Harry dropped his right hand from the wheel. He touched the body of his companion.
“Easy,” came a whisper. “Watch the wheel. I’m all right.”
The man had divined Harry’s thoughts. Somehow Harry felt that this wild ride might have a happy ending. His companion had shown amazing strength during the battle in the lunch wagon. Perhaps in the next emergency he would again display some unexpected power. That would be soon, Harry knew, for the pursuers had lost no ground.
The road began to wind. The course was slightly uphill. It was harder to control the car, but it was an unexpected advantage for the occupants of the fleeing coupe. As a target, their car was more elusive than before.
The highway now curved steadily to the left. The voice spoke beside Harry.
“Keep to the left of the road.”
This was strange advice. It would throw them into the path of any car that might be coming from the opposite direction. Yet Harry obeyed. The voice had carried a command. It was different from the voice of the man who had fought in the lunch wagon. It sounded like a voice that Vincent had heard before - where, he could not recall, for his mind was feverish from strain.
The voice spoke again - an instant later.
“Close to the left.”
The turn in the read was becoming sharper. Harry held tightly to the wheel. There was a hill at the left, and it was difficult to stay close. But the lights of the pursuing car were almost lost behind the bend.
Another command from Harry’s right.
“Use your brakes. A sharp turn to the left. Take it close. Slow down quickly.”
Harry could only obey. He jammed the brake and the speed of the car suddenly decreased. He was at the sharp turn; it curved almost at right angles. Here, at the left of the road, Harry could not have controlled the car but for the slackened speed. At that, the momentum seemed to draw to the right, where the broad highway was banked, and he pushed the brakes on again - almost stopping the car.
Then the roar was upon them. Swerving around the curve, the pursuing car came whirling at terrific speed. It was high on the banked-up road, its position at the right giving it the advantage which Harry had neglected.
The gangsters could not have sighted the coupe until they were almost beside it; for as their huge sedan came up, Harry could hear cries of exultation. Instinctively, he looked to his right and saw the big machine beside him - on the other side of the road, close to the white rail fence. Then his companion leaned between him and the window. Harry saw the glint of steel; and a sharp shot came from the gun that had been wrested from the gangster in the lunch wagon.
There was another report from the sedan - a louder explosion. The big machine swayed; then crashed through the rail amid the clatter of breaking glass and shouts of terror. It hung there, precariously poised upon an embankment.
The realization of what had happened came to Harry as he pressed his foot upon the accelerator, and felt the coupe leap in response. With one well-timed stroke, his companion had disposed of the pursuing car, through strategy and skill. His single pistol shot had found its resting place in the left front tire of the big sedan! The tire had blown, and the driver had been helpless to save his speeding car from the crash that brought destruction!
He looked to his right. His companion was lost in the darkness. Some time during the flight, the man, without Harry’s knowledge, had removed his white coat and apron.
The road straightened suddenly; then curved to the right. Harry was on the proper side, and as he took the turn he automatically gave the car full speed. Then he gasped in sudden terror. Directly before him was a railroad crossing; across his pathway stood a freight train, scarcely fifty feet ahead.
He brought his foot to the brake pedal, but he knew that the operation was hopeless. A big box car seemed to grow before his eyes, and he bent his head for the certain crash. Then a hand appeared before him; the wheel was jerked violently to the right, and the car careened on two wheels as it was guided to a narrow road beside the freight train.
Harry’s head struck the post beside the window. He heard the click of the emergency brake, and he sank behind the wheel, exhausted and half stunned as the car came to a stop.
He felt himself being helped from the coupe. Then he was half lying on a wooden bench. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his forehead, as he breathed the cold night air and sought to steady his trembling nerves.
Harry opened his eyes and looked about him. He was sitting on the bench of a little station. The end of the freight train was rolling by; he could see lights in the caboose.
He stood up and saw the road down which the car had come, but the coupe was gone. The man who had thrice rescued him within the past hour had ridden away in Harry Vincent’s automobile!
Harry reached in his pocket and found the pad upon which he had inscribed the numbers of the code in Bingham’s safe. He scanned the top page by the light on the station platform.
The page that bore the code was gone!
In its place were carefully inscribed words, printed in pencil. The message was brief but clear:
“Train for New York in twenty minutes. Take it.”
Harry studied these words, his groggy mind pondering over their significance.
Harry realized that his copy of Bingham’s code had reached its proper destination. Instead of being called for at the Metrolite Hotel, it had been picked up on the way.
For the battler who had fought in the lunch wagon, who had sent the pursuing gangsters through the rail, who had snatched the coupe from what had seemed sure destruction, was none other - could have been none other - than The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXVII
THE CODE IS SOLVED
THE watchman outside the Laidlow house flashed his lantern across the lawn. Great, long shadows appeared beneath its gleam. The watchman was used to such shadows. They seemed to move and sway as he walked his course.
He flashed his light against a side window. All was darkness underneath. Shadowy darkness - thick darkness that seemed like something real.
The window was locked, but it was like many other windows in the house - easy to be opened if one would care to perform that action.
The watchman turned away. As his light was withdrawn, the black gloom moved up and obscured the window, and amidst the sable darkness the window opened silently.
It had been unlocked and opened before the watchman had traveled sixty feet.
Something was moving in the Laidlow house; moving silently, invisibly. A mysterious presence had entered the place. A clock struck one.
The tiny, penetrating ray of a pocket flashlight appeared in the library. The shades of the windows were down. The light could not have been seen from outside.
The light flashed along rows of books. There were many such rows in that library. They occupied the walls on two sides, from the ceiling down to the floor.
The light stopped. It came closer to the shelf and was focused on a single book. The volume was an abridged dictionary; one which must have been consulted often, for its leather back bore signs of considerable usage.
Tapering, well-shaped fingers appeared in the little disk of light. They were fingers with smooth-pointed nails. The fingers drew the dictionary from its position. The light disappeared.
A moment later it appeared again, this time shining upon the polished surface of a mahogany table. A hand placed the book beneath the glow; and two slips of paper fell on the table.
One sheet carried this numbered inscription:
“730-16; 457-20; 330-5; 543-26 605-39; 808-1; 457-20; 38-14; 840-28; 877-27; 101-13; 872-21; 838-10.”
The other sheet of paper was blank.
The hand turned the pages of the dictionary; not slowly nor rapidly, but easily. The book lay open at page 730.