From the way the figures were hunched, Phil was certain that they carried a burden, which in turn made him think of Winslow Ames!
As soon as the procession passed, Phil followed in its wake. The huddled men took what seemed to be a winding path, veering in among trees and bushes. They passed a circular building not far from the old stable, then continued deeper into the wilds of Central Park, until their course took a sharp turn.
All this while, Phil was thinking in terms of the invisible fighter that he had met before. Somehow he classed that mysterious being as part and parcel of this strange procession.
In brief, Phil was sizing The Shadow wrongly; hence he was making a bad beginning something worse. For the Shadow, too, was on that very trail.
Behind Phil, visible only at moments when a clearing allowed a strong glow of moonlight, stalked a cloaked shape that had come from the left side of the old stable, attracted by the muffled music that had drawn Phil’s attention.
Two things occurred at once. Phil lost the trail of that hunched crew ahead and at the same time stumbled upon a dirt road that happened to be a bridle path. Figuring the direction that the men must have taken, Phil tried to find them in the dark.
Phil succeeded, but in a delayed fashion.
Off above a hedge that flanked the bridle path, Phil saw some quick flickers of light that could only have come from a high building. Those blinks struck him as a signal, but when they finished Phil was unable to interpret them. Looking toward the hedge, which was thick, like a line of shrubbery, Phil saw a signal blink below and heard a rumble that accompanied it.
This was a truck, coming beneath an underpass over which the bridle path ran on a hedge-flanked bridge, but Phil didn’t recognize it. What impressed him was a stir amid the hedge, an indication that the men he was following were still on the move. That was quite enough to end Phil’s urge for caution.
With a fierce lunge, Phil started to fling himself into the unknown band, when he saw another figure flanking in from the moonlight. It was black, that shape, but with a flowing effect that gave the impression of a cloak. His instinct at a fever pitch, Phil took it that this must be his opponent of a while before.
Phil was right; this was The Shadow. But Phil was wrong in considering the cloaked interloper an enemy. Vengefully, Phil hurled himself upon The Shadow and a moment later they were reeling in a clinch, crashing half through the hedge.
From below came the roar of the truck as it disappeared beneath the bridge. Then, Phil was hovering over a brink that showed him the roadway below. The Shadow, knowing this terrain, had turned the grapple into a disaster where Phil was concerned; but as Phil forgot the clinch in order to grab for safety, The Shadow responded by hauling him back to safe ground.
Figures were scrambling in the opposite direction, starting a mad getaway through the hedge in order to reach the bridle path. After them went a laugh, fierce and sinister: the challenge of The Shadow. It was the sort of mirth that rankled men of crime and Phil, being of quite the opposite stripe, knew then that The Shadow was a friend.
What the fugitives had done with Ames was a matter for further speculation. Right now, the job was to round up that crew, and as Phil heard The Shadow’s laugh trail after them, he decided to follow. Thus began a pursuit that was to end in startling surprises.
So fast did The Shadow travel that Phil soon realized his own job would be to deal with stragglers. They were across the bridge and spreading pell-mell down through a slope of thinly wooded land. Off to one side, Phil was certain that he saw a figure drop into a crouch, so he drove in that direction.
Up came the figure with a snarl, out into the full moonlight. To his amazement, Phil saw a spotted leopard, springing at him with all the fury that a maddened beast would display. Instinct called for a quick change of course, but it was too late by then.
Meeting the leopard head on, Phil found that it wasn’t a leopard after all. The swing that he made for the creature’s jaws met a face that was rubbery, but human. The speed of Phil’s punch reduced its value, for he literally knocked his antagonist some twenty feet down the slope and before Phil could go after the leopard-man, the fellow was away.
Chasing a man who wore a leopard skin was just about as crazy as hunting a banshee, but this was Central Park, where anything could happen. For one thing, the man in the leopard costume didn’t vanish, perhaps because he was carrying more weight than the girl who had played the banshee the night before. What was more, he had an objective.
Coming to a long flight of stone steps, Phil took them almost headlong in pursuit of the fake leopard. Phil caught himself by grabbing at some tall bars that he passed and was greeted by a protesting roar from something huge and white, which he realized was a polar bear. Kiting away from that hazard, Phil rounded the fenced area that formed the bear’s cage and overtook the creature he was after.
Except that it wasn’t the same creature.
This time the snarl was genuine; the beast likewise. A real leopard, vividly spotted in the moonlight, popped right up from the path to bar Phil’s way. In no mood for an argument, Phil took to another flight of steps, which led upward, and thus avoided an encounter with the bona fide jungle prowler.
From somewhere came a long shrill whistle like a cat-call. The leopard turned and ran among some buildings that were backed with extensive cages, for this was the Central Park Zoo. Then all was silent, all sounds of the strange drama blotted.
A whispered laugh sounded from above the steps that Phil had first navigated. Again, The Shadow was visible against the moonlight. The first fugitives had gained too great a head start; The Shadow, like Phil, had diverted his attention to stragglers, but now none of them were to be found. The Shadow simply saw the leopard scooting one direction, Phil traveling in the other.
With that, The Shadow decided that this episode was over.
Perhaps The Shadow was right, where he personally was concerned, but Phil Harley, who had blundered into about every type of experience, was due for one more.
Enough commotion had occurred to produce the blare of police whistles and the answering sirens of patrol cars, for Central Park was heavy with the law tonight. The Shadow could easily pass through a forming cordon, but not Phil Harley.
Racing madly through a tunnel formed by a footpath, Phil took to the bushes and clambered up a rocky slope which brought him to an upper drive. The excitement hadn’t reached this higher elevation and Phil saw exactly what he wanted for a restful getaway. An open carriage with two seats that faced each other, was coming along the drive at only a fair gait. Popping from a clump of brush, Phil pulled himself on board.
The plug-hatted driver was half asleep, so Phil’s arrival scarcely stirred him. But what stirred Phil was the sight of a passenger already in the carriage. The moonlight showed a girl in the opposite seat of the victoria; she was resting back, with her head tilted upward, her eyes closed.
A girl in blue, but lacking the lilac bouquet that she had worn earlier: Arlene Forster!
As the hack emerged from one of the park gateways, Arlene stirred. Lifting her head, she stared at Phil, then drew up the sleeve of her dress to cover a bare shoulder. Drawing her hand across her throat, Arlene stared at Phil as though she had never seen him before.
Then, gradually, the blonde’s memory seemed to return.
“I - I was dizzy,” she stammered. “I must have gone out for some air. Nice of you - thanks a lot - for the drive through the park. I - I feel a lot better already.”
The carriage hauled up in front of a hotel that bore the name Plaza Central. With a smile, Arlene alighted, scarcely needing Phil’s steadying hand.