CLIFF rolled against the door as the cab whirled the corner. The form of The Cobra fell upon him. A cloth was pressed over Cliff’s face. The pungent odor of chloroform was overpowering. Cliff slumped helpless.
The Cobra had tricked The Shadow’s agent. The man at the wheel of this cab was one of his trusted fangs. Lurking in the taxi, The Cobra had been ready to trap Cliff should he arrive in pursuit.
Rescued by The Shadow, Cliff had thrown himself into the net. He was a prisoner of The Cobra!
As the cab passed around the corner, a figure appeared at the door of the apartment building. The Shadow had arrived. Up to the roof; across and down through an apartment window, he had come in pursuit. He was too late to see the fleeing cab. Yet his keen eyes seemed to sense what had occurred.
Another whistle — this time from the avenue. A reply — at the other end of the street. A whistle from the back of the apartment house. Police had heard the shots from high up in the building. They, too, had arrived.
The Shadow sprang from the doorway. His tall form swept forward like a phantom figure as he headed for a passage beside a garage across the street. Shots came from the corner. An officer raised a shout. Policemen dashed up to the scene. They were too late. The Shadow had disappeared.
With swift strokes from the darkness, The Shadow had broken The Cobra’s power. Fighting from disadvantage, he had thwarted the killing of Cliff Marsland and had driven The Cobra into flight.
But The Cobra, realizing his own advantage, had used cunning when he fled. He had slain King Zobell as he had intended. He had left Duster Corbin dead. His own man — Diamond Rigler — had been blotted; but in return, The Cobra had captured the man whom he had sought to slay with the others: Cliff Marsland.
The underworld would never know of The Shadow’s counter-stroke. New credit would be The Cobra’s. Defeated, The Cobra had turned events to his own advantage. The Shadow, as at Old Growdy’s, had been left to face the arrival of the police.
Far from the apartment house where bluecoats now had charge, a grim laugh sounded in the darkness of a silent street. It was not a laugh of defeat; it was a laugh of determination. The laugh of The Shadow!
Whatever opinions might be formed, The Shadow knew the vital facts — and The Cobra knew them also. Let the underworld gasp in awe about The Cobra’s prowess; let them deride The Shadow. Such did not alter the facts.
The Shadow’s skill had prevailed. Only circumstances had aided The Cobra. The serpent-hooded fighter had been forced to flee The Shadow’s might. War had broken between these two whom gangdom feared as grim avengers.
Once again, the advantage lay with The Cobra. The Shadow’s task was heightened. Yet through his skill, The Shadow had forced the issue.
Whatever The Cobra’s plans might be, The Shadow remained to block them. Until he could fully frustrate The Shadow, The Cobra would be forced to inactivity.
Tonight had brought the two in definite conflict. Their trails — supposedly parallel — were drawing closer. Another event such as this one would bring them face-to-face.
That was the reason for The Shadow’s laugh. It betokened safety for Cliff Marsland. It presaged another meeting with The Cobra. It indicated secret knowledge of the hooded fighter’s ways and purposes.
The Shadow had good reason to wage combat with The Cobra. The Shadow had divined the hidden goal which The Cobra was seeking through his warfare on gangland’s big shots!
The time would come soon when The Cobra would again be forced to match his keen strategy against The Shadow’s skill!
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DECISION
“LAST night, Myland” — Commissioner Ralph Weston was speaking — “I received another call from The Cobra. It was as before — the hiss — the statement that a stroke was to be delivered.”
Myland nodded from behind his big table. “Here, then,” he said, tapping a newspaper that lay beside him, “is the result.”
“Exactly,” declared the commissioner. “To The Cobra we owe our thanks for the elimination of King Zobell, the biggest of all Manhattan racketeers.”
Caleb Myland pondered.
“One might call it crime,” he stated, “when three men are slain — even though one is a racketeer and the others are his henchmen.”
“They were armed,” returned Weston. “That makes a difference, Myland.”
“Yes,” agreed the criminologist. Then, with a slight tinge of doubt: “But they were not engaged in crime, Weston.”
“You mean—”
“That they could have been armed for self defense.”
“That’s right, Myland,” observed Weston. “Your opinions are important in this case. Personally, I have favored The Cobra’s work. But if—”
“There is no cause to change your idea,” interposed Myland. “Consider this point, Weston. The Cobra, obviously, was there alone. Zobell — his henchmen Corbin and Rigler — were three against one.”
“You can safely give The Cobra the benefit of the doubt. He can be said to have fought in self defense. That, Weston, would be my decision.”
“And it is mine!” exclaimed the police commissioner, emphatically.
Caleb Myland smiled wanly. The criminologist seemed pleased. He tapped the table methodically; then propounded this question:
“What of The Shadow?”
“He was there again!” declared Weston. “The newspapers do not know it — but police reports show it. He was seen outside of the apartment house. Apparently, he was there to interfere with The Cobra.”
Babson entered. The servant announced that two visitors had arrived. His manner indicated that they were Joe Cardona and Crawler Gorgan. This proved to be correct.
CRAWLER GORGAN appeared eager when he entered. He wanted to talk. Weston gave him an immediate opportunity.
“It was The Cobra, commissioner!” asserted Crawler. “You can bet it was The Cobra that put King Zobell on the spot. He was the only guy that could have done it!”
“So I have decided,” commented Weston, dryly. “I am glad to learn that the underworld shares my opinions. What else, Gorgan?”
“The Shadow was there, too,” added the undercover man. “Everybody knows it. He had to duck the cops. Say — The Cobra has them worried in the Tenderloin. But The Shadow — well he—”
“Well, what?”
“Well, he’s getting the razz. It don’t look so good for him. I ain’t convinced that he’s gone crooked, commissioner, like Mr. Myland here says; but if he hasn’t, he’s gone looney, for fair.”
“What makes you believe that?”
“Listening around the joints. Here’s the way they all figure it — and those birds are wise. The Cobra’s knocking off the big shots, ain’t he? Well what does The Shadow want to butt in for?”
“Professional jealousy, perhaps,” suggested Weston, with a smile.
“Listen, commissioner,” protested Crawler. “You don’t know The Shadow. He didn’t used to waste his time. Why should he be fooling around where guys are going to get plugged anyway?
“He ain’t helping The Cobra — that’s a cinch. So it looks like he’s trying to hinder him, don’t it? That’s why the smart guys figure the way they do.”
“Mr. Myland and myself,” declared Weston, “have come to a definite opinion. We feel that The Cobra’s actions are justified. He is worthy of support. We can base all of our findings on the affair at Old Growdy’s. There, The Cobra acted to save lives — including those of Cardona and myself.
“We find therefore, that he acted in self defense in the other cases, including this one of King Zobell. The Cobra is deserving of police protection. He shall receive it. Do you understand that, Cardona?”