The last mobsman was hurtling toward the outer door. It was Ransdale, this time, who applied good marksmanship. The mine owner’s revolver barked twice. The second shot picked off his quarry. The last of Terry’s gorillas rolled in agony.
Whistles were sounding from without. Shouts came from the fire tower. The police were arriving. Still, The Shadow waited. One menace still remained: The Black Falcon.
A click sounded as Rowland Ransdale turned on the light in the living room. The Shadow, peering from his alcove, saw the mine owner, in a smoking jacket, heading toward the corridor with a revolver in his grasp. Hazzlett, plainly attired, was hurrying to join his master.
A shrill whistle burst through the corridor. The police had entered. Ransdale and Hazzlett had met them. Where was The Black Falcon? Swiftly, The Shadow cut into the living room. He could hear the sound of feet and excited voices in the hallway. With a swift motion, the black-garbed visitor swept into the darkness of an adjoining room.
Loud talk sounded in the living room as The Shadow reached the little window that opened near the fire tower. He could hear the voice of Commissioner Weston. The official had arrived with Joe Cardona. He was ordering a prompt search of the place.
The Shadow could not remain. The window by the fire tower was open. Swiftly, the black-clad protector swung over the sill. Remaining there, he adjusted the rubber suction cups that had served him so well. Then, with faultless action, he began his descent along this blackened section of the wall.
The police cordon had closed in. Men were pounding up the steps of the fire tower as The Shadow descended alongside. The Shadow, at the second floor, swung inward to the rail. He removed the suction cups and descended the steps to the ground. But as his tall form appeared within a patch of light that glistened on the paving, a shrill whistle sounded.
Swiftly, The Shadow merged with the darkness of an opposite wall. He found an opening which his keen eyes had spotted from above. He chose this way between two walls to find a quick exit from the scene. Again that whistle. As The Shadow neared the end of the narrow area, a policeman came pounding straight against him.
The officer did not see the crouching shape that dropped instantly to the paving. The first inkling that he gained of a living presence was when powerful arms blocked his path and a heaving form of hidden muscle lifted him towering in the air. Dizzily, the policeman plunged headlong. He seemed to dive at an angle from a pair of shoulders. For a moment, the gripping clutch restrained him. As he fell, the officer had time to thrust out his arms and break the force of the drop. His revolver clattered on the cement.
By the time the policeman had gripped his gun and risen dazedly to his feet, no living presence remained. The Shadow, fleeting through the last short space of darkness, had gained the street beyond. He had passed the encircling cordon.
THE Garman Apartments were in full possession of Weston’s forces. Policemen and detectives were everywhere. The commissioner and Detective Joe Cardona were with Rowland Ransdale and his servant, Hazzlett.
Ransdale, a keen-faced man of medium height, was giving the details of the raid. Hazzlett, taller and more powerful than his employer, was standing by with a grim expression on his firm, hard-visaged face.
“This is Terry Rukes,” announced Cardona, pointing out the dead gang leader. “Now we know who was working for The Black Falcon.”
Commissioner Weston surveyed the other mobsters. He turned to Rowland Ransdale.
“These men were the only ones who entered?” he questioned.
“Yes,” assured the mine owner. “Fortunately, Hazzlett and I are good shots. We handle revolvers well out West. But there was another — some one who gave a whistle signal—”
“Where from?” queried Weston eagerly.
“I don’t know,” admitted Ransdale. “It came just before the attack. I heard it while I was listening at the window to the fire tower. I couldn’t trace it from—”
“I think it was from the corridor,” broke in Hazzlett. “I heard it, too — and I was waiting here in the living room.”
“That explains it!” asserted Weston, in a disappointed tone. “The Black Falcon reversed his game tonight. He must have sent his mobsters in first. He was wise enough to hurry away when he heard the firing.”
“He may have had time to get through the cordon,” added Joe Cardona. “Our men were all ready, though, when the shots were fired—”
A gray-haired man appeared at that moment. Cardona stopped speaking as he recognized Inspector Timothy Klein entering from the corridor. With the inspector was a uniformed policeman.
“Officer Dellin,” announced Klein. “He has a report to make on some one who escaped.”
“Bumped into me down below,” declared the policeman, sheepishly. “I was comin’ through a little alley — just wide enough for one man. Answerin’ a whistle, commissioner. This fellow tackles me in the dark an’ throws me head foremost. Out at the far end of the alley — he got to the street before I could follow him.”
“Another officer caught a glimpse of the man,” added Klein. “He had come from the fire tower. They are searching for him now, but apparently he has made a get-away.”
“The Black Falcon,” declared Joe Cardona.
Commissioner Weston nodded.
“He has eluded us again,” declared the official. “This time, however, we have thwarted him. His mobsmen are dead. He cannot afford to defy the law again. My congratulations, Mr. Ransdale, to you and your man Hazzlett, for the work that you have done tonight.”
Joe Cardona was grim. Though he did not voice his thoughts, the detective could not agree with the commissioner. To Cardona, the escape of The Black Falcon was new proof of the master crook’s amazing ability.
The elusiveness with which The Black Falcon had passed through the police cordon; the quick ability which he had shown in dealing with Officer Dellin — these were things of which Cardona believed only The Shadow could be capable.
Greater would have been Cardona’s wonder had the detective known that it was actually The Shadow who had broken through the narrow alleyway! The Black Falcon, in his own evanishment, had gone The Shadow one better.
For The Black Falcon had disappeared without a trace, while The Shadow, master of the darkness, had been forced to physical encounter in order to leave this scene where crime had failed!
CHAPTER XII
MILLIONAIRES CONFER
ON the second evening following the episode at the Garman Apartments, Rowland Ransdale was seated in his comfortable den. Wearing his slippers and smoking jacket, the millionaire mine owner was puffing at a large-bowled pipe as he studied the headlines of the evening newspapers.
Ransdale’s face showed a pleased smile. The journals were still filled with talk of The Black Falcon; and they teemed with credit for Ransdale’s part in submerging the kidnaper’s gangster minions.
The Garman Apartments were still under police observation. Patrolmen were on the lookout for suspicious characters. Detectives were in the vicinity.
The cordon had disbanded after the disappearance of The Black Falcon, but there were still men available in case of emergency.
Rowland Ransdale and his servant Hazzlett were armed. They had been within their rights in defending themselves against Terry Rukes and his mobsters; moreover, Ransdale had acted with the telephoned sanction of the police commissioner.
According to the newspapers, The Black Falcon had met his match when he had tried to abduct the wealthy mine owner; and editorial comment upheld Ransdale as the type of man upon whom the law could depend. Ransdale, in interviews with reporters, had expressed the hope that The Black Falcon would return. The mine owner had shown self-confidence rather than boastfulness when he had made this statement.