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“Who — who are you?” blurted Carthers. “Are you — are you—”

“I am The Black Falcon,” interposed the man with the mask. “The past abductor of Hubert Apprison; the present abductor of Elias Carthers.”

The gloating lips formed a cunning leer as The Black Falcon announced his identity.

CHAPTER VII

THE ABDUCTION

THE BLACK FALCON had plotted well. Whether or not he had anticipated the arrival of the police commissioner was a matter of secondary consequence. The chief point was that he had chosen the best lurking spot that existed within the Carthers mansion.

The tobacco magnate’s study was isolated. It was easily accessible without passing through the principal rooms of the big house. Located on the ground floor, with its windows opening toward the side and rear lawn, it afforded easy opportunity for quick escape.

Elias Carthers realized this. He knew that The Black Falcon must have entered the study some time before. He was also sure that the criminal had overheard the entire conversation which had passed between Carthers and the police commissioner.

This was proven by the deliberation with which The Black Falcon acted. The masked crook seemed to know that this room would be free from intrusion. Carthers, fuming helplessly, glanced toward Wistar. One look at the secretary’s pale, scared face was sufficient to tell Carthers that this weakling could not offer aid.

The Black Falcon apparently held the same opinion of Wistar. His gloating lips hardened; they formed a vicious snarl as the armed man turned his entire attention to Elias Carthers. Thrusting his revolver forward, The Black Falcon forced Carthers backward, step by step.

Carthers did not understand his enemy’s purpose. He endeavored simply to retreat from the menacing gun before him. Thus, amid gloomy silence, the tobacco magnate slowly neared the window that opened toward the rear of the house. He came to a standstill with his back against the wall.

With a snarling laugh, The Black Falcon reached out with his left hand and raised the window sash. He raised his free hand to his lips and produced a soft, hissing whistle. With an angry gesture at Elias Carthers, he forced the magnate back against the open window.

As Carthers shrank from the menacing gun which The Black Falcon suddenly shoved in his face, four hands came through the window and caught the tobacco magnate from behind. A gasp came from the prisoner’s lips. The hands yanked him backward; a forming cry died as these outside captors overpowered him.

Scuffling sounds were muffled in the outside darkness. The Black Falcon, gazing from the window, smiled in gloating fashion. The dim glow from the window showed his squad of husky henchmen lugging Elias Carthers helpless across the side lawn.

There was a certain lack of caution in the masked man’s attitude. The evil grin upon his lips betrayed that fact.

Apparently The Black Falcon had forgotten all about Wistar, the secretary. The pale-faced fellow at the door was too frightened to realize that the evil abductor was toying with him.

IT dawned on Wistar that escape was possible. That was the very thought that The Black Falcon sought to create. While the abductor’s attention remained upon the window, Wistar, with a frantic effort, fumbled with the doorknob and managed to open the door.

The instant that the secretary started to spring for safety, The Black Falcon acted. He swung his revolver and fired. Wistar, leaping into the outer passage, let out a shrill shriek as he staggered forward. The Black Falcon leaped across the room in pursuit. He saw Wistar floundering ahead, gasping as he clutched the wainscoting of the passage. Deliberately, The Black Falcon fired a second shot that stretched the secretary upon the floor.

There were cries from beyond. Faces appeared at the end of the passage. Men leaped back to cover as they saw the masked man within the study.

Snarling, The Black Falcon fired two warning shots above Wistar’s body. He slammed the door of the study and pressed a brass bolt that was set above the big doorknob.

THE sounds of The Black Falcon’s shots had been plainly heard in the front of the house. On the veranda, Commissioner Weston had swung to Joe Cardona in alarm. Through the windows, the detective saw people rushing toward the rear of the house.

“Where were those shots?” asked Cardona quickly.

“From the study!” exclaimed the police commissioner. “Through to the back. Quick, Cardona! While I call the men!”

Joe Cardona plunged against a French door and smashed it open. With drawn revolver, the ace detective broke through astonished guests, heading in the direction that Weston had indicated. The police commissioner, as he neared the edge of the veranda, shouted to the men stationed in the official car. The pair came scrambling out at his call.

“Through the window!” ordered Weston. “Hurry. Work with Cardona.”

For an instant, Weston made move to follow. Then, with an afterthought, he hurried to the end of the veranda. He reached the side of the house on which the study windows opened. Drawing a revolver, the police commissioner skirted the driveway, then hastened toward the rear of the building.

Weston could hear the hubbub from within. A shattering blow indicated that Cardona must have opened an attack upon the study door. Weston heard a second crash as he arrived beside the open window of the study.

Raising his head above the sill, the commissioner stared into the study. He gaped in amazement as he observed the stocky figure of a man crouched against the door. The intruder seemed to have his hand upon the knob, waiting as though he expected to attack the moment that the barrier broke.

That time would not be long forthcoming. A resounding smash made the big door tremble. As the police commissioner raised his revolver, the man at the door suddenly turned toward the window. Weston stared at the mask above the snarling lips. He knew that he was facing The Black Falcon!

Opportunity lay in Weston’s grasp; in his surprise, the commissioner faltered. The Black Falcon stopped short at sight of the face in the window. With a quick movement, the masked man shifted as he jerked his revolver from his pocket.

Commissioner Weston fired hastily. His shot whizzed past the masked man’s shoulder. The Black Falcon sprang forward. Weston, seeing the revolver coming at him, ducked away from the window, firing a second wild shot as he took to cover. He was ready to get the intruder when the man came from the window; but Weston’s scheme was interrupted by the sound of shots from across the lawn. Henchmen of The Black Falcon were firing from beyond a hedge by the side road.

Bullets flattened against the stone wall of the house. Weston headed for the shelter of an alcove. His only protection until he reached that spot was the distance of the range. For a few moments, Weston was out of sight of the study windows; then, as he neared the drive, the commissioner looked back to see The Black Falcon dashing across the side lawn.

The kidnaper was taking a semi-circuitous course to avoid any fire from the study windows, should Cardona and the others break through. This gave Weston a chance to intercept him. Trusting to darkness, the police commissioner sprang across the lawn, believing that he would not be noticed from the hedge.

SHOUTS from the study window aided Weston. Cardona had broken through the door. The detective was firing, but his shots were wide. The Black Falcon neared the darkness of the hedge; he paused to fire a shot back at the house. Then, as Commissioner Weston stopped to take aim at the spot where the revolver had spoken, an unexpected light broke over the scene.

A car had swung into the Carthers drive. The man at the wheel had heard the shots. He had brought his car to a quick stop; now the long beam of a searchlight spread across the lawn.

As plain as in the light of day, The Black Falcon was shown by the hedge. Beside him stood a rangy henchman. The two were holding revolvers; both were uncovered by the sudden illumination.

Instantly with the arrival of the light, The Black Falcon sprang through the hedge. His henchman remained, staring along the line of the searchlight’s beam. Spying Commissioner Weston, caught in the same glare, the big mobster fired. Weston, dropping away, stumbled upon the lawn and fell to one knee before he could catch himself.

The commissioner was a perfect target for The Black Falcon’s henchman. As the mobster aimed to kill, Weston was unable to bring his own hand up in time to beat the shot.

A gun boomed from the driveway. The arrival in the car with the headlight had leaped to the ground. His shot, at hopelessly long range, was both perfect and timely. Commissioner Weston saw the threatening mobster crumple on the turf.

Cardona and others had piled from the study window. They were hastening across the lawn, firing wildly toward the hedge. Then came the roar of a motor. A car on the side lane shot off into the darkness. The Black Falcon and his band were escaping from the scene with Elias Carthers as their prisoner.

Not even the perfect marksman from the driveway could stop that flight. He had arrived in time to drop the mobster who had gained the bead on Commissioner Weston, but the car to which The Black Falcon had dashed was protected by trees beyond the hedge.

Commissioner Weston regained his feet. He saw Joe Cardona reach the hedge and stop short staring toward the lane. Then the detective turned back to examine the body of the dead mobster. Still in the glare of the headlight, Commissioner Weston turned toward the car in which the sharpshooter had arrived. Coming across the lawn was the marksman who had saved Weston’s life.

“Cranston!” exclaimed the commissioner, as he recognized the faultlessly garbed figure of his millionaire friend. “You! Great work, old man! You saved my life.”

“A bit different from big game hunting,” returned Cranston, with a quiet smile. “Fortunately, commissioner, I have used the permit which you gave me. I always have a gun in my car. It came in useful upon this occasion.”

Joe Cardona was striding across the lawn. The detective’s face was glum. Joe became active, however, as he reached the commissioner.

“They’ve made a get-away,” he announced reluctantly. “Looks like they took Elias Carthers with them. I’m going to the house to call headquarters. Maybe the patrols can grab them. That was The Black Falcon—”

“I know it!” snapped the commissioner. “Get into the house, Cardona! Get the call through — and clear the study! Where is Wistar, the secretary?”

“Dead,” returned Cardona, as he turned and began a quick jog toward the mansion.

“Come, Cranston,” urged Weston, turning toward the one who had saved his life. “This is serious business. Murder and abduction. We must study the evidence.”

Side by side with his millionaire friend, Commissioner Weston started for the gray stone mansion. Weston was alert. Though he had failed to stop The Black Falcon, he was hopeful that he and Cardona might uncover clews that would lead to the trail of the daring crook.

Little did Weston, relying upon his own capability, realize that beside him was a person whose skill as a sleuth far exceeded that of Weston and Cardona combined.

The commissioner had no inkling whatsoever that he was conducting The Shadow to the scene where crime had befallen!