The blinding glare focused with the gun muzzle. Stopped dead, the light showed the figure of The Shadow. But this time it did not reveal a motionless form. The instant that Rusty’s light had come upward toward him. The Shadow had whipped an automatic from his cloak.
The Shadow had delayed the climax to the last possible instant. Rusty, the moment that he saw The Shadow, recognized the menace before him. The mobster’s finger was on the hair-trigger of his gun; yet the discovery of the form in black was a mental jolt that stopped him for a split-second.
As Rusty’s finger trembled, the automatic spoke. A cry from the window; Rusty’s body tumbled to the paving beneath. The glimmering flashlight dropped within the window ledge; the unused revolver clattered outward to click beside the sprawled form of its owner.
The black cloak swished as The Shadow whirled. An automatic in each fist, the cloaked warrior was ready. Let foemen attack, aroused by that lone shot. Let them come from within — from without — The Shadow was ready.
Marty Lunk and his henchmen were soon to learn the power of that black scourge that wiped out skulking fiends of crime!
CHAPTER IV. CROOK AND SHADOW
THE blast of The Shadow’s automatic had brought an instant response from the crooks in Brandley Croman’s library. Marty Lunk, drilling at the safe, turned to his companions as he heard the muffled report.
“What was that?”
“Sounded like it was out back,” growled a mobsman. “Maybe Jerry, or Beef—”
“Get out there!” snarled Lunk. “All of you. See what Hokey’s doing at the front door. I’ll take care of this job.”
The mobsters sprang to obey. Marty Lunk, his face a study in evil, remained beside the safe.
Thick-lipped, rough of countenance, with glaring eyes beneath puffy brows, Marty Lunk bore the physiognomy of a vicious killer.
Three henchmen had gone to investigate. The first, flashlight in hand, stopped as he neared the door of the rear room. His revolver was in readiness as he hissed a call to the men whom he thought were still on guard.
“Ps-s-t!” The gorilla waited. “Beef! Jerry!”
No answer. Once again, The Shadow was delaying. A lull had followed the shot which he had fired. He had no wish to end it.
The mobster sprang forward. His skimming light spread through the room. Like Rusty’s torch, it showed the forms of two men on the floor. Suddenly it stopped and flickered out.
The mobster had not seen The Shadow. But he had observed a light switch upon the wall, close by where he stood. Backing toward the dim hallway, he motioned the others to be ready. Thrusting his left hand through the door, he pressed the light switch, while his eyes and gun turned toward the center of the room.
Click!
The pressure of the switch illuminated the room with the open window. The staring mobster saw more than the figures on the floor. Straight across the room, half way between door and window was The Shadow.
THIS mobsman was quicker than Rusty had been. There was no hesitation in his pressure when his finger worked the trigger of his gun. But he lacked one important advantage that Rusty had possessed. He had to aim toward The Shadow as he fired.
The shot was too hasty. A whistling bullet sped wide by inches as the revolver blazed its challenge. In answer — its report a thundering echo of the mobster’s shot — came the boom of The Shadow’s automatic.
Aiming squarely toward the door, the black-garbed warrior did not miss. The mobster sprawled. His gun fell useless.
The pair behind had glimpsed The Shadow. Dropping low, they opened fire. Partly covered by the doorway, they were thinking of their own skins in this fray. Quick shots, fired from an angle, were their effort to cover a retreat.
The Shadow delayed no longer. Weaving, thrusting long arms to deliver a cross fire, he answered the gangster bullets. A searing pellet of lead splintered the edge of a door frame. Whizzing onward, it found its mark in one mobsman’s shoulder. The crook staggered, snarling.
Marty Lunk had reached the hallway. He saw the second mobster, unharmed yet retreating. Marty roared a command; he followed it by thrusting the gorilla forward.
“Get him!” was Marty’s order. “Get him!”
Wildly, the gorilla took the only course. Diving through the doorway, he aimed and fired high. His lowering hand came ready for the second shot; the automatic thundered its reply. The gorilla sprawled as Marty Lunk reached the door.
The gangleader was face to face with The Shadow. He had thought that his men were encountering ordinary foemen. He had not expected to meet the scourge of the underworld. Marty Lunk, dumbfounded, had placed himself an easy target for The Shadow. He was caught flat-footed before he could scramble back to safety.
Luck intervened. The Shadow, instead of firing, whirled back toward an inner corner of the room, swinging away from Marty’s range. The reason for the quick maneuver came from the window. The Shadow had sensed danger there. A mobster, arrived from outside, had leveled his gun upon the window ledge, aiming for a standing target.
The bang of the revolver came as The Shadow whirled. A bullet whistled through the folds of the floating cloak. A swinging hand of black loosed a spurt of flame from an automatic. The revolver barrel clattered from the ledge. The thud of a falling body came from the paving. The Shadow’s laugh resounded with a peal of mockery.
Marty Lunk was scrambling for cover. Heading toward the front, his only thought was that of safety. He was counting on Hokey, the big gorilla at the front door. He did not know that his minion was lying groggy on the floor.
Luck again came to Marty’s aid. The Shadow, swinging to pursue the fleeing gangleader, stopped short as he heard sounds from without. Barking revolvers were spelling the beginning of a fray. The police had arrived.
SWIFTLY, The Shadow reached the window. This spot would be the center point of the fray. The minions of Marty Lunk — a horde of mobsmen stationed on both streets — would use this passage as their citadel. Peering from the window, The Shadow saw spurts of guns. Two groups of gorillas were coming back to back, determined to resist the law.
The automatics roared. Backing gangsters turned. They realized they were trapped. Some crouched to fire toward the window. Their shots were futile. The angle rendered it almost impossible for them to reach The Shadow.
Toward one street; then toward the other — The Shadow alternated his shots with swiftness and precision. His bullets, aimed low, ricocheted upon the paving. He was dropping mobsters in the passage between the buildings; at the same time making sure that no shots would reach the attacking police.
The gorillas broke. They could not stand this fire. Dashing toward the streets, they ran into waiting policemen and detectives. The Shadow’s shots sprawled fleeing crooks before they could fire at the officers.
These events were matters of seconds — not of minutes. The Shadow had been waiting for the opportunity. He made good use of it. Fleeing mobsters either fell or ran squarely into the arms of waiting policemen. Joe Cardona had come with half a hundred men.
Marty Lunk was standing in the front hall. To the wild-eyed gangster came the shots of a furious fray.
Spats of revolvers — wielded by crooks and officers alike — formed a drilling melody. Through it all, close at hand, thundered the basso of The Shadow’s automatics.
The Shadow had forgotten Marty Lunk, so far as a fight was concerned. He knew that the mob leader was trapped; he also knew that Lunk would not return single-handed. Bold though Marty might be when backed by gorillas, he was yellow when forced to fight alone.
Marty, himself, was proving this fact. He was dragging Hokey to his feet, hoping to gain the big gorilla’s aid. Groggily, Hokey responded. He nodded as he saw Marty. The barking of revolvers brought him to final consciousness. Hokey pressed the side of his neck and gulped. He yanked a gat from his pocket.