Seeing The Shadow’s form against a whitened surface, Chuck Haggart came up above his fire plug.
From across the street, the vicious mobleader aimed to kill.
A shout. Cliff Marsland had spied the leader. With his cry, Cliff fired. A bullet plunked the fire plug. A second shot whistled close by Chuck’s ear. This bit of marksmanship was Hawkeye’s contribution.
Chuck forgot The Shadow.
It was well he did; for The Shadow had swerved to open fire with his agents. Cliff and Hawkeye had followed with second shots. One bullet ricocheted from the fire plug; another nicked the curb by Chuck’s feet. The mobleader was diving for shelter.
Chuck had chosen a doorway at the top of white stone steps. Beside it was a grilled banister, with an iron knob for newel post. The Shadow’s following aim ended with a trigger squeeze. Luck favored Chuck.
The Shadow’s shot was aimed directly for the mobleader just as Chuck hit the steps. The slug from the automatic bashed against that iron knob. A chance obstruction had saved the mobleader. Chuck dived through the doorway above the steps.
Despite the fierceness of the fray, the time element had been brief. Opening shots had brought response from The Shadow’s agents. Quick-spreading mobsters had followed with their rush; into it had come The Shadow to deliver doom.
Hard upon their chief’s arrival, The Shadow’s agents had made their sortie. Battle had come, whirled about, and gone with the swiftness of a twisting cyclone. Devastation in the shape of flattened mobsters lay in the wake of this gunfire storm.
TO Rex Brodford, crouched on the floor of the cab, death had seemed imminent. Guns had barked from everywhere. Suddenly they had lulled. With that moment, Rex saw chance for better safety. Opening the door of the cab, he sprang to the sidewalk.
He wanted to make that alleyway which the driver had entered. But as he hit the sidewalk, Rex realized that he had made a misstep. Two men came pouncing upon him. One grappled while the other aimed.
Two last minions of Chuck Haggart. The first, his bullets spent, had dropped into a doorway near the cab; the other, gun still loaded, had leaped behind the taxi itself. They were still out to kill; and The Shadow was no longer in view. For in his whirl toward Chuck Haggart, The Shadow had sprung out into the street.
Rex wrested free from his first antagonist. He thumped up against the cab and strove to regain the door that he had opened. The second man drove in upon him, aiming his revolver pointblank for Rex’s head.
Then came a shot from the street side of the cab.
The Shadow had reached that spot. Seeing the mobster bent on death, he had aimed straight through the shattered windows. The roar of his gun spelled doom. The aiming gunman sprawled with gun unfired.
Rex leaped away at the sound of the shot. The first thug drove in upon him and lashed a hard stroke with his bulletless gun. The blow clipped Rex on the side of the skull. The young man went staggering, seeking to regain his balance, half groggy from the smash.
The mobster leaped to deliver another blow. His opportunity never came. Two automatics spoke at once. One from the alleyway; the other through the cab. Harry Vincent had fired with The Shadow. Both aimers found their mark.
With fingers slipping from the fender of the cab, Rex Brodford was about to topple headlong into the gutter when Harry Vincent arrived to grab him. As he caught the man’s limp form, Harry heard shrill whistles from both ends of the street.
The police were coming. For a moment, the situation struck Harry with stunning force. Then, from beside him, Harry heard a hissed order. He looked up to see The Shadow.
Gripping Rex Brodford, the cloaked chief started toward Moe’s cab. Harry aided in the carrying.
They shoved Rex aboard. Harry clambered in. The Shadow whispered a sharp order to Moe. The wise-faced taximan came up behind his wheel, grinning. Moe shoved the cab into reverse.
Harry caught a glimpse of The Shadow swinging toward the bullet-riddled cab that Rex had left. He saw the tall form stop; then swing about, bringing a bag from the front seat. Then Moe’s cab shot suddenly forward. It climbed the curb on the right side of the thoroughfare.
The Shadow hurled the bag aboard as Moe shifted gear. Then Moe’s cab went roaring down that narrow alleyway, a space that was no more than a wide foot passage, heading for the lights of the Club Renaldo.
SWISHES from stone walls. The sides of the cab were skimming close against the buildings. To Harry, it was a mad flight as he stared forward, with Rex Brodford lying limp on the seat beside him.
Startled pedestrians dived for cover as Moe’s cab shot out across the sidewalk of the next street.
Swinging past the front of the Club Renaldo, Moe veered with all his strength. Wheels climbed the curb on the opposite side of the street. The cab was on the verge of toppling.
Then it righted. As police whistles shrilled, Moe kept on. Speeding westward, he was cutting away from the danger zone. He swung left into Tenth Avenue traffic. Twisting between two cars, he avoided notice of a police car coming in the opposite direction.
Back on the street behind the Club Renaldo, bluecoats had thronged in upon a scene of battle. They were viewing the sprawled figures of mobsters, killed and wounded, the remnants of the fierce fray that had been waged.
No others could be seen. Like Chuck Haggart, Cliff and Hawkeye had taken a path through the old building with the white steps. Too late to overtake the fleeing mobleader, they had at least gained the clear.
Only one participant. remained close by; and he was unseen. From a blackened doorway fifty feet away, The Shadow was standing, blotted and motionless — viewing the forces of the law.
Patrol cars were coming up, all converging at the same spot, close by the bullet-riddled cab. Excited talk was on; soon a search would begin. The Shadow found no need to linger further.
Gliding from his doorway, the cloaked victor kept close to building walls as he moved swiftly, fleetingly away from the scene where he and his aids had triumphed.
CHAPTER VII. ON THE LIMITED
REX BRODFORD awoke. He was dizzy, swaying. His mind held a confusion. Gunfire, fighting men, grogginess. Bright lights, darkness. Then motion, through darkness; and finally this awakening. He was still moving; but it was daylight now.
Blurred vision cleared. Rex found himself looking out through a window at a passing landscape. He was clad in pajamas, resting in the lower berth of a Pullman compartment. He wondered how he had arrived here.
A door opened. A young man stepped in from the passage and closed the door behind him. Rex saw a keen-cut face; with lips that wore a quiet, pleasant smile. Rex grinned weakly in response. “Where am I?” he questioned.
“Where you expected to be,” came the reply. “Traveling through Canada, over the Michigan Central.”
“And who are you?” asked Rex.
“My name is Vincent,” responded the other man. “Harry Vincent. A friend who happened along in time to help you out of a jam.”
Rex looked puzzled. Harry sat down on a chair and studied him. Then Harry spoke.
“You were in a mix-up,” explained Harry, “and it didn’t appear to be your fault. Mobsters fighting — the cab I was in landed there just at the end of the brawl. I saw some fellow crack you with a gun.”
“That was when I tried to get out of the cab the second time,” recalled Rex. “After the firing had stopped.”
“I shoved you in my cab,” resumed Harry, “and brought your bag along. The driver I had was a real sort. He figured the same as I did — that you were a victim of unfortunate circumstances. I looked in your wallet for identification papers. I learned your name — Rex Brodford — and I found your tickets for this train.”