“So this is your hideout, eh?” growled Dombo. “Figured I wouldn’t get by Clipper, did you? Well — you figured wrong.”
Beef had no reply. He could see other men beyond the doorway. He knew that his enemy was backed by a squad of gorillas.
“Guess you thought I’d taken it on the lam,” sneered Dombo. “Well — that’s just what I’m going to do — after I finish with you, mug. Maybe I’ll run into that side-kick of yours, Croaker Zinn. If I do, I’ll hand him the same dose that I’m giving you right now.”
“Lay off, Dombo,” pleaded Beef, in a hunted tone. “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ to queer your game.”
“You’re right, you ain’t,” rasped Domino. “You did enough — you and Croaker — when you muscled in on my racket, six months ago.”
“The racket went sour, Dombo. It wasn’t no good to any of us.”
“Yeh? Says you? I thought it was good enough. When you guys queered it for me, I had to go into the stick-up game. That’s why the bulls are on my trail. That’s why I’ve got to head for Chi — but I’m squaring with you before I start.”
“That won’t do you no good, Dombo,” Beef continued though pleading seemed useless. “If you put me on the spot, the bulls will have somethin’ new on you.”
“Huh?” Dombo snorted. “Listen, bimbo, you won’t be the first mug that got the works from me. The bulls didn’t wise up the last two times. They won’t wise this time. Three is my lucky number.”
Beef stared as he saw Dombo coolly raise his gun to a steady level. For the first time, he had learned that Dombo was a murderer. Quaking, Beef eyed the muzzle of the .38. He saw an eager finger resting on the trigger. He stared into Dombo’s sullen, evil eyes. To his amazement, Beef saw those optics bulge with sudden alarm.
Dombo Carlin was staring past his victim. A chance shift of gaze had enabled him to see the figure that Beef had not observed. Beyond the opened window, Dombo caught the glare of burning eyes; he saw the outline of a sinister shape that commanded recognition.
The Shadow!
LIKE other hardened rogues of scumland, Dombo knew the menace of The Shadow. He had heard gasped utterances of rats who had tried to combat this superfighter. He had listened to coughed stories from dying lips — tales of an avenger clad in black who had struck down those who deserved to die.
With a snarl from his ugly lips, Dombo Carlin raised his gun. His aim was shifting from Beef Malligan to that figure at the window. Dombo’s finger yanked the trigger. The .38 crackled its prompt message. A bullet, whistling past Beef’s ear, found its resting place deep in the battered woodwork of the window frame.
Dombo’s shot had come from a moving gun. The crook had fired before the muzzle was squarely toward the window. With a quick snap of his recoiling wrist, Dombo sought to despatch another bullet, less than a second after he had delivered that first wide shot.
The action was too late. The Shadow, dealing in split seconds, sent his answer within the brief interval. An automatic roared from the darkness of the window. Dombo faltered. His revolver fell from his hand. His convulsive finger snapped at emptiness. No trigger remained for it to pull.
Three gorillas were springing in to their leader’s aid. While Dombo Carlin staggered, half slipping toward the floor, flashing revolvers showed in the hands of ugly-faced mobsmen who had seen The Shadow at the window.
Revolvers barked quick, wild shots. Like Dombo, these minions were shooting while they aimed. But The Shadow’s response was perfect in both timing and precision. The staccato bursts of his automatics sounded a knell to evil foemen.
One mobster staggered back toward the door. A second slumped to the floor. The third was marked for doom when Beef Malligan, leaping desperately forward, locked in conflict and tried to wrench the gorilla’s revolver from his grasp.
An arm swung. Beef rolled away as the gun glanced from his head. Dropping behind Beef’s slumping form, the gorilla snarled an oath as he aimed for The Shadow.
An automatic spoke from the window. The gorilla sprawled to the floor. In aiming, he had peered from beside Beef Malligan’s shoulder. He had received The Shadow’s bullet through his brain.
The first mobster, wounded in the left shoulder, had jumped for the hall under cover of the struggle between Beef and the third gorilla. Out of The Shadow’s range, this mobsman raised his gun to fire at the stairs, where a newcomer had put in a sudden appearance.
It was Cliff Marsland, armed with an automatic. Cliff’s arm came up with the speed of the gorilla’s. Revolver and automatic echoed simultaneously.
Either because of haste, or weakened by the wound that he had received from The Shadow, the gorilla fired wide. Cliff’s shot, however, was well placed. The last of Dombo Carlin’s crew rolled on the floor.
Cliff reached the door of Beef’s room. He saw Dombo Carlin and two gorillas lying motionless. Beef Malligan, on hands and knees, was trying to rise from the floor. He was groggy from the blow that he had received.
Then came the blare of a whistle. Shouts from outside. Pounding squads at the rear door of the old hotel. Cliff knew the answer. Police, trailing Dombo Carlin and his crew, had heard the gunfire. Bluecoats and detectives were already on the stairs.
A HISS came from the window. Cliff stared. He saw the figure of The Shadow. A pointing finger, projecting into the room, was directed at Beef Malligan’s form. With a nod, Cliff grabbed the ex-racketeer under the arms and hoisted Beef’s body up to the window.
The Shadow gripped the burden. With a quick sweep, he whipped Beef’s body through to the darkness of the roof. Cliff scrambled after. He could see The Shadow’s shape, silhouetted against a dull glow from the front street. Across the blackened shoulders was the form of Beef Malligan. The Shadow was carrying Beef like a bag of hay.
Following, Cliff reached an opened window in an old house at the other side of the low roof. He dived through the opening. The window sash came down with a dull thud. The Shadow’s hand drew Cliff away from the window.
The action was timely. Already, police had reached Beef’s room in the Hotel Santiago. Flashlights were sending sweeping gleams across the roof. A glare focused through the window of the old house and made a luminous circle on the further wall; but it revealed none of those who had arrived there. The beam moved away.
“Come.”
In response to The Shadow’s whisper, Cliff groped his way through a door and down a flight of stairs. A door swished open; Cliff found himself stumbling across the cracked cement of an abandoned court; then through the door of another old dwelling.
Another path through darkness. Then came a hand that stopped Cliff. The Shadow’s agent heard Beef Malligan slump groaning to the floor.
“A coupe in the alley.” The Shadow’s whisper was close to Cliff’s ear. “Take him to your place. Await instructions while you talk to him.”
“Order received,” responded Cliff, in a low tone.
A slight swish as The Shadow moved away. Groping, Cliff found a door. He threw his arm around Beef’s body. As he raised the ex-racketeer, he heard Beef grumble incoherently. Then, with Beef stumbling beside him, Cliff moved through the door into the quiet of a little alleyway.
The coupe was standing beside the door. With an effort, Cliff hoisted Beef into the seat. He slammed the door of the car, hurried around, and gained the wheel. The motor purred as Cliff presser the starter. The car moved forward and shot out into the traffic of The Bowery.
“Hey, you—”
Cliff jammed the accelerator as he heard the call. A police whistle blared two seconds later. But Cliff had already picked his spot. Negotiating a swift left turn, he cut across the path of a looming truck and sped to safety as the driver jammed his air-brakes.