Three cabs shot ahead; the gangsters who had fired at the detectives were on the running boards. Three made sharp, quick turnabouts in the center of the street and rolled toward the opposite end of the block.
One at each corner; second cabs in reserve behind them; third cabs further back — such was The Crime Master’s blockade. Mobsmen — some in cabs, some on the street — were ready with their guns to ward off any police attack.
The Crime Master had designed the front street as one possible outlet for a getaway. Weston, in opposition, had picked that block as the converging point for the police. As The Shadow, backed against the window in the office, was poising for his wild plunge, heavy gunfire broke from both ends of the beleaguered block.
LOUIE HARGER, after emptying his revolver through the hole in the marquee, stared savagely out into the street. For the first time, the gangleader realized that a furious fight was under way below. Glancing hastily to left and right, he could see the flashes of guns from the ends of the street. He spied revolver bursts from the sides of the cabs. He saw gangsters retreating toward the center of the block.
Wildly, Louie leaped back into the office. He snatched up a fallen mobster’s gat. Springing to the window, he leaned forth and fired three quick shots above the heads of two retreating mobsmen. The gangsters looked up, swinging savagely to meet what they took for an enemy’s fire.
Louie waved his arms. The men stopped. They recognized an ally. In the lull that hung in the center of the block, Louie’s voice barked its message, as the gangleader motioned straight downward with his gun.
“Get him!” ordered Louie. “The Shadow! Get him by the door! I plugged him—”
The mobsters were across the street. They looked toward the door of the building. One clutched the other’s arm and pointed. His companion nodded.
The front of the Fergis Building formed an alcove. Set on each side of the entrance were pillar bases; above them, fluted, ornamental columns. Further away, on each side, were inset basement windows, fronted with heavy bars.
The columns showed white; their bases formed ledges upon which a person could recline. The first mobster, looking toward these conspicuous spots, had spied the object that he wanted. A huddled, pitiful form — black cloak with topping hat — formed a grotesque splotch at the base of the right column.
Viciously, the mobster fired. His shot cracked against the fluted pillar. His companion leveled his gun and loosed a bullet. The figure did not move. Snarling their triumph, the two hoodlums dashed straight for the blackened form.
One stopped short. Taking no chance, he fired three quick shots at a range of a dozen feet. The other man, seeing the gun lower, sprang forward and seized the folds of the black cloak. He yanked it away.
The slouch hat rolled to the sidewalk. Beneath was the whiteness of the bullet-cracked column. The mobsters had spent their fire to no avail. Crawling to this spot, The Shadow had managed to cast off his black garments. In the precious seconds that had followed, he had moved to some other spot.
The savage mobster flung the cloak to the sidewalk. He kicked the slouch hat toward the gutter. He stared at his companion; then pointed to the right. The inset window — black — could be a hiding place. Together, the two men sprang toward that spot to search.
They found no one. One mobster kicked against the grated bars. Snarling an oath, he turned to his companion.
“He’s somewhere near,” growled the gunman. “Maybe he ducked the other way. The window on the other side is—”
Before the second gangster could respond, both were forced to heed an interruption. Amid the sounds of gunfire came wild shouts. Mobsters at the wheels of taxicabs were calling to their scattered fellows. The police attack was increasing. A drive for freedom was the order.
There was no time for this pair to resume their hunt. Sensing that they would be trapped, they dashed madly away from the front of the building. They reached the last cab and leaped on the running board. The cab did not move.
Slumped behind the wheel was the mobster driver, dead. The cab ahead was moving. Abandoning the motionless car, the two gangsters dashed for the one ahead. They gained the running board just as the car shot forward, shots bursting from its interior to run the police cordon.
LOUIE HARGER, standing by the window, saw the dash. He grinned. He was sure that the men whom he had summoned had clinched The Shadow’s death. He had heard their shots from beneath the marquee.
Leaning from the window, he saw the onslaught of the cabs. Two were hurtling forward at one end of the block. Looking the other way, Louie saw a trio of cabs speeding in formation. Then came a fury of fire. Police, dropping to cover, were giving the cabs a gantlet of bullets. The mobsmen in the cabs were firing in return. The cabs sped along the street, careening as their drivers swerved.
Whistles sounded. Pursuing shots came to Louie’s ears. Then the gangleader heard the whine of sirens as the gunfire faded. The police cars were taking up the chase.
Louie turned. He found silence. Dimly, the excited gangleader recalled a muffled blast while he had been standing at the window. He went to the door of the strongroom. He flashed his torch through heavy smoke.
The door of the vault was blown. The raiders had left by the hole in the wall. Mobsters lay motionless upon the floor of the office and in the strongroom. Louie realized that his small crew of sharpshooters had been practically eliminated in the battle with The Shadow. The few who remained had followed through the hole in the strongroom wall. Such had been Louie’s order.
DOWN on the sidewalk, something moved from blackness. A figure crawled out of the inset window on the left side of the building entrance. Like a mammoth beetle, this shape reached the spot where the cloak and hat were lying. Half rising, The Shadow slipped cloak upon shoulders and planted the hat at an angle on his head.
Wisely, The Shadow had crawled to the window on the side away from the pillar where he had doffed his garb. The two mobsters had searched at the right — a natural procedure — while The Shadow was at the left.
Again, precious seconds had served The Shadow well. The mobsters had fled when he was almost in their grasp. It was The Shadow’s turn to look for new safety.
Gloved hands clawed at the base of the nearer pillar. The crudely cloaked form rose upward. Stooped, The Shadow staggered across the sidewalk. He nearly fell as he stepped from the curb. Then, with hands clasped to his bent body, he wavered onward.
LOUIE HARGER had returned to the window. The gangleader wanted one last look at the deserted street. He noted the cab standing in the thoroughfare. Beyond it, he saw policemen edging in from the corner. Louie glanced again at the cab.
For a moment, the gangleader was astounded. The door of the taxi had opened. He saw a mass of black lurch forward; then rise and slump. In an instant, Louie Harger knew the truth.
The Shadow had reached the cab! With a final effort, he had thrust the dead driver from the wheel. As Louie stared, he heard the grind of gears. The cab lurched forward.
Cursing, Louie aimed. He fired at the moving target. The range was too great. Going into high, the cab was zigzagging toward the corner, straight into the zone where police were ready to advance.
Like the mobsters who had fled ahead of him, The Shadow was running the gantlet. Revolvers barked; the cab swept on at a dizzy, swerving speed. Louie saw it careen almost to the opposite curb; then it was jerked to the center of the street. It was past the corner — shots were coming from behind.
The Shadow had passed the bluecoats.
Louie could linger no longer. He heard police whistles; a dozen officers were dashing from the opposite direction, bent on reaching the Fergis Building now that the coast was clear. Louie headed for the strongroom. He dashed through the broken wall and reached a stairway.