The four men had been told to comb the alleyway, to make sure no one was hidden there. In leaving, they were to come in pairs. Seligman, should he be forced to flee alone, was to swing the bag which held his tools — and which, Macklin hoped, would later contain the swag.
The gunmen had been surprised at Macklin’s insistence on these rules. They did not know that their chief intended to be on the scene, watching with hawklike eye from across the street. For they had been told nothing concerning The Shadow.
MACKLIN did not know how the men had stationed themselves. He tried to picture their positions, but failed in the attempt, even though he aided his imagination with another swallow of liquor.
He satisfied himself with the knowledge that there were four good guns all ready for any person who might creep down that alleyway. There could be only one who might enter. That was The Shadow. No other person could have business there.
The man in the car gripped the handle of his automatic. He realized that Doctor Palermo was a keen analyst. Macklin, obeying orders, was not here for any idle purpose. Something warned him that the crucial scene might take place outside that alleyway.
Well, his title of “Gunner” was one that he had earned. Day or night, drunk or sober, Macklin was a dead shot.
If The Shadow appeared tonight, he would have to enter the alley and leave it. Macklin laughed a hollow laugh. He could picture The Shadow entering, but not leaving!
While the man in the car waited patiently, knowing that Louie Seligman was taking his time on the job, a very ordinary occurrence was taking place at the Larchmore Hotel.
A gentleman named George Clarendon was expressing his regrets because he was forced to leave so early. The girl to whom he spoke seemed quite disappointed after his departure. She did not return to the dance floor, where the hilarious party was at its height.
Instead, she went to a telephone booth and called a number. What she said, and what occurred because of it, played a very important part in the career of Gunner Macklin.
HALF an hour had gone by when the man in the automobile became suddenly alert. He fancied that he had seen something across the street near the alley. He raised his automatic while he watched.
Light, trembling shadows clung to the wall of the house next to the Hoetzel home. They seemed like living shadows — particularly one, blacker than the rest.
Gunner hesitated. He was looking for a shadow called The Shadow. He expected it to be elusive, but at least more than a vague phantom. He was ready to fire; but he knew that a single foolish shot would cause trouble for the four men in the alleyway.
The shadow that he was watching seemed like a human shadow. Macklin strained his eyes to find the form to which it belonged.
He was unsuccessful.
The shadow was motionless now. It began to move as though swayed by the slight wind. It seemed to slide along the wall toward the alley.
Still Macklin waited. His gun was trained on the opening of the alley; his finger was trembling on the trigger.
The shadow was in front of the alley. Little by little it was gliding into the darkness. Macklin clenched his teeth. The man must follow the shadow, he knew. Despite that fact, the man was still invisible.
The shadow merged with the blackness. It was gone.
To Macklin came the incredible realization that the man had gone with it. Before his eyes The Shadow had entered the trap! The phantom shape had been a living man!
Macklin expected to hear the shots of automatics. But he waited in vain. Evidently The Shadow had not reached the four men beside the open window. They would surely have detected his presence. It would have been impossible for the one man to have overpowered the four. Why was there no action?
Minutes were ticking by; The Shadow had not reappeared.
It was then that Gunner Macklin had a flash of revelation. A chance thought entered his mind; it began a chain of ideas that revealed the startling truth.
Unless The Shadow might be foolishly waiting at the opening of the alley, he must have joined the four men by the window. Macklin was positive that his own gangsters were loyal but he suddenly suspected the gunmen from Chicago. He visualized a scene that was remarkably correct.
Bull Goldman and Carver Brill lulled to indifference by the apparent watchfulness of the Chicago gunmen.
The Shadow, creeping down the alley, and entering the low window unmolested.
Macklin suppressed a cry of rage. He had been double-crossed!
As if in answer to his suspicions, a sound came from the alley. It was not the sound of a gun; instead it was a mocking laugh, uttered by some invisible being. Then came shots; and the laugh was repeated.
Four men dashed from the alleyway. Macklin counted them as they turned down the street. He could not tell them apart in the darkness; but he knew they were his four men — two true, and two double-crossers.
Macklin waited. He could seek vengeance on the Chicago men later. Now he had a score to settle with The Shadow.
A POLICE siren sounded from the head of the street. It could not have arrived so quickly if the shots had brought it. Something must have happened in that house.
The answer flashed through Macklin’s brain. The Shadow had overpowered Louie Seligman at work and had called up the police. Then he had mocked the men in the alley, laughing at them from the room within the building.
The shots had been fired through the window by Goldman and Brill, but they had been foolish, wasted shots.
The approach of the patrol only served to encourage. Macklin. He felt sure The Shadow would come out before the police arrived.
Here, in the darkness, he felt safe for the moment. Still, he would leave nothing to chance. He slipped the car into gear and placed his foot on the starter.
He saw a shadow across the street. It seemed to grow from the sidewalk in front of the alley. It was taking on a human shape, moving toward the building away from the Hoetzel house.
The patrol was coming closer.
Gunner Macklin started his car. It rolled from the parking space, and he shot it into high gear. He steered with his left hand, bearing directly toward the spot where he could still see the moving shadow. The front wheel grazed the curb on the opposite side of the street.
Macklin, his teeth clenched in triumph, leaned suddenly from the side of the car, his automatic in his right hand. He fired once — then again — and his bullets were flattened against the wall of the building. It was then that he saw The Shadow.
The headlights of the car illuminated the blackness of the wall. Revealed in the glare was a man in black — a silent, motionless figure, garbed in long cloak and broad-brimmed hat.
There was a sparkle beneath that hat-brim, as though the headlights were shining into two brilliant eyes.
By a strange twist of fate, Gunner Macklin had accomplished the unexpected. He had disclosed The Shadow, that dread phantom of the underworld. For the first time in the annals of gangdom, The Shadow had been unable to slip into some black crevice where the eye could not discern him.
The Shadow was on the spot!
Gunner Macklin, of unerring aim, had found his opportunity. His only mistake had been his first two shots. They had served as a warning.
Already, as Macklin was swinging his automatic directly at The Shadow, there was a motion of one of the black-clad arms. A flash of flame came from the wall. A second bullet. Then a third.
The first shot struck Gunner Macklin’s wrist just as his finger pressed the trigger of his automatic. The hand dropped as the bullet left the gun.
The second shot struck Macklin’s forearm. The third messenger from The Shadow’s pistol buried itself below Gunner’s shoulder. Then the car swung by the spot where The Shadow stood.