“Are you goofy?” questioned Duke. “No guy could have got out of there. You started off before the car was stopped.”
A sudden elation seized Cliff Marsland. He knew the situation. The person who had come in that car was The Shadow!
In the midst of his sudden exhilaration, a rapid succession of thoughts gave Cliff an understanding that he had not gained before. This was the neighborhood in which Doctor Rupert Sayre’s car had been discovered. The Shadow had linked it with Cliff’s own report of an abandoned district where Duke Scurley stowed his victims.
The Shadow had come after receiving word from Burbank!
New ideas swept through Cliff’s brain. The Shadow was here to see what happened to the man whom Duke Scurley left. The Shadow had not learned that Cliff Marsland, his own agent, was the victim.
Hence The Shadow was not here to wage war with Duke Scurley’s mob; he was here to watch after they had departed!
“We’ll slide along,” came Duke’s new growl. “That guy must have gone in some house before you got up there, Punks.”
Cliff Marsland grinned. When Duke and his crew departed, The Shadow would arrive. Cliff knew, that the phantom figure was close at hand, unseen by the watching mobsters. As soon as Duke was gone, Cliff could whisper out his plight. The Shadow would hear.
“Come on,” decided Duke. “Back to the car. Let’s scram away from this place.”
FOOTSTEPS sounded as the gangsters moved away. Cliff listened for The Shadow’s approach; he also waited for the cars to start away, figuring that The Shadow would be cautious until they had departed.
Then, of a sudden, two men arrived. Coming like vultures, they swooped upon Cliff’s body and raised it from the alleyway. Cliff realized instantly who this pair must be. They were the mysterious men who carried away Duke Scurley’s victims!
There was no time for waiting now. Duke and his men were at the cars; The Shadow was advancing somewhere close at hand; in the interim, Cliff would be gone and The Shadow would be none the wiser.
“Help!” shouted Cliff. “This is Marsland — Cliff Marsland! They’ve got me…”
A loud oath came from beyond the alley. Duke Scurley had been loitering by the car. Cliff’s cry was bringing him before The Shadow!
“Help—”
Cliff’s final shout ended. A hand clapped a saturated cloth to Cliff’s nostrils. A powerful anesthetic took immediate effect. Amid a whirlwind of scattered ideas. Cliff heard distant shouts. He felt himself being rushed down the alley by the men who bore him.
The minions of the fiend were carrying away their victim. Cliff Marsland, agent of The Shadow, was being swept away from the spot where he had hoped for aid. Eric Veldon’s mechanical men were performing the order of their evil chief.
CHAPTER XVI. MOBSTERS FIGHT
DUKE SCURLEY believed in action. Cliff Marsland’s cry had brought the gun leader on the run. As Duke hurried toward the end of the alley, he clicked the button of his flashlight and turned a broad beam of light upon the building wall. In response, the gangsters who had reached the parked cars shot on the headlights to illuminate the scene ahead.
Duke had drawn a revolver. He had one purpose: to slay Cliff Marsland where he lay; then to remove the body with all haste. Duke was ready for the deed the moment he reached the corner of the building.
He did not know that Eric Veldon’s minions had seized The Shadow’s agent. He raised his hand to fire a quick shot the moment that he spied Cliff’s form.
A sharp cry came from the touring car. Responding, Duke Scurley swung his flashlight away from the alley. As the beam glared upon the wall of the next building, Duke saw the object which had caused the cry.
Before him, like a sinister specter of the night, stood a tall form garbed in black. A mammoth being in that light, The Shadow was revealed as an unexpected antagonist.
It was Punks Gumbert who had spied the phantom shape. Approaching the alleyway, The Shadow had hastened forward to beat Duke Scurley to the goal. The lights of the touring car had brought the master of darkness into view.
Swiftly did The Shadow act. Had he concentrated upon his nearest antagonist, Duke Scurley, all would have been ill. The Shadow, however, whirled in the direction from which the warning cry had come.
Punks Gumbert, leaning from the right side of the touring car, was leveling a revolver.
A huge automatic spoke. Its shot came from The Shadow’s hand. Punks Gumbert’s warning had sounded his own doom. The marksmanship of The Shadow proved its accuracy before the scrawny mobster could respond. Punks Gumbert tumbled from the touring car. His mealy mouth coughed bloody gasps. The rat who had betrayed Cliff Marsland breathed no longer.
Another fighter might have concentrated his fire upon the touring car. Not so The Shadow. Again, his strategy proved its merit. Punks Gumbert’s sudden end had brought a momentary lapse from that direction. Amid the lull, The Shadow swerved. Duke Scurley was his next objective.
The racketeer’s gun was up. Duke’s finger was on the trigger. Just as that finger pressed, the tall form of The Shadow dwindled. Duke’s bullet, aimed for The Shadow’s glittering eyes, went high. Its hot lead singed the top of The Shadow’s slouch hat.
A mocking laugh resounded; with it came a loud report from two feet above the sidewalk. Duke Scurley staggered with the sound of The Shadow’s automatic. The master’s aim had reached the racketeer’s heart.
The gangsters in the touring car were stunned. They recognized this phantom fighter. The terrible results of The Shadow’s opening fire brought in them the desire for flight. Punks Gumbert, then Duke Scurley — those redoubtable marksmen had fallen, each from a single bullet!
SO far as the witnessing mobsters were concerned, the path to the alleyway was clear. It was the ignorance of other gangsters that kept The Shadow from his objective.
The men from the sedan were piling forth. They had seen Duke Scurley fall. They had not seen the shape beyond their leader. With one accord, they leaped to the sidewalk. Dashing past the touring car, they headed for the alley, firing wildly as they came.
Crouched against the wall, The Shadow held his fire. His foemen had not seen him. They were firing pot shots in the dark. The men in the touring car — the only ones who knew the situation, arose to draw their guns, encouraged by the fact that there was no response. They did not know The Shadow’s strategy.
Just as the gangsters from the sedan came on a line with the touring car, The Shadow raised his automatics. Two muzzles blazed with full force as The Shadow pressed the triggers. He was aiming straight for the advancers; his bullets, like an enfilade, were also directed toward the touring car!
The Shadow had replaced his sharpshooting tactics with a veritable barrage. He was meeting a mass attack, pouring a leaden deluge into the ranks of the attackers, with every odd bullet sweeping on to the massed men in the touring car!
Amazing strategy! One man from the sedan fell before the others realized the presence of their enemy.
Hot lead ripped through the running ranks. Snarling mobsters sprawled upon the sidewalk. Gun-aiming men sank helpless in the touring car.
One gangster dropped his revolver and leaped to the wheel. The bullet from an automatic shattered the windshield. It found its lodging place in the driver’s breast. The mobsman slumped behind the wheel.
Those who had fallen on the sidewalk thought no longer of return to the sedan. Two were still capable of motion. Wounded by The Shadow’s bullets, they rose and staggered to the touring car. They tumbled in among a crew of groaning victims who had learned The Shadow’s wrath.