“The Shadow is in back of that door!” growled Ruff. “We’re going to blow him out. Scout up some guy that can hurry a load of soup. When the door goes down, there’s two grand waiting for the bird that bags The Shadow!”
Snarls of approval greeted Ruff’s decision. The gang leader wore a sullen smile, as he surveyed the situation. There could be no other entrance to the stronghold beyond the steel door. Perhaps The Shadow had new weapons there; perhaps he had plenty of ammunition. But the offer of two thousand dollars for The Shadow had done its work. Ruff knew that the score of mobsters who had arrived would risk their lives to get The Shadow.
This was one time when force of numbers would prevail! Already scurrying mobsters had sallied out on the mission which Ruff had ordered. The Shadow was trapped. Five armed gunmen were watching the steel door.
Gangsters were moving in and out. None paid attention to their fellows. The hallway was cluttered with the eager throng. Some were breaking open doors of empty side rooms. These unoccupied spots were forming places for the overflow.
Ten minutes passed. Ruff was getting impatient. Snakes was moving in and out, studying the gathered throng with beady eyes. He, too, was anxious for the finish.
“Here comes the soup!”
MOBSTERS moved aside and entered the rooms at the side of the hallway. Ruff Shefflin recognized two expert safe-blowers who had arrived with their equipment. He ordered them into the room where the steel door was located and watched them prepare their job.
Gangsters edged back into the hallway. The safe-crackers hurried with them. The hallway cleared as every one, Ruff included, sought the security of side rooms. Momentary silence reigned — the lull before the crash.
Then came the roar of the explosive. The old building shuddered. A terrific clamor arrived as the steel door crashed. The soup had done its work. As fumes billowed down the hallway, gangsters broke forward through the smoke.
Ruff was with the mob. He was one of those who stopped short as they reached the spot where the steel door had crashed. He was the first to voice his cursing amazement when he saw the result that had been obtained.
The steel door was down. But there was no room beyond it. Instead of an empty space, the gangsters saw a solid brick wall — the end wall of the building.
The steel door was a dummy. It had been planted as a blind. The Shadow had placed it here to deceive any who might follow him to his pretended stronghold. With that formidable barrier in view, all had thought that it must indicate the way which The Shadow had gone.
Instead, The Shadow had chosen some other exit. With wild imprecations, gangsters leaped to the side door. One of the panels broke loose as hands ripped at it. Beyond was a small closet. A doorway at the side opened into one of the abandoned rooms that adjoined the hallway.
Snakes Blakey, who had joined the invaders, was the first to realize The Shadow’s strategy. The Shadow, when he had entered the first room, had gone through the panel. In the closet, he had doffed his cloak and hat. A full dress coat, shirt, and collar were hanging in the closet; but the cloak and hat were gone.
“I seen a guy in a black sweater!” The cry came from one of the mobsters. “He was here in the side room. He was wearin’ black trousers—”
“Yeah,” interrupted another voice. “His sweater was bulgy, too.”
“What became of him?” demanded Ruff.
“I seen him go out,” informed a wheedling gangster. “Some of the guys scrammed when the soup come in. He was along with them—”
“Dat was de Shadow, right enough,” added a pasty-faced mobsmen. “Dat was him, all right.”
“We’ll get him!” snarled Ruff, as he pushed men aside and headed for the stairs. “Come along, you guys! Spread out before the bulls get here. We’re not through yet!”
MOBSTERS were on the street below. Again, patrolling cars took up their quest. With so many abroad, the odds still indicated that The Shadow must be within the confines of the bad lands. But Ruff Shefflin knew that the search had been foiled for to-night. Snakes Blakey held the same opinion, though he, like Ruff, failed to voice it.
The Shadow’s stronghold had been a blind. By using it, The Shadow had drawn the most relentless of his pursuers to a useless task. While they had been engaged upon what they considered a sure effort, The Shadow, in the guise of a lesser mobsman, had walked out through the midst of those who thought him trapped.
Somewhere in the underworld The Shadow might be found. It was probable that he was lurking near the spots where gangsters sought him. Since he had a fake stronghold, it was natural that he would have a hide-out also. To find it would require a new and difficult search.
Single-handed, The Shadow had battled the massed hordes of gangdom. By a stroke of prearranged strategy he had escaped. The Shadow had shown his strength, both in fight and flight.
A menace to Gray Fist, The Shadow was still at large! He had foiled the superplotter’s plans to slay him. He had returned the home thrust that Gray Fist had delivered. The Shadow, although he had taken on an adventure which had brought opposition far greater than he had expected, was the victor in the conflict.
So long as The Shadow remained at large, Gray Fist would be forced to play a waiting game. For Gray Fist, like the underworld, would dread The Shadow’s might!
CHAPTER XII
GRAY FIST SPEAKS
THE SHADOW had challenged gangdom. He had fought an indomitable battle to show that he intended to remain in New York despite Gray Fist’s threat. In so doing, he had chosen to meet the terms imposed by Gray Fist; and had then turned his compliance into a mocking derision of Gray Fist’s power. With gibing mirth, punctuated by bursting gunfire, The Shadow had sent his answer to the hidden criminal.
The Shadow’s actions were destined to have their effect. The echoes of his booming shots were carried to Gray Fist. A new result was in the making and it concerned two men whom The Shadow had aided in the only way that had been possible. Those two were Cliff Marsland and Harry Vincent.
Both Cliff and Harry had been beaten down by the ruffians who had captured them. Cliff had been the first to meet with that experience. He was the first to regain the consciousness that he had lost. Awakening from a grogginess, The Shadow’s agent found himself stretched helplessly upon a small cot in a stone-walled room.
A dull light greeted Cliff’s blinking eyes. It came from a single incandescent in the ceiling of the room. Cliff looked about him. His surroundings were not cheerful. There were no windows in the room. The only means of exit was a heavy door which Cliff knew must be locked.
A dozen feet away, Cliff saw another cot. A man was stretched upon it. Cliff knew that this must be a second prisoner. As Cliff managed to rise to one elbow, he stared toward the other man’s face. He recognized the features of a friend. The other captive was Harry Vincent.
Slow minutes moved by. Cliff felt a dazed whirl sweeping through his brain. He realized that his period of unconsciousness had been extensive. He had dim recollections of a partial awakening; then new oblivion. Cliff knew that he had been doped by those who held him prisoner.
The passage of time was impossible to gauge. Nevertheless, Cliff was positive that more than a dozen hours must have passed since the time when he had been captured. This was the day after the episode when mobsters had overwhelmed him.
Harry Vincent stirred. Cliff watched his friend come slowly into consciousness. Harry’s actions proved what Cliff had conjectured. Harry was waking from a groggy sleep. He, too, had been doped by his captors.
HARRY blinked as the light met his eyes. He stared steadily toward Cliff, and blank seconds passed without a sign of recognition. Then a weary smile began to flicker upon Harry’s lips.