“Report.”
The lower whisper stopped Hawkeye short. He could see no one in the darkness; but he knew the author of that weirdly spoken word. Hawkeye edged to the wall beside the alley. Whispering in return, he answered The Shadow’s demand.
“The two gorillas that just came out,” explained Hawkeye. “They’re heading to a house one block below the East Side Bank. House number is two forty-six. They’re helping Loco Zorgin on a cover up job.”
“Instructions,” came The Shadow’s whisper. “Contact Marsland. Have coupe stationed two blocks east. Close in carefully on the house. Use judgment in case of trouble. Otherwise await instructions.”
A swish in the darkness. Hawkeye thought he caught a momentary glimpse of solidity in the blackness. Then The Shadow was gone. Hawkeye moved along toward the spot where he was due to meet Cliff.
THE East Side was a bank at which crooks had taken previous stabs. The Shadow knew its location well. It was there that he had once battled with the minions of a supercrook who had called himself the Red Blot. [3]
Since those days, the old bank building had been strengthened to a point where few criminals would consider attacking it. But to Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight, aided by Professor Jark’s disintegrating ray, the East Side Bank would prove a simple job.
It was a logical objective for them to choose. Suspicious characters would be less conspicuous than in a neighborhood like that of the Colonnade Trust. Knowing that the police would be vigilant after the recent fray, the criminals could not have picked a better location for a second crime.
Threading his way from the bad lands, The Shadow progressed along the fringes of less disreputable districts. He traveled back into doubtful terrain, followed the line of an elevated railway and finally entered the danger zone about the East Side Bank.
Here, the cloaked avenger became totally invisible. Any alley, any building front might be the lurking spot for pickets. As he reached the street behind the bank building, The Shadow edged forward until he reached the blackened front of a house which he calculated to be number 246.
White steps showed despite their griminess. The Shadow approached them from the side, raising himself to the top of the steps so that he did not blot out one glimpse of the dull whiteness. He tried the knob of the front door. It was unlocked.
Gliding through the door as he opened it, The Shadow moved softly. through a hall. He used no flashlight; feeling walls, he found a door. He opened it noiselessly; he caught a draught of air. It was the entrance to the cellar.
Descending, The Shadow closed the door behind him. He had sensed that lurkers were present on the ground floor; but he had passed them without giving an inkling of his presence. Moving past a turn in the stairs, The Shadow spotted a glimmer of light. He caught the sound of muffled voices.
Blackness ended at the bottom. The Shadow stood in the last limit of darkness. He viewed a cellar illuminated by a single light. At the other side was a coal bin. The Shadow could see its boarded side; its entrance, apparently, was from the far end. It was from the coal bin that the voices were coming.
Carefully, The Shadow edged toward the right, where helpful blackness offered him a shaded path. He wanted to gain a vantage point from which he could observe the entrance to the coal bin; but as he craned along, his first glimpse showed him that the bin had a closed door.
Moreover, just as his moving form became partially revealed by light, The Shadow caught a reflected glimmer from between two wooden slats at the side of the bin. Instantly, he knew its meaning. The interior of the coal bin was sheeted with steel.
This was no base tunneling operation. It was a trap. The coal bin was a veritable pill-box, an armored turret which constituted a fortress for the men inside it.
ON the edge of the lighted floor, The Shadow wheeled. His discovery had been a fortunate one. The Shadow had made it a scant second before the watchers from the pill-box had spied the edging shape of his cloaked form.
Muffled cries arose as The Shadow made a sweeping dive to regain the stairway.
A gloved hand grabbed the door frame at the bottom of the cellar stairway. Like a whip, The Shadow snapped his body around and upward, finishing with a headlong dive halfway up the steps. His speedy maneuver was all that saved him.
A machine gun loosed its rattle from the coal bin. With a clatter of an electric drill, the “typewriter” drove a stream of steel-jacketed bullets that ripped the doorway and the lower steps with its deadly spray.
But with that barrage came a challenge to those below — mockery that taunted the would-be killers. His presence known, The Shadow had delivered a strident laugh to taunt the foemen who had failed.
With the laugh came action. Gaining the turn in the stairs, The Shadow pulled two automatics in the darkness. Straight upward he aimed, just as the door at the top swung open. The automatics blazed. Cries sounded atop the stairs. Blasting with all the fury of his guns, The Shadow dashed upward.
Dropping as he reached the top, The Shadow thrust eyes and fists over the uppermost step. Mobsters had dived for cover — with good reason. The front door of the house was open; there, a husky mobster, arm back, was about to hurl a rounded object that showed dull black in the light.
The fellow was launching a “pineapple” for the steps, intending to wreck that vantage point and slay its occupant with the same stroke. The thrower’s arm was already on the move as The Shadow pressed the trigger of an automatic.
The timely bullet clipped the husky’s wrist. The effect was that of a stopped throw. The pineapple sailed upward as the hurler received the jolt. It crashed the ceiling and exploded. The house front shook; beams and plaster tumbled down to mass debris where the big mobster had been.
Shaken windows dropped their panes in echo. Following the clatter of glass came the bark of revolvers. Mobsters who had piled behind doorways to allow the bombing were coming back to action, firing from cover toward the stairs.
Below the top step, The Shadow held one gun upward. A new automatic from a second brace, he had it ready to deliver jabbing bullets should a mass attack begin. With his other hand, he had an automatic tilted downward, to meet any comers from below.
Then came a burst of gunfire from the back of the house. Warning shouts were followed by a sudden scurry. The upper mob was dashing back to meet some unexpected onslaught. The Shadow peered quickly from the steps. He saw nothing except the ruined hall at the front door, where the dust of plaster was still rising.
Swinging downward, The Shadow gained the turn in the stairs. From blackness, he opened sudden fire upon creeping mobsmen who had come from the steel-sheeted coal bin. Thinking The Shadow occupied above, the lower crew had started this stealthy approach.
Two thugs sagged. Another pair scurried toward the rear of the cellar. Cut off from their protected pill-box, they were seeking prompt exit, caught unaware by The Shadow’s fire.
Instead of pursuing, The Shadow headed up the stairs. He could hear pounding footsteps from the rear. The hoarse orders of a voice he recognized. Detective Joe Cardona was here with a squad. Bagger had met Clatz. Cardona and his men had followed these two members of Loco’s cover-up crew.
THE SHADOW swung forward toward the debris at the front. Close to the door, he found footing at a side by the wall. He reached the outer steps; then dropped suddenly as a broad figure surged toward him. A revolver spoke; flame seared The Shadow’s hat brim as a bullet whistled a scant inch from his ear.
The Shadow answered with an automatic. His foe succumbed upon the steps. The Shadow had dropped from the side; that move had saved him. Crouched in darkness, The Shadow viewed a grimy face upon the dirty white of the step. Light from within the house dimly revealed the features of the foe whom he had dropped. Loco Zorgin, second of Matt Theblaw’s mob leader’s, had gone to join Stinger Lacey.