“I’m going to give you fellows the dope on tomorrow night. I’m only waiting for Corky Gurk to show up, so he’ll be in on it, Then I’m sliding out that hall to the street — and you birds can ease into the joint down in the cellar. One-by-one — get me? There’s nobody ever wised up this meeting place yet — and there ain’t nobody going to—”
Deek stopped as a rap sounded at the door. Mobsters started. Deek laughed; then scowled as he saw them shift uneasily.
“That’s Corky,” he scoffed. “Time he was here. Who did you think it was? The Cobra?”
The mobsters joined in the laugh as Deek, half rising from his chair had his hands upon the edge of the table as he rasped the order:
“Come in Corky.”
The door opened. It seemed to swing inward of its own accord. Each mobster, showing indifference, was glancing toward the barrier.
Suddenly wild gasps came from bloated lips. Deek Hundell alone gave no outcry. His scarred face was frozen.
IN the doorway was a grotesque figure that looked like nothing human, although it had the stature of a man. Clad from head to foot in a close-fitting, dark brown jersey, this individual was entirely masked.
The single garment formed thick wrinkles on the limbs and body. About the narrow jersey, it terminated in a broad hood, which was topped by a small, tapering knob.
There was something snakelike in the costume; but the feature that gave it weird realism was the hood which hid the entrant’s face.
It was the hood of a cobra!
Two white spots appeared like eyes, about them, broad white circles that terminated in downward pointing lines. The effect was that of a terrifying face which seemed to survey the startled mob with expressionless gaze.
There was no mummery about The Cobra’s painted visage. The gangsters who saw it cringed as though it had been a living countenance. It was a sign; an identity that brought instant recognition. Men of crime were face-to-face with the new avenger!
To each gazer, the eyes of The Cobra’s hood seemed fixed in his direction. Then came The Cobra’s warning — a hiss that sizzled from lips beneath the hood — the perfect mimicry of a snake about to strike!
Like a flash, a hand swung from the central fold of the pleated brown jersey. A revolver glistened beneath the gaslight. Deek Hundell, an answering snarl coming from his own lips, yanked a gun from a pocket to meet The Cobra’s aim.
The new avenger had hissed his warning. His swift revolver was the coming stroke. Deek Hundell, murderous gang leader, was forced to a fight for life!
Gangster eyes were bulging. Hands were trembling. The witnesses of the duel were powerless. Beyond the door to the front room, other eyes were on the scene. Another hand was acting. The Shadow, sensing grim events, was drawing an automatic from beneath the cloak.
Stern avenger who roamed the underworld, The Shadow had become the witness to the power of a new figure of mystery who was there to deal death to a startled murderer!
CHAPTER III
THE COBRA WINS
THE sound of The Cobra’s venomous hiss ended with the bark of the revolver. Deek Hundell, rising, stopped short. The gun which he had whipped from his pocket dropped from loosening fingers. The gang leader clapped his hand to his stomach; his snarling lips twisted in agony as Deek collapsed face forward on the table.
Deek’s henchmen were stunned. Then came another hiss. Wild eyes stared at the smoking gun barrel in The Cobra’s hand. They saw a brown arm sweep upward to the gas jet; a twist — the room was plunged in darkness, save for a slight flicker of illumination from the hall.
The Cobra’s form was blurred, except for its hood. There, against a darkened background, glowed the painted eyes and their surrounding lines. Weirdly luminous, The Cobra’s false face was peering toward the gangsters whose chief had died.
Then came a sweeping barrier — the closing door. A fierce hiss dwindled as The Cobra swung the portal behind him.
An oath came from Gringo’s lips. A flashlight glimmered in the mobster’s hand. It was followed by others, as Deek Hundell’s cohorts suddenly sprang to avenge the death of their murderous chief.
Gringo was the first to reach the gloomy hall. The action required a leap across the room; then the opening of the door. The hall was empty. Gringo stared in both directions.
“I’ll take the back stairs,” he rasped. “You’re with me, Bulker. The rest of you pile into that front room — maybe he ducked that way.”
There was a call from below. Gangsters in the underground dive had heard the muffled sound of The Cobra’s shot. They were coming to find out what had happened. Gringo shouted down as he headed towards the back.
The body of Deek Hundell lay sprawled upon the table where it had collapsed. The mobsters had piled from the room; now the door that adjoined from the front was open. The Shadow, standing in the dim gloom, was surveying the victim The Cobra had slain.
SWIFT had been The Cobra’s work. The killing — the departure — both had been timed with precision. The Shadow had come here to forestall Deek Hundell’s plans for crime. The Cobra had gone The Shadow one better. He had slain Deek in cold blood.
The Shadow held no grief for Deek Hundell. The man was a self-admitted murderer. He had deserved to die. The ringleader of a dangerous mob, his death meant the end of that gang’s crimes; for Deek Hundell had held the whip hand over the crew.
For once, The Shadow had been forced to stand by as a mere watcher while another hand of vengeance had delivered doom.
The Cobra!
Gringo, the gangster, had spoken well when he had described this new avenger as a rising menace to the underworld. The Cobra had struck in the presence of a crowd of witnesses. His deed was one that would reverberate through all gangdom.
A whispered laugh came from The Shadow’s lips. It was a tense, foreboding laugh — one that told of impending trouble.
The Cobra had made a perfect getaway. Maddened gangsters, augmented by those below, were turning this hovel into a hornet’s nest. The Shadow, silent witness of The Cobra’s might, was left in the thick of it!
Mobsters were coming now — back into the room where Deek’s body lay. They were lighting the gas while others were trying to open the door to the front room, from the hall.
The Shadow had locked that door behind him. Swiftly, he was regaining the front room through the connecting door. He closed the barrier as the gas came on. He turned the lock and stood silently in darkness.
Mobsters were working at the connecting door. They had hopes that The Cobra might be here.
The Shadow was faced by a dilemma. His choice lay between a quick departure or a futile struggle.
The Shadow was a fighter who did not deal in flight, save when it formed a portion of his strategy. Tonight, he was faced by a situation which was unique even in his long experience.
He could gain nothing by remaining. Mobsters would fight The Shadow as quickly as they would The Cobra; and the hordes of gangland would know that The Shadow had stood idly by while his new rival had delivered death!
Picks had failed on the door from the hall. Mobsters were battering the barrier as The Shadow swept to the front window of the upstairs room. Up came the sash. The Shadow’s tall form swung over the sill, just as the door from the hall was flattened by a surge of mobsters.
Two gangsters tumbled as the door gave. Behind them was a third, holding a bull’s-eye lantern; beside him, two gorillas with ready guns.
As chance had it, the rays of the lantern shone straight upon the open window. A cry came from the mobster as he saw the blackened form swinging from the sill.