Joe Cardona had left. The Shadow had arrived. Gray Fist’s minions were now upon the scene. From within and without, fighters from the bad lands were here to reopen frenzied battle with The Shadow!
It was in emergencies such as this that The Shadow’s swiftness manifested itself to the full. The window, with its outside snipers, offered a poor avenue of escape. The doorway, where men were clamoring, was also dangerous; yet it was the only way.
Nevertheless, The Shadow worked with fast-moving strategy. His body seemed to fade beside the wall. Dropping to pygmy proportions, The Shadow gained the space below the window ledge. His hand came up. Bursting shots sounded from his automatic as he fired into the night.
THE answer was a furious fusillade from the parapet of the roof opposite. While those shots were coming, The Shadow was in motion. With swift, circling speed, he rounded the room clear of gunfire. His hand grasped the doorknob while men from without were still discharging their futile shots.
This was clever deception. The mobsters on the other side of the door thought that the fight was at the window. Before they could realize the change, the door shot inward, and a mass of blackness hurtled upon them. A quartet of gangsters fell back before the spraying fire of The Shadow’s automatic.
Not a trigger finger answered. Snarling, the enemies went down as The Shadow gave them merciless lead. A fierce laugh expressed The Shadow’s momentary triumph. At close range, where every bullet had a chance, he had allowed no opportunity for startled gunmen to reply.
He had loosed the full fire of the single automatic. The pistol hurtled along the floor as The Shadow swept another from his cloak. His right hand had done this damage. His left, like his right, was drawing an automatic also.
A fire tower was beyond. Its red light was The Shadow’s goal. The door pulled outward as The Shadow neared it. The automatics boomed. A revolver-drawing mobster fell. The Shadow, springing through the opening encountered another who had leaped from beside the door.
It was the upswing of The Shadow’s left hand that stopped the shot this fellow sought to fire. The swift stroke was more effective than a bullet. It sent the revolver hurtling off through space beyond the tower. The gangster, as he made a startled grapple, received the full force of The Shadow’s right-hand gun. Down went the ruffian. The Shadow had saved his bullet. It would be needed later.
Later was at present. As The Shadow swerved to take the steps, a shot resounded from the other end of the hallway. It skimmed the shoulder beneath the left side of The Shadow’s cloak. A mobster, coming up the steps within the building, had fired at the closing door.
One burst from The Shadow’s right-hand gun dropped the new arrival in his tracks. The gangster sprawled wounded on the floor. The Shadow, his own wound superficial, bounded down the fire-tower steps.
Again, the hounds had overrun the fox. To-night, The Shadow had vanished from the bad lands while mobsters were converging at the focal point where he had been. This situation was duplicated on a smaller scale. The mobsters sent into the apartment had hurried toward Ruggles Preston’s apartment. Clearing through their circle, The Shadow had gained free course.
When he reached the bottom of the fire tower, however, distant enemies were ready. Those on the next-door roof were watching. As The Shadow’s form appeared in phantom shape upon the lighted sidewalk, a sniper aimed below.
The revolver bullet cracked the sidewalk close beside The Shadow. Up came the right-hand automatic. Its bark announced the passage of a well-directed bullet. The eager sniper, leaning from the parapet to deliver a second shot, received The Shadow’s metal messenger in his unguarded arm.
With a hoarse cry, the sniper sprawled forward, lost his hold, and plunged headforemost into the space between the buildings. A second shot from the automatic made the sniper’s companions drop to cover. Lost nerve prevented them from saving their wounded fellow.
A CAR was parked a short way up the street. Swinging, The Shadow headed toward it. His piercing eyes saw a gun muzzle projecting from a partly opened window. While a waiting mobster aimed. The Shadow beat him to the shot. A swiftly-pointed automatic thundered while on the rise.
A shattering window — a hideous scream. A second gangster jumped out of the car on the street side, and ran for shelter. The wheel was deserted. The Shadow reached the door and yanked it open. Out fell the wounded form of the mobster whom The Shadow had picked off. The gunman’s revolver clattered to the sidewalk with a rattling shower of glass.
The Shadow leaped to the driver’s seat. Hoarse cries were coming from in back of him. They spurred him to quick effort. The seized car shot from the curb, and whirled toward the nearest avenue.
Looming from behind, a sedan suddenly took up the chase. The Shadow whirled his car southward. The sedan followed. Downtown was the course of the speeding cars — away from the scene of battle.
It was a strange, silent chase; yet one which was in keeping with The Shadow’s strategy. By leading followers away from their fellows, The Shadow was luring them to a spot where he could strike. Less brainy mobsters would have opened fire. These did not. That fact gave The Shadow a clew to those within the chasing car: Ruff Shefflin and Snakes Blakey.
The sedan was swifter than the car which The Shadow had taken. But in his well-feigned flight, The Shadow overcame the advantage. Quick turns, cross-town cuts, disregard for traffic lights; all these were bits of The Shadow’s strategy.
He was ready at any moment to pull out of sight; to be ready with the trick that mobsters had tried on him, an attack from ambush. Odds meant nothing to The Shadow. He was pretending flight in order to open battle to the best advantage.
As the car swung round a corner, The Shadow’s left arm weakened. Blobs of blood were dripping on the window sill beside the wheel. With a twist of his strong right hand, The Shadow completed the turn. He realized, however, that his tactics soon must change. The wound which he had received upon the fire tower was becoming troublesome.
Raucous shouts came from the sedan as The Shadow passed a corner. The cry was answered by a honking horn. A second car, a rakish phaeton, had joined in the chase. Luck had turned against The Shadow. A chance patrolling car from the underworld had caught the signal from Ruff Shefflin’s sedan!
WITH wounded arm, with doubled enemies against whom he might have to cope, The Shadow changed his plans. His car leaped forward, and took up such a pace that the pursuers had all they could do to equal it.
Then came a swerve. The Shadow picked a small side street, and shot his car into a thick patch of blackness. The headlights showed one brief glare. They were extinguished. The Shadow’s form emerged from the car. It passed into total darkness just as the pursuing sedan whirled into the narrow street.
The brakes tightened on the sedan. Mobsters dropped from opening doors and rattled a hail of bullets at the car which they had pursued. With the glare of headlights to aid them, they hurried forward and yanked open the doors. Flashlights showed the car was empty.
The phaeton had arrived. Behind it came a third pursuing car. The alarm had been given. New bands of mobsters were on the way. Ruff Shefflin ordered henchmen to swing around the block and beyond.
When he reached the car from which The Shadow had escaped, Ruff found Snakes Blakey there. The evil-faced sneak pointed to the blood on the sill.
“He got away, though,” growled Ruff.
“Got away?” Snakes followed the snarled question with a laugh. “Got away? He didn’t get far. Look down there!”