The effect was instantaneous. Figures scattered. The man who was fighting Clyde Burke wriggled free and dived for the shelter of the alleyway.
Markham fired again. Dodging, the gangsters drew their own revolvers and returned the shots.
Clyde Burke, prone upon the sidewalk, rolled toward the house and crouched in the shelter of some stone steps. The move was just in time. Gangster bullets spattered at the spot where the reporter had been. The mobsters were making a last effort to riddle their quarry, whom they had been ordered to kill.
Markham’s shots zipped dangerously close to the scattered attackers. One bullet winged a gangster’s shoulder, and the wounded man’s cry brought consternation to the rest. These rats were merely paid assassins, not gorillas of a doughty caliber.
As the wounded man fled, clutching his shoulder, the others followed suit. Markham sent two shots down the alleyway as a parting thrust to the men who had disappeared in that direction; then, coming from his position of vantage, the detective sergeant hurried across the street, and reached the place where Clyde Burke was huddled.
“All right, Burke?” growled Markham.
Clyde recognized the voice, and responded as he arose from beside the steps.
“That you, Markham?” he asked. “Say — I didn’t know you were tailing me. Thanks, old fellow.”
“Lucky I did tail you,” said Markham gruffly, as he began to reload his revolver. “Got yourself into a pickle, didn’t you? What was the idea?”
“Listened in on what some gang boys had to say,” replied Clyde calmly. “Heard them talking about a get-together in this neighborhood. Thought I’d find out what it was about.”
“Fine idea,” snorted Markham. “Well, you nearly found out too much. Come along. The gun’s loaded up again. I’m going to call Joe Cardona, Burke. Maybe he’ll want to talk to you after this.”
“Suits me,” responded Clyde, in an indifferent tone. “I was just after a story — that’s all.”
THEY reached a small store a block away from the spot of the short fray. Markham entered a telephone booth. Burke watched the detective sergeant phoning. He saw an excited look appear upon Markham’s countenance.
Hanging up the receiver, Markham plunged from the booth and gripped Clyde Burke’s arm. Without a word, he led the reporter hastily along the street. They came to an elevated station and the detective sergeant hurriedly ascended the steps, with Clyde still in tow.
The pair entered a train. The car was almost empty. Markham thrust Clyde in a corner seat, and gave a low, grim laugh.
“What’s up?” panted Clyde still winded from that mad rush. “Where are you dragging me, Markham?”
“Started to tell Cardona I had you with me,” Markham explained. “Before I could tell him what had happened, he gave me new instructions. He was just leaving with a raiding squad. We’re going to join them — at least I am. You can hang back and watch.”
“Where?” questioned Clyde eagerly.
“It’s the New City Bank, Burke. Somebody’s going to try to crack it tonight.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Clyde.
The ejaculation masked the sudden thought that had occurred to the reporter. Was the hand of The Shadow connected with this tip-off? The mysterious master of the night had warned Cardona of other contemplated crimes in the past.
Only one station more! The train was rumbling rapidly along the elevated platform. Clyde could see that Markham was eager to join with the raiders, even though the man was maintaining a calm expression.
Then came blackness.
Without warning, every light in the elevated train was extinguished. The cars slid to a grinding stop.
Halted midway between stations, they rested amid a strange silence that fell from nowhere.
Neither Clyde Burke nor Detective Sergeant Markham understood the significance of that sudden, appalling gloom. They did not realize that the mysterious power of the black hush had once again been projected upon a designated spot in the midst of teeming Manhattan!
That was a fact that only The Shadow knew!
CHAPTER XVI. OUT OF THE VAULT
THE same pall that had stopped the train on the elevated had accomplished another purpose. It had cast its strange blackness upon the polished face of the low-storied New City Bank.
As completely as if an invisible hand had stretched forth to wipe it away, the white marble front of the strong-walled edifice had been blanked into oblivion by a powerful ray of superdarkness.
Joe Cardona and his raiding squad had not arrived in this locality. While they were still hurrying to the spot, the first stroke had come. Amid a barrage of total gloom, men of crime were advancing to attack the vault of the blotted bank.
A tremendous hush lay over this one low building. It formed perfect coverage for the unseen men who were moving up to the side of the New City Bank.
Zoom!
An explosion made the side of the bank building tremble. But even that blast which blew the door clear of its fastenings was no more than a low rumble. The blanketing effect of the hush seemed to stifle all sounds within its enveloping folds.
Mobsmen pressed forward. They were entering a building equipped with all the most modern of alarm devices, but tonight they did not fear these mechanical sentinels. Every electrical apparatus in the entire bank had gone out of order when the black hush had struck.
Watchmen?
They were powerless, too. Telephonic communication was ended. Flashlights and powerful electric lanterns would not avail. Ping Slatterly thought of that fact with relish as he ignited the strong acetylene torch which was to play so important a part in this raid.
Immune from interference, the strong gleam lighted up the interior of the bank. A watchman scurried away as gangster shots were directed toward him. With his men forming a protecting cordon to meet stray shots from the darkness, Ping Slatterly headed for the vault which he had come to crack.
THE acetylene light shone upon the vault. Ping lowered the gleam so that his safe-blowers could prepare.
This would be a job as quick as the one at the outside door.
The gang leader gave a muffled laugh. The outside explosion could not have been heard very far away due to the sound-stilling gloom. This blast would not be heard at all. It required a larger charge, but the walls of the bank would aid the black hush in its silencing power.
“Ready?”
Ping’s voice had a hushed sound in the midst of that strange scene, where even the downward-turned gleam of the lantern was forced to penetrate a murky haze.
Growls of assent were the reply to Ping’s question. The men moved forward. Ping Slatterly turned his lantern up to the big door of the vault. An audible gasp escaped the mob leader’s thick lips.
Impelled by a power from within, the door of the vault was swinging open. As it moved wide, from the interior came a glare as forceful as the one from the lantern which Ping Slatterly carried.
Some being from within the vault was meeting the rays of the acetylene lantern with another illuminating device of the same type!
Ping Slatterly could not see the person behind that light, but the other could see him, for the light within the vault was focused with even greater power.
Moreover, the strange, unexpected intruder was able to observe Ping’s gang of followers. In the misty illumination, every one of the invaders was in plain view.
The light was astonishing in itself. Blinding, it came as a terrific counteragent to Ping Slatterly’s first weapon of attack. But another token of a formidable presence within the vault brought dread consternation to the gang leader and all his band of ruffians.