Looming squarely for The Shadow's eyes were two other revolvers. One was gripped by Quill Baxton, the other by a man whose face glared a similar ugly challenge. At sight of the newcomer, The Shadow instantly realized the threat that faced him.
Like The Shadow, Quill's companion had come from the dead. The man with the ugly glower was the real Pike Fengel!
CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW TALKS
COOLLY, The Shadow faced Quill Baxton, undisturbed by the guns that prodded him from every side.
Death wouldn't come until Quill gave the word; and Quill had some reason to wait. Otherwise, The Shadow would have been greeted by gunfire the moment he entered.
Not for an instant did The Shadow's disguised face show a flicker of alarm. Instead, he outstared Pike, at those intervals when he studied the fellow. Finally, The Shadow centered his gaze on Quill. Keeping his hands half raised, he nudged his head in Pike's direction.
"Who's the lug?" queried The Shadow, roughly. "Where'd he come from?"
"You know who he is, Shadow!" sneered Quill. "Leastwise, you ought to know. You've got your mush fixed like his. He's Pike Fengel!"
"You mean, he looks like me?" The Shadow's growl was incredulous. "Say - what is this? Some initiation that goes to guys who join up with your mob?"
Quill studied The Shadow closely, then looked at the real Pike. That was the moment when The Shadow repressed a grim smile. There was still a chance for life, even though the odds were long ones.
Baxton wasn't too sure that the newcomer was actually Pike Fengel!
That was proven, when Quill rasped for Pike to pocket his gun. Pike hesitated, snarled a protest. Quill prodded him; Pike let the revolver slide into his pocket.
"His story's the same as yours," Quill told The Shadow. "He says he got out of that side room. Only, he ain't handed me no smart stuff, like you did."
"Whatta you mean - smart stuff?" scoffed The Shadow. "I tell you how to make sure of your dough, so you think I'm The Shadow. That don't make sense!"
"No? Well, your shipping Remingwood off looks phony! Where'd you send the guy?"
"Where I told you. You know the place. If you don't believe it, send some of your gorillas to have a look."
The suggestion was offered coolly. Quill started to admit that it was a good idea, then stopped himself.
"Yeah?" he quizzed. "Send 'em, so there'll be less here, giving you a chance for a break! If you're The Shadow -"
"Still figurin' I'm The Shadow." The interruption came in a harsh chuckle.
"So you're going to croak me - and then find out you're wrong. What's the use? You'll only have to rub out that other guy, later. He's phony!"
It was Pike who gave retort.
"Me, phony?" he demanded. "With a slug in my shoulder, where you put it?"
Gingerly, Pike tapped the point of his left shoulder. The action brought a guffaw from The Shadow.
"He's queered his story, Quill!" The Shadow's harsh tone showed elation. "He don't even know where The Shadow winged me! He ain't The Shadow - he's too dumb - but he ain't me either! He's some guy working for The Shadow. He knows I was clipped in the shoulder; but it was the right one, not the left!
Look!"
THE SHADOW thrust his right shoulder toward Quill. The mob-leader saw something that he hadn't noticed before: the bulge of a bandage beneath the brown-striped jersey.
Remembering that Quill had seen him shoot at Pike, The Shadow had bandaged that shoulder as part of his make-up. But he had purposely bandaged his right arm, to make it more effective. Actually, The Shadow had picked Pike's left side, because Bosco had partly blocked the line of fire. All that would have been too much to explain to Quill.
As luck had it, The Shadow's touch of added realism had become a vital issue. It not only enabled him to dispute Pike's claim; it gave The Shadow the stronger case.
"You shoulda knowed it would be my gun arm," scoffed The Shadow. "That's the one The Shadow always shoots for, ain't it? Maybe I'd have dropped him, if he hadn't winged me the way he did. You want to see how bad he got me? Take a gander!"
Hauling down his jersey with his left hand, The Shadow showed the red-dyed bandage on his right shoulder. That was another faked proof that caught all eyes. Quill and his craning mobbies, even Pike, scarcely saw The Shadow's left hand continue its down-sweep to the belt that encircled his khaki pants.
Though gunners still prodded him with revolvers, their fingers were lax on triggers. Knowing it, The Shadow risked everything on one surprise move. Before the startled mobsters knew it was coming, he took a long twisting leap from their very midst.
As he twirled, The Shadow whipped an automatic from beneath his belt. His spin was leftward; the sweep of his left hand seemed to carry his weight around, thanks to the heavy gun. He had started for the center of the room, but his swift whirl took him past the flank of the mobster group. He was halfway to the door when his automatic covered them.
Revolvers were barking, late in their aim. Instinctively, the gunners leaped toward the inner wall, where Quill and Pike were coming into action. Their game was to wither The Shadow before he could reach the exit.
Had he been clad in black, The Shadow might have made a fade, to put up a shifting battle from the gloomy fringes of the room. His present attire didn't allow him that chance. Not counting the first shots, which were wild, The Shadow was in position to beat any crook at accurate aim.
He might even have clipped a pair before they could drop him; but these odds were impossible. The Shadow was one against six, all spread apart, and the battle was scheduled for close range.
Crooks didn't know the measure upon which The Shadow had decided.
His .45 spoke without a human target in its path. Not once but in rapid fire, keeping on a certain mark, while he suddenly reversed his shift. There were clangs that answered those drilling bullets. Those sounds came from a bulky target that was a more useful mark than any of The Shadow's foemen.
A fierce sizzle issued from beside the wall. The Shadow had punctured the tank that held the sleep-inducing gas!
HIGHLY compressed, that vapor spat forth enveloping fumes - a yellow cloud that came between The Shadow and his foemen. Thugs saw the menace; with one accord, they hurled themselves for the doorway, forgetting The Shadow as they dashed.
Past the fringe of the gas, driving like a human arrow, The Shadow came to intercept them. He was locked with the first of those enemies, smashing their faces with his bare right hand, as he pounded hard with the gun in his left.
Crooks went down, some plunging through the doorway. Others paused, hoping to riddle The Shadow from their path. His shots were speedier. Men caved away. Pike was lunging in the rear of the throng; The Shadow caught him, hurled him back into the spreading gas.
Stumbling about, Pike came head-on against another fighter. That man was Quill; the mob-leader was desperate. Thinking Pike to be The Shadow, Quill jabbed his gun against the fellow's stomach, fired shots until the revolver was empty.
The Shadow, meanwhile, had settled the last opposition near the doorway. In that chaos, crooks had lost their heads. They hadn't realized that the spreading gas could not immediately overpower them. It was Quill, alone, who learned that fact.
Quill was choking only slightly, when he came through the doorway. He steadied there, looked back at the sprawled form of Pike. With a sneer, Quill triggered his revolver, to enjoy another shot at the man he had mistaken for The Shadow.
The hammer clicked on a dead cartridge. Quill realized that his gun was empty. So did The Shadow, standing just beyond the door.
Shivers of a mocking laugh toned close to Quill's ear. Wheeling savagely, Quill again saw the face of Pike; he realized his mistake. Starting to tug at the trigger again, he remembered that the gun was empty and made a sideward swing instead.