The nose of the touring car was pointed at an angle toward the bullet-riddled coupe. Biff's plan was a quick and simple one.
"Close in on him!" ordered the gang leader. "Drive up to the end of the pier." The man who crouched at the wheel uttered a terse grunt. The touring car shot forward and jammed its radiator close to the side of the coupe.
"Give him the works!"
Biff Towley's command came from the side of the car. The two men raised their revolvers. Biff and his companion peered from the hood of the touring car.
From this spot, a quick attack was possible. Yet Biff hesitated. Then, as though in answer to a sharp oath that sputtered from the gang leader, a shout was raised from the road that came to the pier. Five running gangsters were arriving as the last reserve.
It would be sure death for The Shadow now! To stop the approach of these men, he must show himself. Otherwise there would be a horde to clamber as one about that tilted coupe.
"Hold it!" exclaimed Biff, to the three men near him. "Watch when he shows his head—"
Before the men could heed their leader's warning, The Shadow's tall form appeared suddenly at the rear of the coupe, rising above the top — at the very spot where he had made his earliest appearance. He, too, had heard the shouts and now his eyes could see the cluster of gangsters who were nearing the pier. But these were not his quarry.
The Shadow had outguessed Biff Towley. He had realized the very situation that was springing through the swarthy gangster's mind. Springing upward, almost on top of the car, The Shadow was a mighty monster of the night.
The height of his position, the proximity of the touring car — both gave him an advantage which Biff Towley had not anticipated.
Down swept the hands that held the automatics. Only long, spitting flames revealed the presence of the guns. The quick shots were directed at the two men in the touring car, one in front the other in the rear. Both were raising their revolvers, as they crouched behind the doors.
The Shadow clipped the front man in the shoulder. The gangster managed to return the shot, but his aim was faulty. The Shadow's next bullet smashed the man's arm. He dropped his gun and fell to the protecting floor.
The other automatic was not idle. While the left used two shots to wound the man in front, the right hand swung toward the man in the back of the car.
He was crouching, thinking himself safe. In that he was wrong. The Shadow made a living target of his huddled form.
Biff's lone companion saw The Shadow, and made a mad dash forward. He fired wild as The Shadow's body swayed. The answer was a whistling shot that felled the unwary gangster.
The Shadow dropped flat upon the top of the car, and his automatics slipped away. They were empty. From his cloak, he plucked the revolver that he had taken from the dying gunman. The reserves of the gangster horde were pounding across the dock, yelling wildly. They did not know the power of their foe. They fired at the top of the car as they ran.
The Shadow ignored their fire. Coolly, calmly, he aimed with perfect marksmanship. He was a difficult target for the approaching men. They were in front of the sedan's lights, which Biff had left burning. The Shadow found them easy prey.
His final shots were timed to good advantage. Men sprawled as they came on. Two, seeing their companions fall, leaped back and dived behind the sedan. The Shadow pressed the trigger as he aimed toward one of the escaping gangsters. The hammer fell upon an empty chamber. Biff Towley had not been idle. Crafty as well as bold, he had seen too much of The Shadow's marksmanship to risk exposing himself. Instead of springing into view, the gang leader crawled to the side of the coupe, and glided along the nearer running board.
He knew that The Shadow would be watching for someone on the outer side. Sneaking cautiously, Biff raised himself beside the car, ready for his surprise thrust.
His head and hand came up together, over the top of the coupe. Biff had intended to be close to his foe, but he had not expected the proximity which he attained. As his face came above the top of the car, Biff found himself staring into two burning eyes, not a foot from his own!
Biff's hand shot forward. His finger tugged the trigger of his revolver. Once again, The Shadow was too quick. As he saw the gang leader's face appear, he flung his revolver squarely into that leering visage. The metal missive flattened the gang leader's face. Biff Towley toppled backward as he fired. His bullet whistled past The Shadow's hat. The gang leader landed flat on his back, beside the coupe, and his revolver clinked as it struck the light of the touring car. The Shadow had risen with his effort. Weaponless, now, his wavering form became a target for the men by the sedan. Under cover, they opened fire
At the sound of the first shot, The Shadow flung his arms wide. A loud cry came from his hidden lips. It dwindled as his form lurched backward. A dull splash followed as the falling man in black plunged into the water beyond the pier.
"I got him!" growled the man who had fired the shot.
"Good work!" exclaimed his companion. "You got The Shadow!" The two men hurried forward. One saw Biff Towley, groaning on the dock and stopped to aid his chief, the other continued to the end of the dock and peered out over the Sound. He was still staring when the other gangster joined him. The watcher raised his gun and fired a skimming shot across the water.
"What's the idea?" growled the other man.
"Thought I saw something floating out there," replied the first.
"Don't waste good lead. You got that guy the first time you fired. Come along. We've got to help Biff. It's time we scrammed."
The suggestion was a wise one. Even in this isolated spot the sound of gunfire had at last brought visitors. Two cars were stopping on a roadway, across a little cove. The men on the dock could hear voices. Hurriedly, they rushed back to aid Biff and other wounded men. They piled their companions into the cars and prepared to leave. One man took the sedan; the other the touring car. With their load of wounded gangsters, they pulled away up the road that led to the winding lane. The silence of death prevailed upon the little pier. There The Shadow had fought his mighty battle against terrific odds, only to end his glorious fight with a farewell plunge into the Sound. People were arriving now, a uniformed policeman among them. White-faced men were peering at the sprawled forms of dead gangsters. The officer pulled a motionless man from the coupe; then saw another body beneath the form that he had removed.
This man was alive. He managed to rise of his own accord. He staggered as his feet touched the pier, then sat down on the running board of the coupe and stared about him with a bewildered air. It was Glade Tremont. He had regained consciousness during the end of the fray.
Now, he could scarcely realize what had happened. People were crowding up to talk with this lone survivor of the carnage
Men piling victims into cars that had gone; dead men on the dock; a live man emerging from the coupe witnesses had seen all these. But no one, either on the pier or the roadway across the cove, saw the dripping figure that came from the Sound and crawled stealthily among the rocks, five hundred yards away. No one saw the figure — nor did any hear the mocking laugh that came from lips that were obscured by the flapping brim of a water-soaked slouch hat.
The Shadow, victor of the fray, had returned from the waters. He had feigned a dying plunge when he had dived to safety. Though weaponless, he had escaped unscathed.
Chapter XV — After Midnight
An automobile pulled up to the door of Glade Tremont's home. A policeman stepped out to meet it. Doctor Gerald Savette, suave and questioning in glance, looked at the man in uniform.
"You are Doctor Savette?" asked the officer.
"Yes," replied the physician. "How is Mr. Tremont?"