No longer was the sable-clad figure outlined against the wall. With the glare of the headlights gone, The Shadow had again become a portion of the darkness beside the street.
Pain and fear were overcoming Gunner Macklin’s rage. Now his one thought was of flight. Flight from The Shadow’s vengeance, from the patrol bearing down upon his car.
Steering with his one useful hand, Macklin drove like a madman. A taxicab shot in front of him at the corner. Macklin made a valiant effort to swerve his car, but his one hand lacked the necessary strength.
The cab veered away as the fast-moving automobile hit the curb and plunged against the side of a building. Macklin was thrown against the windshield. The police found him unconscious.
HALF an hour later, Gunner Macklin opened his eyes in the emergency ward of the Uptown Hospital.
The first face that he saw was that of Detective Steve Lang. The police officer’s expression was tinged with sarcasm.
“So,” he said ironically. “Gunner Macklin, eh? Playing around with Louie Seligman, the safecracker.
“We got the goods on you this time, Gunner. We got Louie where we want him. He’s just about ready to squeal, too. Whatta you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” retorted Macklin grimly.
“They say you’re going to pass out, Gunner,” returned the detective. “Better give us the lay before you go.”
Gunner Macklin closed his eyes. Steve Lang turned away in disgust. It was not the first time that he had tried to make a gangster talk, without success. As he faced the door, Lang’s face brightened with joy.
Into the room strode Jerry Haggerty, one of Lang’s confreres.
Jerry was the one man on the force who was ever able to make a mobster come clean.
“Let me talk to Gunner, here,” said Haggerty. “You be ready, Lang. I’m going to make him squeal.”
Haggerty leaned over the injured man.
“Look at me, Gunner,” he commanded in a harsh voice. “Got you at last, eh? Speak up!”
“Try and make me,” retorted Macklin, opening his eyes.
Haggerty leaned forward and whispered a few words into the man’s ears. Macklin’s jaw dropped. His eyes became glassy.
“How — how—” he could not overcome his stammer. “How did you know that?”
“You’ve been double-crossed, Gunner,” replied Haggerty. “There’s only one way to get the guy that did it. Tell us.”
“Palermo is The Shadow?” mumbled Macklin incredulously. “I can’t— I can’t believe it!”
“Don’t tell us what I told you,” said Haggerty, grimly addressing the injured man. “Tell us what you know.
“Begin a few months back. Tell us what happened in Florida.”
A look of hatred came over Gunner Macklin’s face. He could not figure how the detective knew of either Palermo or The Shadow.
He was only sure of one thing — that somehow he had been double-crossed. Now he was trying to build up facts in his bewildered brain. Haggerty stepped back to let Steve Lang sit close beside Macklin.
“I see it now!” screamed Gunner, trying to rise. “He told me last night— he told me we would have to get—” He sank back exhausted.
“I see it—” His voice was more quiet. “It was all a fake. He wanted to get rid of me, because I knew — I knew too much, and he didn’t need me any more. Fifteen grand, he paid me.”
“Begin with Florida,” came Haggerty’s voice.
MACKLIN’S eyes were shut. Had he seen the detective then, he might have confused his tall form with a figure clad in black that he had encountered not so long before. But Gunner Macklin was lapsing into unconsciousness.
“Go on with it, Steve,” said Haggerty. “I’m going outside a minute. I’ll be back.”
He went to the door and stood there waiting. A nurse entered, and approached Steve Lang.
“They telephoned to tell you that Detective Haggerty is coming up here,” she said.
“All right,” grunted Steve. Great stuff, he thought, to call up with such a message after Haggerty was already here.
But the man at the door seemed impressed by the word that the nurse had brought.
Gunner Macklin opened his eyes and began to speak.
“I’ll tell you everything, Steve,” he said. “I don’t think I’m going to die — but I’ll tell, just the same. I’ll begin when I was in Florida.” His voice became weak. “When — I was in Florida.”
An interne had entered the room, carrying a glass of medicine. He came directly to the bed, keeping his back toward the door so that his face was not seen by the tall man standing there.
“Let him drink this,” said the interne, speaking to Lang in a low voice. “He’ll be better then. He’ll talk, all right.”
He placed the glass to Gunner’s lips. The injured man gulped down the liquid. The interne turned away with the empty glass. He went out by another door, still keeping his back toward the spot where Jerry Haggerty stood.
Macklin sat up suddenly. His eyes brightened.
“I’ll talk now,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything, Steve.”
Lang looked toward the door just in time to see Haggerty step out. He called but the other detective ignored him.
Lang turned back to Gunner Macklin. The man’s testimony was important. Now was the time to get it.
“Down in Florida,” began Macklin glibly. “That was where I did a real job for this guy who double-crossed me.”
“What was his name?” inquired Steve Lang.
“His name?” gulped Macklin. “His name was Doc — Doc—”
The injured man pressed his hands to his chest. He tried to speak again, but his lips were soundless. He coughed suddenly, and collapsed.
The detective leaped to his feet. Some one entered the room. Lang turned and saw Jerry Haggerty.
“Hurry, Jerry,” exclaimed Lang. “He’s taken sick or something. Gee — I’m glad you came back. Where did you go?”
“Go?” echoed Haggerty. “What do you mean? Go? I just got here.” He pointed to the man in the bed.
“Do you think I can make him talk?”
Steve Lang was totally amazed. The situation seemed unexplainable. Then the unconscious condition of Gunner Macklin aroused the detective to action.
“Where’s that interne?” he demanded. “Ah!”—he saw a white-clad figure entering the door—”here he is.
Say, this patient’s passed out. You got another glassful of that stuff you just gave him?”
“That I just gave him?” queried the interne. “I haven’t been in here since you came.”
“Where’s the interne that was here?”
“I’m the only one.”
The interne looked at the form of Gunner Macklin. Then he turned to the two detectives.
“The man is dead,” he said solemnly, “and it looks to me as though he had been poisoned.”
ONCE again, The Shadow had failed to halt Palermo’s hand of death. Disguised as Jerry Haggerty, he had subtly urged Gunner Macklin into a confession.
But Palermo had foreseen the move. When he had heard from Thelda, he had come directly to the Uptown Hospital, knowing that any one injured near the Hoetzel home would be brought there by the police.
Disguised as an interne, he had been ready with the poisoned glass, hoping that The Shadow might be brought in wounded. Overhearing Macklin’s attempt to confess his crimes, Palermo had nipped the revelations by giving his own hireling the dose prepared for The Shadow.
With the arrival of the real Jerry Haggerty, The Shadow had disappeared. Palermo, his mission of death fulfilled, had left the hospital.
Gunner Macklin was dead, and two bewildered detectives and a mystified interne were the only ones remaining on the scene!
CHAPTER XII. THE NET TIGHTENS
Two men sat in a dark room, looking from the window. Opposite them was the brilliantly lighted front of the Marimba Apartments. The gorgeously uniformed doorman was making his nightly parade.