Calban backed as he spoke. Petrified, Keith made no move. Faced by death, the research lawyer expected the shot of doom. But as he stared, Keith was amazed to see a look of terror creeping over Whitey Calban’s face.
The mobleader’s hand was trembling. His eyes were fixed on a spot beyond Keith’s head. A slight sound had made the killer stare in that direction. His trigger finger had been stayed by the menace which now loomed before him.
Blackness had moved forward from the door on the right. Before Calban’s bulging eyes, darkness had taken living shape. A being clad in black had materialized itself. Burning eyes were staring from beneath a hat-brim. A fist that protruded from an inky cloak was holding a huge automatic.
The muzzle of the gun was straight toward Whitey Calban. The would-be killer was at the mercy of the being who held the gun. Fear gripped the gangleader. He had been caught on the verge of brutal murder by a foeman who showed no mercy to men of evil.
Twitching lips, blinking eyes, shaking hands — these were proofs that Whitey Calban had recognized the relentless enemy who had him covered. Helpless, the killer was staring into the eyes of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XV
CROOKS UNITE
TRANSFIXED by sight of that weird shape before him, Whitey Calban could make no utterance. In dulled fashion, the murderer realized that The Shadow must have learned his plans. The master of vengeance had entered this room by the bay window. He had chosen a darkened spot to lie in wait for the coming killer.
Curtains! Calban could see them for himself. Whether he tried to kill the lawyer or whether he made a futile effort to do battle with The Shadow, Calban knew that the result would be the same. Covered by The Shadow’s automatic, Calban realized that he had no chance. The Shadow would surely beat him to the shot.
Kingsley Keith was still trembling. The lawyer was bewildered by the change that had come over his murderous visitor. He could grasp no explanation for Calban’s sudden weakening.
There was another, too, who wondered at Calban’s fright. The door at the left of the bookcase had opened. Ace Feldon, with Steve Quigg at his elbow, was peering into the lighted room. The gangleader who despised Whitey Calban had a gun in readiness.
“Plug him, Ace,” Quigg was whispering. “Now’s your chance.”
“I’m lettin’ him get the lawyer first,” returned Ace, also in a whisper. “That’s what he’s here for. But I can’t figure it, Steve. Look. He’s standin’ there like a dummy—”
Ace eased the door that Steve might see. The minion stared in wonderment. Neither Feldon nor Quigg could see The Shadow. Conversely, The Shadow could not observe the door through which the armed men were peering. Kingsley Keith was within Feldon’s view, however. That was why the gangleader could not understand Calban’s sudden terror.
Before Ace could make further comment, the startling situation was explained. A sound came from the book-lined office. Hollow tones made Whitey Calban quiver; they brought a grim look to Ace Feldon’s face.
The Shadow, moving forward, had delivered his mocking laugh. Rising whispers rose to a shuddering, chill-provoking taunt. It was The Shadow’s answer to the threat that Whitey Calban had handed Kingsley Keith. It was the token that presaged swift death to a murderer who deserved such fate.
Death! Calban saw it in the glint of The Shadow’s eyes. The crook dropped his gun arm as he cowered away from the muzzle of The Shadow’s automatic. The advancing form loomed like a mammoth of vengeance as The Shadow closed the space between himself and the table beyond which Whitey Calban stood.
FROM his hidden post, Ace Feldon saw The Shadow. In that brief instant of recognition, the watching mobleader was gripped with furious hatred. Ace, like Whitey, was of the underworld. The Shadow, common enemy of gangdom, was the one enemy whose presence could unite all crooks. Ace Feldon’s feud with Whitey Calban was forgotten.
Tigerlike, Ace sprang into the office. As he flung the door inward before him, the fuming mobleader brandished his gat and aimed point-blank for The Shadow. With an oath upon his lips, Ace was set to kill the foe whom all scumland feared.
The Shadow whirled instinctively. As his eyes saw the gleaming muzzle of Feldon’s revolver, the master fighter dropped as he twisted. This was the fadeaway that he had so artfully performed before the gun-barrels of other gangland foes. In Ace, however, The Shadow had met an adversary who was prepared for such an action.
Despite his frenzied eagerness, Ace had swung to a direct aim. His finger paused upon the hair-trigger of the revolver, while his hand swung the gun along with The Shadow’s sidewise, downward shift. Ace was aiming low, confident that with his advantage he could surely beat The Shadow to the shot.
A factor intervened. The Shadow, instinctive in the face of danger, had chosen more than a mere change of position to aid him in this unexpected emergency. In his whirling fadeaway, he disappeared from Feldon’s view, just beyond the seated form of Kingsley Keith.
In this action, The Shadow was seeking to save the lawyer’s life, not to jeopardize Keith’s safety. Well did he realize that this new intruder was out to get his own life, not Keith’s. The Shadow knew that Feldon would not waste bullets on a helpless man while seeking to finish the menace of the underworld.
The Shadow was right. Feldon’s finger stopped at the very point of firing. Keith was in the path of the turning gun muzzle just as Ace was about to loose his shot. With a swift spring, Ace headed for the table, to get his aim beyond the angle of Keith’s seated body.
The act was his undoing. The Shadow, too, was moving, in the direction opposite to Feldon. But where the gangleader, a dozen feet from Keith, was following an arc that might have represented the rim of a wheel, The Shadow was using the lawyer’s body as a hub. His gun-filled fist swung into view from the lawyer’s right as Ace still aimed beyond Keith’s left. The Shadow fired.
The shot winged Feldon. The gangleader’s leap ended in a lurch against the table. Ace sprawled across the surface, poised upon the far corner and went crumpling to the floor. His gun, flying from his hand, skidded past the spot where Whitey Calban stood.
Whitey had been rigid. The Shadow’s drop had caught his eye; then he had turned to see Ace Feldon’s surge. The burst of The Shadow’s automatic brought him to his senses. Whitey, much though he sought The Shadow’s death, had all the stubbornness of a mechanical killer. He was anxious to get Kingsley Keith, the man whom he had come to slay.
DROPPING toward the floor, he planked his right arm on the table, to loose quick shots in the direction where both The Shadow and the lawyer were located. Where Ace had failed by seeking The Shadow only, Whitey was ready to reach the black-clad warrior by first mowing down the blockading human who sat between.
The Shadow had not forgotten Whitey. He was coming up as the gangleader dropped. The automatic thundered through the room. The Shadow had picked the quickest target — the gleam of Whitey’s gun. He did not hit the bull’s eye, but his shot sufficed. The bullet clipped Whitey Calban’s forearm.
Whitey fell backward, groaning. Instinctively, he clapped his left hand to his right wrist, leaving his revolver useless on the table. Beyond the heavy piece of furniture, the crippled gangleader was out of The Shadow’s range. The black-garbed victor did not attempt to follow up his shot. There was another man with whom he had to deal.
Steve Quigg had not seen the reason for Ace Feldon’s inward surge. Steve, playing a two-way game, had purposely kept out of sight to avoid Whitey Calban, who did not know Steve was Feldon’s spy. When Ace fell and Steve saw Whitey aim, the situation changed. Jumping in from the door, Steve turned toward the bookcase in back of Kingsley Keith just in time to see the flash of The Shadow’s .45.