As The Shadow lingered to make sure that all was well, the door swung open at the top of the cellar steps. The Shadow pressed against the wall. A flashlight glimmered past him. The voice of a detective came down the stairs.
“Hey! Cardona!”
It was Commissioner Weston who shouted in reply. His words were an order to the man above.
“Search the house!” he cried. “There may be more of these crooks. Let no one out! Close the cordon!”
The detective shouted the order to those on the ground floor. Then he began to descend the stairs. He twisted his flashlight as he came downward. Its rays flickered squarely on The Shadow. The detective let out a shout as he faced a pair of burning eyes. He raised his revolver.
The sleuth failed to fire the shot that he intended. Like a flash, The Shadow sprang forward and upward. His powerful hands caught the detective’s wrists. Flashlight and gun went bouncing down the steps as the startled sleuth sprawled in The Shadow’s grasp.
A twisting hold sent the detective sidewise. The man gripped the rail of the cellar steps to save himself. Dazed by the swift attack, he clung there, as The Shadow sprang upward to the door above.
Detectives were in the hallway as The Shadow appeared. They whipped out revolvers, in accordance with Weston’s instructions to let no one escape. The Shadow was quicker; an automatic showed in his right hand. He delivered two shots above the heads of the detectives.
The men jumped for shelter.
The Shadow made the stairs to the second floor. As he swept rapidly upward, the balked detectives fired. Their shots were too late. They took up the pursuit.
The Shadow reached the rear window on the second floor. As he raised the sash, a flashlight gleamed from the alleyway beneath. The shout of a detective came from behind the light. The Shadow hurried back to the hall.
THE inside detectives were at the top of the stairs. One shouted as he spied The Shadow. He fired — again too late. The Shadow was on his way, still moving upward; this time to the third floor of Old Growdy’s home.
The Shadow reached the top of those steps as the detectives neared the bottom. His flashlight glimmered. It showed an opening in the ceiling; a trapdoor that led to the roof.
Out went the flashlight. Turning deliberately to the steps, The Shadow fired two quick shots, aimed high. They served their purpose. The detectives dived away from the bottom of the stairs. They shouted below for a reinforcements. Their quarry was trapped. They wanted aid to take him.
A whispered laugh came from the dark. The Shadow’s cloak swished as its wearer swung himself upward upon the newel post at the top of the steps. Firm hands pressed against the trapdoor in the ceiling.
The barrier was locked. A rusted bolt shrieked as The Shadow forced it open. Pressing with amazing strength, The Shadow forced the trapdoor free from its catches. A puff of fresh air entered as the trap toppled on the roof.
Cries from below. Other detectives had arrived. The voice of Detective Sergeant Markham issued a command:
“Rush the steps! We’ll get him!”
Detectives surged upward. Their course was unwise. They would have been easy targets in the darkness.
But there were no shots to receive them. The Shadow had no quarrel with the law. As the detectives rushed, The Shadow’s strong arms gripped the edges of the opening in the ceiling. His body swung upward. An instant later he had gained the roof.
A flashlight from a detective’s hand picked out the opening just as The Shadow drove the trapdoor shut. The detective opened fire.
The Shadow was already on his way. By the time the detectives had raised the trap and had reached the roof, he had reached the rear roof of a house four doors away from Old Growdy’s home.
The passage between Old Growdy’s row and the string of houses in back was more than a dozen feet in width. The Shadow, however, did not need to bridge that chasm. His swiftly moving form leaped forward as it reached the rear of the roof. With a perfect broad jump over a space thirty feet deep. The Shadow reached the roof of another house. His course continued.
More than a block away from Old Growdy’s, The Shadow picked a wall that was to his liking. Its side, descending to a narrow street, was dark and obscure. A short wait; then came the squidge of rubber suction cups. With smooth precision, The Shadow descended the wall.
A police whistle sounded. The cordon was tightening. An officer, throwing his light along the street, caught a momentary glimpse of a shadowy form that was heading for a passage opposite. The policeman fired — too late to stop the progress of the moving figure.
THE SHADOW had passed the cordon. Like The Cobra, he had departed from Old Growdy’s. But where The Cobra had gone in triumph, recognized as one who had saved helpless victims of crime, The Shadow, trapped in a situation that could not be explained, had been forced to flee in order to avoid a battle with the law.
The Cobra — that night when he had slain Deek Hundell — had left The Shadow to bear the brunt of surging mobsters. Tonight, he had again left The Shadow in an embarrassing position.
Instead of regaining his lost prestige, The Shadow, tonight, had discredited himself with the police. First with the underworld; now with the law. For the second time, The Shadow had been belittled by the craft of The Cobra!
CHAPTER XII
WESTON ORDERS
“WHAT have you learned, Gorgan?”
The speaker was Ralph Weston. The police commissioner was seated in Caleb Myland’s study. Before him were Joe Cardona and Crawler Gorgan. Behind the desk sat Caleb Myland. The criminologist was listening intently to the commissioner’s quiz of the undercover man.
“Not much, commissioner,” replied Crawler Gorgan. “I’ve been listening down in the badlands. News travels fast down there. They’re all talking about The Cobra. But there ain’t none that have spotted him.”
“What about the affair at Old Growdy’s?”
“They got the details of that, all right, commissioner. Say — everybody knows that you and Joe were there. The Cobra plugged Heater Darkin — the toughest crook in the business! That’s what they’re saying.
“And they’re talking about The Shadow. How the cops went after him. I’m telling you something, commissioner — if The Shadow shows up again, he’s liable to get his. There’s plenty of tough birds that are ready to take a shot at him.”
“The Shadow,” decided the commissioner, “is a doubtful character. Cardona still persists that he is fighting on the side of the law. I insist that his behavior at Growdy’s points to the contrary.”
“Don’t condemn The Shadow, commissioner,” protested Joe Cardona. “He has stepped in plenty of times to make trouble for the crooks. I think he was at Growdy’s in order to stop Heater Darkin. The only reason that he didn’t was because The Cobra got there first.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Weston. “The Shadow waged battle with our cordon.”
“No one was shot by him—”
“Because they drove him away. He was in flight. The Shadow’s bullets were wide.”
“Not down in the cellar, commissioner—”
Weston pounded the table in angered interruption. He glared at the detective, then turned to Caleb Myland.
“Cardona has propounded a preposterous theory,” explained Weston. “Down in the cellar of Old Growdy’s home, Cardona and I trapped two thugs. We riddled them with bullets. Cardona, however, thinks that The Shadow, standing on the cellar steps, fired shots to aid us.
“I saw no such shots. I believe that Cardona’s imagination was at work. I have told you all that occurred the night that The Cobra so valiantly came to our rescue. What is your opinion, Myland?”