Seeing the light from the inner room, the police dashed in that direction. A few moments later, Raymond Dagwood and James Sargon arrived, to follow the path the others had taken. It was then that The Shadow stepped from the darkness of a counter to gain the outer darkness.
Charles Kistelle, master plotter, was in the hands of the law. The Shadow had captured him and one of his underlings tonight. He had left evidence to incriminate the others.
The schemes of six men of evil had been frustrated. The path was open to deprive them of their ill-gotten gains. The clearing of innocent men could now be consummated.
The Shadow had left vengeance to others, solely because in the elimination of the evil men, it was necessary to clear the names of those who were now wrongly held as criminals. The Shadow had invoked the law — but even now he waited. Strong though the law might be, The Shadow had often seen it fail!
CHAPTER XIX
THE SHADOW STRIKES AGAIN
CHARLES KISTELLE and Horace Fenwick were prisoners. Glaring maliciously at the two police who held them covered by their guns, they waited helplessly while Maurice Cotter tried to tell his story.
The junior member of the jewelry firm was half dazed by all that had happened. He poured out his accusation against the men whose very looks incriminated them. He could only explain that some mysterious stranger had intervened to aid him; but he could offer no further information.
Suddenly Cotter remembered The Shadow’s words. The paper on the desk! When Cotter spoke of that document James Sargon rushed out to get it. Back in the strong room, in the presence of Raymond Dagwood and three policemen, the elderly jeweler read forth the statements that The Shadow had left.
As Sargon named the other members of the evil band: Northrup, Thurber, Rodan and Montague, a fierce glare came upon the face of Charles Kistelle. He was hearing his own crimes exposed. That paper was an indictment for murder!
Sheer desperation drove Kistelle into action. With a fiendish cry, he leaped from the wall and struck down the policeman who was covering him with a revolver.
The other officer aimed directly at Kistelle; but as he pressed the trigger, his fire was diverted. Horace Fenwick, acting with quick precision, leaped forward just as he saw the policeman turn to shoot. He struck the officer’s wrist just in time to save Kistelle.
Confusion reigned. A pair of unarmed men had opened the attack; but they were wild with desperation. Kistelle seized the revolver from the man with whom he was grappling and shot the officer through the heart. Raising his arm, he struck down the third officer.
Then Kistelle and Fenwick were the center of a milling mob. Revolver shots flashed wildly. Men staggered away. Out of the brief, hectic battle came the master plotter unscathed. With a fierce grab he seized the boxes of diamonds and fled toward the outer door, Fenwick at his heels. Two revolver shots followed; but the policeman who aimed them missed.
Out into the street dashed Kistelle, squarely into Dagwood’s chauffeur, who was standing by the limousine. Kistelle swung with his free hand. The man went down.
Hurling the diamonds into the rear of the car, Kistelle leaped to the wheel. The motor had been left running. Jamming into low gear, Kistelle started the car forward with a lurch.
Fenwick, too, was present. He leaped into the back of the car as it pulled away. Climbing over the seat, he joined Kistelle and pointed out the road to safety.
THE mad escape did not forestall pursuit. A police car was resting near the corner. Its driver came quickly to life. Then two pursuing policemen dashed from the store and leaped into the car beside the driver.
Simultaneously, another car came into action. This was the coupe in which Kistelle had come to Sharport. The crook had left his vehicle some distance down the street.
Almost on the instant when Kistelle had felled the chauffeur, the motor of that car burst forth. It was sweeping onward now, passing by the police car. The officers shouted as they saw it, not knowing whether it was manned by friend or foe.
A low, sinister laugh swept from the man at the wheel. The Shadow was driving Kistelle’s car!
The big limousine was a block ahead. Sweeping past a traffic light, it was heading from the open road that led from Sharport. Behind it came the car driven by The Shadow. The police car was in the rear.
Three minutes after the chase had begun, the cars had gained the countryside. Whirling along a curving paved highway, Charles Kistelle and Horace Fenwick were hurtling toward freedom with three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels.
The limousine was a powerful car. By all odds it should have left the pursuers far behind. The coupe in which The Shadow rode was an old car; the Sharport police car was by no means a swift one. Nevertheless, as miles sped by, Kistelle could still see the lights of the coupe not more than two hundred yards behind him.
The windings of the open road were maddening to Kistelle. They were holding back the limousine every time that the driver attempted to reach top speed.
The coupe, on the contrary, was driven by a man who knew no caution. Clipping turns, pushing the light car to its utmost, The Shadow was clinging to the margin that separated him from the car ahead.
As the limousine swept along a straight stretch, Fenwick suddenly gripped Kistelle’s arm. Directly ahead was a railway crossing, its red lights flickering a warning.
A grim oath came from Kistelle. He heeded neither lights nor clanging bell. He shot the limousine squarely over the crossing while Fenwick stared aghast at the brilliant headlight of a lumbering freight locomotive approaching from a distance of a hundred yards.
“Look back,” growled Kistelle. “Look back and see what happens. Watch that guy behind us take it!”
Fenwick stared back, expecting to see the lights of the coupe come to a swerving halt. Instead, he saw that the car was coming on!
Then the glare of the locomotive threw a mid-day light upon the crossing. Into that brilliance swept the coupe. It jounced upward on the crossing just as the pilot of the locomotive came black from the night.
Then, with a quick swerve, the coupe shot on, the locomotive bulking behind it. The cars of the long freight rattled in succession, no longer a barrier between the fleeing crooks and their pursuers. Fenwick gasped; then groaned.
“He got by!” he cried. “Got by with inches to spare!”
Kistelle’s response was an oath. He narrowly averted disaster as the limousine rounded a curve.
The pace was telling on the crook at the wheel. Sharper curves were coming and as the man instinctively ground the brakes, Fenwick’s tense voice warned him that the coupe was gaining rapidly.
A HALF mile more of winding road brought new evidence of The Shadow’s gain. A pistol shot burst forth from the rear. The bullet shattered the back window of the limousine. Kistelle’s nerve was sagging. Well did he know who was on his trail.
The Shadow! Only such a superman could have pushed a light car forward in such a chase. Only The Shadow would have dared that crossing!
Ahead lay a twisting down grade; a turn across a bridge lay halfway to the bottom of the hill. Kistelle gave his car the gas. The lights of the coupe dazzled him as they were reflected in the mirror above the wheel.
Brakes saved Kistelle from disaster as he took the turn on the bridge. The limousine sped along the straight stretch and reached the end of the bridge as Fenwick saw the coupe make the dangerous curve at top speed. Another shot came from the coupe, just as the limousine swerved to the left.
That shot was a masterpiece. Aimed by The Shadow’s unfaltering hand, it pierced a rear tire of the big car. The limousine jounced at an angle. It cut across the road. It crashed into a stout fence and shattered the wood as though it had been paper. The headlights pointed straight downward into a deep gorge, the bottom a hundred feet below.