The right hand made a sweep. The shapeless object transformed itself into a duplicate of Mullrick’s gray fedora. Up came the gloved hand. The Shadow’s black hat dropped backward between his shoulders and the wall. The collar of the black cloak moved downward.
Not even a gasp greeted the startling transformation. Unconsciously, heads moved. Joe Cardona, Donald Gershawl — the startled servants as well — stared from The Shadow to Harland Mullrick, who remained petrified in his chair.
They were viewing two faces that were the same! Harland Mullrick’s tanned countenance, with its shrewd, pointed features. This was the face that murderous men had seen. Those who had sought Harland Mullrick’s death had been completely deceived by The Shadow’s complete mastery of disguise!
The Shadow’s right hand reached behind his head. The gray fedora tipped forward above his made-up features. The discarded headpiece floated to the floor as the black slouch hat replaced it on The Shadow’s head. The collar of the cloak turned upward as gloved fingers pressed it. Only burning eyes remained in view where the duplicated countenance of Harland Mullrick had been before.
The Shadow’s right hand moved toward the folds of the black cloak. That action brought a return move from Donald Gershawl.
Encouraged by having seen a face which at least seemed human, fearing the consequences that were to follow the revelation of his evil plots, Gershawl grasped the edge of a wall panel with his finger-spread right hand. With a hoarse scream of mingled rage and terror, he called for aid.
A solid door shot upward to show the spiral stairway that led to the tower above. Out from the hiding place sprang a fierce ruffian who wielded a huge revolver. At his heels were two others of his ilk.
Slugs Raffney, the man who had dealt death at Donald Gershawl’s order, had been summoned to the assistance of his evil chief!
CHAPTER XXI
ONE AGAINST SIX
ONE against six; for the two servants, like the others, were men of Raffney’s gang. Harland Mullrick was unarmed. Joe Cardona was sent sprawling as the servant nearest him leaped forward upon him.
The spell was broken; guns were flashing in the hands of the pretended servants. Donald Gershawl was pulling an automatic from his pocket.
The swiftness of the attack meant nothing to The Shadow. His second gun was swinging on its outward course at the instant when Donald Gershawl released the door. Slugs Raffney and his pair of mobsmen were face to face with The Shadow. The mighty automatics boomed before a single mobsman could pull a trigger.
Those automatics pumped their lead into a close-massed trio. As Donald Gershawl, flourishing his automatic, leaped behind the three mobsmen, his summoned aids were already falling to the floor.
Two collapsed without a single shout. Slugs Raffney went down firing. His aim, broken by the shattering bullets that had struck his body, was futile. His shots whistled wide.
Ignoring Raffney and his dying shots, The Shadow swerved to meet the transformed servants. As one man fired, The Shadow’s body was swinging toward the wall. The bullet clipped the brim of the slouch hat. A triumphant laugh sounded with the boom of The Shadow’s left-hand automatic. The fake servant slumped to the floor.
Shots came from the entrance to the upper tower. Donald Gershawl had gained the shelter of the spiral stairway. He had aimed at Harland Mullrick, but the rescued man was already diving for the shelter of a huge chair.
Gershawl’s aim diverted. Out of The Shadow’s range of fire, he was shooting at Joe Cardona, rising from the floor. The detective was fumbling for his revolver. He stumbled as a bullet nicked his left shoulder.
Diagonally from the wall, just beyond the path of the shot which Donald Gershawl had delivered at Joe Cardona, was the second servant, aiming for The Shadow. A taunt resounded as the man fired and barely missed the wavering form in black. Instinctively, the servant moved forward, pressing the trigger as he came.
It was The Shadow’s ruse that succeeded. Dropping as the man fired, The Shadow heard the bullet pung the wall above his head. He fired in return. The fake servant twisted in agony, dropping upon one hand and knee. A second bullet and a third crashed into his contorted body. They did not come from The Shadow’s automatics. They were shots from Donald Gershawl’s gun!
The Shadow had staggered the servant directly in the path of Gershawl’s aim. Bullets that would certainly have reached Cardona, found mark in the body of Gershawl’s own henchman. Cardona, his life saved by The Shadow’s amazing strategy, managed to fire his gun and open fire on Gershawl.
THE murderous millionaire started up the stairway, to escape the detective’s fire. Flinging his automatics to the floor, The Shadow brought another brace of .45s from beneath his cloak. With vengeful stride, he swept in pursuit of the fleeing fiend, his guns held out before him.
Shots echoed with terrific thunder from the steel cylinder that encased the stairway. Gershawl, the thud of The Shadow’s bullets striking the metal steps about him, was fleeing to the open tower above.
Cardona, blood streaming from his wounded shoulder, had dropped to the floor. Harland Mullrick hurried forward to aid the sleuth who had now become his friend. Echoing shots from the staircase still persisted.
High on the open tower, crouched against the steel-railed parapet, Donald Gershawl was waiting for The Shadow. The plotter had gained his desired spot of safety. If he could slay his black-clad adversary, he still had a chance to further his evil schemes. He could then attack Cardona and Mullrick, in the penthouse below.
Silence from the head of the staircase. Had The Shadow given up the chase? Or was he lurking, awaiting Gershawl’s return?
It was pitch-black in this spot, more than six hundred feet above Manhattan. The night had clouded; a half gale was whistling about the summit of the huge skyscraper.
Reaching in his pocket, Gershawl produced a flashlight. He had gotten it for Slugs Raffney when he had stowed the gang leader on the stairway, at the time of Joe Cardona’s arrival. Raffney had not wanted it.
Click!
The press of the button threw a gleam of light upon the staircase. It revealed the crouched, advancing form of The Shadow! Shouting, Gershawl pulled the trigger of his automatic.
As the gun roared, a vicious thrust sent Gershawl’s hand upward. The Shadow had sprung. His automatics clattered as he caught the plotter in his grasp. His guns unaimed, The Shadow had made this leap for Gershawl’s arm. A moving shape of blackness, he blotted out the light which Gershawl still clutched.
With terrific force, Gershawl swung his right arm, seeking to strike The Shadow’s head with the gun. As Gershawl struck, The Shadow sent him twisting sidewise in the air. The plotter’s head struck an unseen post that rose perpendicularly above the rail.
The stunning blow was Gershawl’s doom. But for the impact, the financier would have managed to grasp the parapet as he struck it, on his side. Instead of stopping, his body, hurled with The Shadow’s powerful might, kept onward in its course to destruction.
Gershawl’s automatic clattered within the rail. The flashlight sailed outward. After it plunged Gershawl’s form. With the gleaming light marking his downward voyage to death, Gershawl, sprawling in the heavy wind, went to the final doom that he deserved.
THE SHADOW was standing by the parapet. His keen eyes marked the course of Gershawl’s fall. A dark object, tiny when viewed from the height, formed a puny blot upon the sidewalk far below. A tiny spark — the flashlight — disappeared as it arrived beyond the evil plotter’s shapeless body.