“We’ll see,” said Cliff. “I know you can use your gat, Hawkeye. Leave it up to me.”
“O.K.”
Cliff made a turn. He came to the gates of a large estate. Nicholas Lewkesbury’s was one of the show places in this part of Long Island. Iron fences stretched from either side of the gate. Cliff picked a vacant space among some trees on the other side of the road. He drove the coupe in there and parked.
Hawkeye followed Cliff to the ground.
“Where d’you think them mugs went?” inquired Hawkeye, from the darkness. “Inside the gates?”
“I doubt that they went through the gates,” responded Cliff, in a whisper, “but it’s a safe bet that they’re on the other side of the picket fence. That’s where we’re going.”
They climbed the fence and made their way up through shrubbery along a slope. They approached the side of a lighted mansion. Though the night was cool, it was evidently warm inside the house, for windows were open and voices could be heard. Nicholas Lewkesbury was entertaining guests.
There was no sign of Ruke Perrin and his mob. Cliff and Hawkeye crept forward toward the lighted windows, which were at the front of the house. As they approached, laughter ceased beyond the opened windows. Cliff caught the sound of suppressed cries. Then came silence that was broken only by a muffled, incoherent growl.
Before Cliff could stop Hawkeye, the little man had scrambled forward. He had gained the edge of the porch and was up it like a monkey. Cliff could see him peering through a window; then Hawkeye dropped and came scudding back.
“Ruke an’ the outfit,” whispered Hawkeye. “Eight of ‘em, I counted. They must have come in from the front. They got about twenty people covered, includin’ the servants. All in one great big room.”
“Any action?”
“No. Just holdin’ the crowd there. I don’t ‘get it, Cliff. Say — if we came up on that porch, we could bust in on Ruke an’ his mob. Give it to ‘em good an’ hard—”
“Two against eight?”
“We could smear ‘em.” Hawkeye flashed a revolver in the gloom close by the house. “You an’ me, Cliff—”
“But what about the people in the house?” interposed Cliff. “Some of them might get bumped.”
“That’s right,” admitted Hawkeye. “Say—”
He paused and gripped Cliff’s arm. Off by the rear of the house, Hawkeye had caught the sound of an opening door. Other intruders were on these grounds. A minute passed. Suddenly, Hawkeye detected a glimmer from above. He pointed upward.
“Look, Cliff!” he whispered. “Right over us. Light comin’ through barred windows. You know what that means? I’ll tell you. It’s a strongroom!
“I know who just sneaked in from the back. Diamond Bert, an’ maybe somebody with him. They’re after swag, workin’ on their own, while Ruke an’ his outfit is keepin’ the folks in order. That’s the lay, Cliff — sure enough—”
Hawkeye rose to his feet. He was starting toward the rear of the house, expecting Cliff to follow.
Suddenly, Hawkeye realized he was alone. Stopping, he fancied that he heard a sinister hiss from the spot where he had left Cliff. Hawkeye paused longer. Some one was speaking to Cliff Marsland; some one whose shape Hawkeye could not see.
The Shadow!
SEIZED by a weird spell, Hawkeye crouched. From close beside him came a faint swish, as of a moving cloak. Hawkeye, who had once boasted that he could spot The Shadow, was numbed by the sense of a mysterious presence. Something was passing him in the dark — something that he could not discern; that he could no longer hear.
Hawkeye realized suddenly that The Shadow had taken up the task of trapping Diamond Bert. The Shadow had made for that door just past the edge of the house. Lingering, Hawkeye could hear Cliff’s whisper from the side of the porch. Hawkeye crept in that direction.
“We’re going up on the porch,” Cliff told him, in an undertone. “New orders. We’re to hold back; to see that nobody gets hurt in there.”
“I get you,” muttered Hawkeye. “Somebody else is gettin’ Diamond Bert.”
“Right,” responded Cliff.
He was climbing the porch. Hawkeye followed. They reached a pair of double doors that were ajar.
Crouched, with guns in readiness, they could see the entire situation.
From the front end of the room, Ruke Perrin and his mobsters were covering Nicholas Lewkesbury and the guests. Ruke and his crew were masked; but Cliff and Hawkeye knew the leader by the Tuxedo he was wearing. The guests, huddled in the rear end of the room, were standing fearful. Men in evening clothes were pale, clenching their upraised fists. Gowned women were trembling at the sight of mobster guns.
“I’d like to plug that egg,” mumbled Hawkeye. “It’s Ruke Perrin, the dirty louse—”
“Easy,” whispered Cliff. “You’ll get your chance, maybe.”
The words were prophetic. At that instant, one of the covered men looked upward. A portly, baldheaded fellow, he had heard sounds from the floor above. Closest to a side door of the room, the portly man moved in that direction.
“Hold it, there,” ordered Ruke, in a growl. “If you move, Lewkesbury, we’ll fire. At the whole bunch—”
The warning went unheeded. Almost at the door, Lewkesbury made a lunge. Ruke Perrin barked an order and loosed a shot at the millionaire. The bullet sizzled wide. Yet that one shot had touched off a miniature arsenal.
With Ruke’s order; with the burst of his gun, venomous mobsters directed their weapons at the helpless crowd before them, ready to pour a leaden hail into a score of unprotected victims!
CHAPTER XVII. HALF A MILLION
RUKE’S gorillas were merciless killers. To these villains, slaughter was a pastime. They felt no qualms at following their evil leader’s bidding. To a man, they were cool and calculating as they aimed their guns.
Speed was unnecessary with these helpless victims.
But where mobsters saw occasion to deliberate, there were two men who had cause for hurry. Cliff and Hawkeye, too, had heard Ruke’s command. Their time for action had arrived. They were dealing with armed gorillas. They acted on the instant.
As Ruke blazed a second shot at the scrambling form of Nicholas Lewkesbury, two reports burst as one from the opened doorway to the porch. Cliff and Hawkeye, simultaneous in their fire, beat all of Ruke’s gorillas to the shot.
Two mobsters staggered. The others wheeled, fingers on the triggers of their guns. Again, the outside marksmen fired. This time the mob responded. Cliff had clipped another gorilla. But Hawkeye had failed.
Too hastily, the little sharpshooter had taken aim at Ruke.
Mobsters leaped for cover as they fired. So did Ruke. Cliff and Hawkeye dropped to the level of a stone step that formed an entrance from the porch. Flashing guns produced a cannonade as bullets sizzled in both directions through the open doors.
Cliff and Hawkeye were firing rapidly, with no thought of further aim. They wanted to draw the mobster fire in their direction. From within, the gorillas were blazing away at lowlying men whom they could not see.
The odds were against The Shadow’s marksmen. Outnumbered, five to two, their cause would have been lost; but for an attack which came from another quarter. Nicholas Lewkesbury had staggered back from the side door of the room. That portal had yawned black when the quick fight began. Now, in the midst of the fray, came thunderous roars from that inner doorway; powerful shots that were accompanied by tongues of flame.
The Shadow, en route to the second floor, had turned back at the sound of gunfire. Arriving to find his aids pressed in their battle, he had opened with two automatics. The result was immediate. The flanking fire did its work.