The fray ended, his strength was slipping from the strain of combat.
Gloved fingers went beneath the cloak. The Shadow brought forth a phial that was half filled with a purplish liquid.
He raised the little bottle to the lips that were just above the cloak collar. He finished the draught; the effect was immediate. The Shadow had used half of this potent liquid before the fray. He was drinking the rest now that he might continue. His tall form steadied.
Whistles were sounding from the front street. Some one in the neighborhood must have reported the sounds of gun fray.
The Shadow motioned to his agents. They followed him out through the rear of the house.
The fresh air aided in reviving The Shadow. As for Hawkeye, he had already recovered from his tumble down the stairs. He was as quick as Cliff and Harry as they made their way toward the rear street.
The Shadow paused in darkness. Cliff came up beside him. He caught The Shadow’s low-toned order.
The Shadow wanted quick details regarding the moves of crooks.
More whistles from the street in front of the mansion. A siren whined from an avenue. Yet The Shadow waited while he heard Cliff’s brief report. His laugh was sinister and whispered when he heard mention of Beak Latzo’s destination.
Cliff spoke of the cars that the mobsters had left a block away. The Shadow turned and led a quick course in that direction. They found a sedan and a touring car.
The Shadow entered the first machine. Cliff, beside the wheel, responded to the instructions that he heard.
The sedan shot away. Harry and Hawkeye were in the touring car, Harry at the wheel Cliff leaped aboard and repeated The Shadow’s orders while Harry nodded. The second car moved off, following The Shadow’s course away from the zone that would soon be in charge of the police.
IN another car — one that had pulled away before The Shadow had arrived — two men were growling in conversation, as they headed toward the East Side. The one at the wheel was Lucky Ortz; his companion was the mobster whom Cliff had disarmed in the cellar.
“So Marsland socked you, eh?” quizzed Lucky. “Cracked your wrist, eh, Pokey?”
“Yeah,” returned the gorilla. “Just as I had a bead on The Shadow.”
“Funny The Shadow didn’t plug you.”
“He didn’t wait. He hopped from that big box when he saw me flop to the floor. He was after you.”
“Why didn’t you grab your gat and let him have it?”
“Huh! Why didn’t you stick aroun’ an’ battle with him? Besides that, me fingers was all limp. I couldn’t do nothin’ the way I was. I scrammed for a window.”
“And yanked it open.”
“Yeah, with me left mitt. They was goin’ upstairs then; The Shadow an’ them other guys. I beat it for the buggies.”
“You were lucky to get here before I started.”
“Pokey” snorted.
“Me lucky?” he quizzed. “Say — you’re the lucky gazebo. They don’t call you ‘Lucky’ for nothin’. You was lucky tonight, Lucky.”
Lucky laughed. His tone was ugly.
“Maybe I was,” he declared. “And maybe it was The Shadow that was lucky. That’s what we’re going out to find.”
“You’re going to join up with Beak?”
Pokey’s tone was incredulous. It brought a fierce growl from Lucky.
“That’s where I’m going,” returned the lieutenant. “I ain’t calling no quits — and you ain’t neither.”
“I’m with you, Lucky. Seein’ as me mitt is better. I can move these talons now. All I need’s another rod. I didn’t grab up that one I had—”
“You’ll get another gat.” Lucky was emphatic. “And you won’t be the only torpedo that I’m taking with me. Beak’s got the first bundle of swag by now. It ain’t far in from where he went on Long Island.”
“You mean there’ll be guys back at the garage?” quizzed Pokey. “The ones Beak’s sendin’ in?”
“Yeah. They’ll be there soon,” returned Lucky. “And there’ll be more with ‘em. I’m going where I can get a crew in a hurry.”
Lucky Ortz drove on in silence. His face was fierce and venomous. For Lucky, confident that his luck would hold, had concentrated his thoughts to a single goal. Vengeance against The Shadow.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE SHOW-DOWN
“YOUR work has been commendable, Zurk.”
Joseph Daykin made the statement. The portly importer was seated in his living room, talking to his new employee. Steve Zurk, puffing at a long cigar, was apparently enjoying this visit to Daykin’s Long Island home.
“So commendable,” added Daykin, “that I am going to send you on the road, visiting our customers throughout the country.”
“Thanks Mr. Daykin,” returned Steve. “I may find it tough sledding, though. Big orders may he hard to get unless you’re going to push that line of Swiss cameras that just came in.”
“That is exactly what we do intend to push,” said Daykin, with a tired smile. “Galen Flix will be here shortly. I have arranged to place a huge advertising contract with his concern.”
“To plug the Swiss cameras?”
“Yes. The Blorff camera will be known in every important city throughout America, before you start your trip, Zurk. But let us forget business until Flix arrives. I want to show you my storeroom.”
“Isn’t that it in there?” Steve nudged his thumb toward a door at the back of the living room. “Where you’ve got the big safe?”
“No, no,” laughed Daykin. “That is my strong room. I told you about the storeroom that I have in the cellar. Surely you must remember that I spoke about those valuable curios from the Orient?”
“Jeweled idols,” nodded Steve. “I remember. But I thought you had them in some warehouse. I must have misunderstood you.”
“I mentioned that the items were very valuable,” said Daykin. “Particularly the idols. I told you where I kept them; but you probably forgot. Particularly because it would seem strange to have such curios stored in a cellar. But no one — except myself and a few friends — has any idea of their worth. Come, Zurk—”
Daykin was rising when a servant entered the room to announce that Mr. Flix had arrived. The importer smiled and settled back in his chair.
“Tell him to come in, Rhodes,” he told the servant. Then to Steve: “We can visit the storeroom later.”
GALEN FLIX appeared. The advertising man shook hands with Daykin and Steve.
“A friend of yours was coming with me, Zurk,” he said. “I refer to Jack Targon. I told him that you would be here.”
“Why didn’t Jack come?” asked Steve.
“He suddenly remembered an important appointment,” replied Flix. “Some client he had promised to see.”
“Too bad,” rejoined Steve. “I’d like to have seen Jack.”
“Well, gentlemen,” began Flix, “this ad campaign looks like it should be a world-beater. If we don’t sell half a million of those cameras, I’ll—”
He stopped short. From the chair that he had taken, Flix was looking straight toward a pair of French windows that opened to a porch. The curtained portals were trembling. As Flix spoke in puzzlement, they swung open.
A rough clad man sprang into view. His face was masked with a blue bandanna. His right hand held a gleaming revolver. As he covered the seated trio, this rowdy was followed by another masked ruffian who also flourished a gat.
“Stick ‘em up!” came a growled command. It was Beak Latzo’s voice. “Keep ‘em up, you dubs! We’re taking a look around here!”
HANDS raised promptly. Daykin’s arms were trembling; Flix was by no means steady. Only Steve lacked fear. He held his arms poised and stared quietly at the bandits.