“Scatter!”
At Ballou’s order, the gangsters rapidly withdrew toward the front door, with the exception of the man who held the bomb. This intrepid expert stood poised at an angle, ready to throw the deadly missive and dive in the direction of his companions.
Before he could move, the tall figure of The Shadow stood in view upon the landing. At the sight of that ominous form, with its fist-gripped automatics, Silk Dowdy barked a spontaneous command.
“Quick!” he cried. “Throw it quick!”
The man’s arm was swinging. The Shadow fired. His target was that moving arm. His bullet struck the bomber’s wrist. The deadly pineapple slipped sidewise from the crippled hand. It struck against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and exploded with a mighty burst.
A wave of nauseating smoke swept through the lower hall. Wreckage tumbled from everywhere. Plaster, bits of wood and fragments of metal fell in a deluge. The bomber was buried in the midst of the debris, a victim of his own weapon. The lower portion of the stairs was tilted at an angle. Above, on the protected landing, stood The Shadow, unharmed.
The concussion had produced an effect near the front door. The gangsters there were halted by the shock. Lying on the floor and against the walls, they recovered themselves. Pete Ballou, who had reached the front steps with Silk Dowdy, issued a sharp command.
“Get him! Get him!”
THROUGH the clearing smoke, the form of The Shadow came suddenly to view. It loomed like the figure of death amid an inferno. The sight of the enemy was as effective as Ballou’s cry. Standing, leaning, and kneeling, the gangsters aimed their guns.
Flashes of flame shot from the landing. The Shadow’s automatics were taking their toll before his enemies could recover and drive him to safety. Three men went down; only one was able to discharge a wide shot before he fell. The others, realizing the menace, leaped for the door. The Shadow’s deadly fire followed the cowardly fugitives.
Pete Ballou and Silk Dowdy, standing outside, saw their men come sprawling forth. One big fellow tried to grip Dowdy as he staggered; he missed and struck headforemost on the pavement. Other mobsters were here, ready for the fray. Pete Ballou gave a quick order. He stationed three men at the front door. They poked their heads into view, looking for The Shadow. He was gone from the landing. Cautiously, the trio entered.
They were to block the front. Pete Ballou, crafty and determined, was directing the others. Crouched figures were stealing past the house. Men were seeking ways to ascend the walls. A ladder appeared in the alleyway.
The new attack was beginning. From front, back and sides, the powerful mob was coming into action. Even the cellar and the roof were not neglected.
There would be no escape for The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SHADOW’S FIGHT
THE SHADOW entered the room where Perry Wallace was standing in alarm. In one hand, the black-cloaked man held a revolver. He had taken the weapon from beside the dead body of Lopez. He thrust the gun into Perry’s hand and beckoned.
In the hallway, The Shadow pointed to a stairway that led up to the small third floor. The Shadow spoke in an ominous whisper.
“Watch up there!”
Perry ascended the stairs. He could not understand The Shadow’s action. Perry knew the house was probably surrounded, yet he would have favored a break for safety before the new attack. He did not know The Shadow’s purpose. Coolly, the amazing man in black was baiting the foe, to hold them here as quarry for Cardona.
A cry sounded from the front street. It passed along and was echoed everywhere. It was the signal for the attack from all directions.
Men dashed up the front stairs. They turned at the landing. The Shadow was awaiting them. The first gangster fell; the two who were following him dropped back for cover.
Outside the house, men were bursting the windows of the second floor. It was then that shots came from an unexpected quarter — the house across the alley.
Burbank, alert and ready, had a chance to prove his aim. He succeeded. The invaders toppled from their perches and fell.
Burbank had purposely delayed his fire, knowing that he must not reveal his presence until men were actually entering the house. There were some whom he could not cover; they were entering from the back.
As The Shadow waited by the stairs, door burst open and Silk Dowdy leaped into view. He had listened before he opened the door. He sprang at The Shadow like a madman. His pointed revolver was not a foot away.
The Shadow’s left hand swung and Dowdy’s wrist received the blow. The gangster crashed against the wall at the top of the stairs, losing his gun as he fell.
There were two behind him. The Shadow fired twice with his right-hand automatic. His long, black arm rose and fell from the recoil. Each of his bullets stopped a gangster. His other hand was not idle. Its automatic was pointing down the stairs. As he fired his second deadly shot, The Shadow turned his eyes in that direction. His steely glare saw the head and shoulders of a gangster, leveling to fire.
The Shadow’s form swung away. The gangster’s shot seared the left brim of the slouch hat. The man did not fire again. It was The Shadow’s turn. Before the grimy finger of the mobster could press the trigger a second time, The Shadow’s automatic blazed and another rat of the underworld went to his miserable doom.
While Silk Dowdy was still scrambling for his revolver, The Shadow leaped up the stairs toward the third floor. Out of range, he encountered Perry Wallace.
White-faced, but ready for action, Perry was pointing to a trapdoor that led to the roof. The wooden barrier was moving.
GRIMLY, The Shadow waited. The trap slid aside. A hand and arm showed. The Shadow fired. There was a cry from above as the wounded man staggered away.
Silk Dowdy heard the startled cry. He knew that men were coming from above. He summoned the forces from below. The Shadow and Perry Wallace were between two fires.
The Shadow did not hesitate. With an upward spring, he leaped to the trap. He thrust his head and shoulders through with amazing speed.
Had the men on the roof suspected this bold action, they would have held The Shadow at their mercy. The Shadow, however, had cunningly outguessed them. They had drawn back from the trapdoor, fearing further shots. They were crouching low, well away from the danger zone. Against the rear edge of the roof, their forms were visible, whereas the rising head of The Shadow was obscure. The Shadow saw them first.
His right hand, over the edge, blazed straight toward the nearest gangster. The man fell with a groan. The others, realizing that they were targets, scrambled for safety over the edge of the wall.
Rising openly, The Shadow flung the trapdoor aside. With calm indifference toward the men whom he had so easily routed, he stared into the hallway below.
Perry Wallace, crouching behind the edge of the wall at the top of the stairway, was preparing to resist the men who were creeping up the stairs. As The Shadow watched, Perry leaned from his place of protection and fired at an approaching gunman. That was the signal for a mass attack. Five men, headed by Silk Dowdy, drove upward in a group.
They thought that Perry was their sole assailant. When he jumped for cover, they came on. They saw no sign of The Shadow. The dark form, dropping suddenly to the mouth of the trap, was as black as the night. The first token of its presence was a burst of flame that spat from the very ceiling above the hall.
Down went Silk Dowdy, staggering back into the arms of his henchmen The Shadow’s automatics broke loose. The surge of gangsters tottered and fell back. Silk and another gangster rolled down the steps. The others fled, safe only because The Shadow had ceased his fire.