the big car stopped near Delavar Street. Stepping from his post behind the wheel, The Shadow strode in the direction of the house that bore the number 18. He found the front door unlocked. He entered.
Downstairs and up, the building was empty. Professor Jark had left with his electrical equipment; only odd pieces of furniture remained on the second floor. Still in his guise of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow turned on lights and laughed sardonically as he viewed the room wherein he had played his game of bluff.
The big clock on the mantel was gone. Jark had evidently taken that one item with him. Turning, The Shadow extinguished the light and made his departure through darkness. His laugh was soft and prophetic.
The Shadow had no fear for the present safety of Lamont Cranston. Crooks had not wanted the real Cranston before; they would not want him at present. Deliberately, The Shadow had restrained himself from shooting Louie; for had he wounded the driver, he would have wrecked the sedan with Cranston in it.
Lamont Cranston would come to no harm, thanks to The Shadow’s chase. For in that pursuit, The Shadow had pronounced his own identity in a manner that Matt Theblaw would remember. Crooks had grabbed the wrong man after all. They would release Cranston as willingly as they had The Shadow.
Having driven Matt Theblaw into flight, The Shadow had chosen to let him go, that Cranston’s safety might be assured. Instead of continuing the chase of the sedan, he had come swiftly to this house on the chance that Jark and Digger had lingered too long.
Those birds had flown; learning that, The Shadow had searched for some clue. None found, his trail was ended. Crime still lay ahead; and, as yet, The Shadow had gained no inkling of its purpose.
Though he had saved Bruce Duncan’s life; though he had bluffed and extricated himself from captivity; though he had assured Lamont Cranston’s safety — The Shadow was back almost to his starting point.
Stinger Lacey and various mobsmen had fallen in strife against The Shadow. The master fighter had displayed amazing prowess. Yet the real men behind crime were still at large; and The Shadow had no knowledge of their whereabouts nor of the crimes they contemplated!
CHAPTER IX
DOUBLE FACES DOUBLE
AT eight o’clock the next morning, a coupe pulled up in front of Lamont Cranston’s mansion. As tires crunched on gravel, Stanley came into view from the garage, while Richards, the valet, appeared from the house door. Both men stared in surprise as they saw their master stepping from the coupe.
“I thought you were still asleep, sir,” exclaimed Richards, from the porch. “It was after four o’clock when you arrived home, Mr. Cranston. I did not suppose that you would be rising until noon.”
“I decided to rise early,” came the dry comment. Richards saw a smile fixed on his master’s lips. “You were not about when I called; so I strolled out without your knowledge. You should be more alert, Richards.”
The valet nodded at the rebuke. Yet Richards was puzzled. He would have sworn that his master was still upstairs asleep.
“How did you get the coupe, sir?” inquired Stanley. “You usually keep it in the Manhattan garage. And what about the limousine, Mr. Cranston? I asked you about it when you came in at four o’clock.”
“One question at a time, Stanley,” was the chuckled rebuke. “I drove the limousine into New York and left it there. When I came back, I used the coupe, but left it at the garage near the station.”
“And that was how you happened to be walking in, sir? At four this morning?”
“An excellent guess, Stanley. The air was so delightful at four o’clock that I preferred a stroll; and I decided to take another walk, half an hour ago, down to obtain the coupe.”
Strolling past the puzzled servants, the tall arrival went up the steps to the house. There he paused, to remove an object from his pocket.
“By the way, Stanley” — a toss sent a glimmering gun to the chauffeur — “here is the revolver I borrowed from you. I forgot to give it to you at four o’clock. And Richards, I am going to my room. Do not disturb me. If anyone telephones, tell them I am asleep.”