Wild viciousness had gripped Craig Jollister. In one instant, the man had gained the power of a living demon. His sole desire was to overwhelm this cloaked antagonist. Inspired by his fury, Jollister drove The Shadow hard against the wall. He forced cloaked arms upward. The Shadow’s slouch hat fell to the floor.
One hand free, Jollister drove a big fist to beat down The Shadow’s guard. The Shadow warded off the blow and with the action, performed a powerful twist. Jollister had jolted his adversary with that first drive; had he kept up his throttling tactics, he would have held the advantage. But his desire to send home a punch proved damaging to his chances.
Though momentarily groggy, The Shadow was able to react when Jollister loosed his clutch. In the interval that accounted for the punch, The Shadow’s twist began. Slugging wide, Jollister recovered and tried to make up for his mistake. He grappled furiously to stop the foe who was slipping from his grasp.
The Shadow’s body slumped; then came upward, rigid. Gloved hands caught Jollister beneath the arms; an upward driving head drove back Jollister’s chin. Before Jollister could tighten his arms about The Shadow’s body, the cloaked fighter sent his foe straight up toward the ceiling.
THE SHADOW’S motion ended with a jerk. Jollister shot head forward, arms outstretched. A hoarse cry ended on his lips as he thudded to the floor. His hands failed to break the blow as his head reached the corner wall.
Half stooping, The Shadow regained his slouch hat and placed it upon his head. He arose and stepped to where Jollister lay. The vault expert had rolled face upward; his lips were rigid with the vicious twist that had marked Jollister’s spring to action.
The plunge had been sufficient to end Jollister’s flight; the blow that had followed his overthrow had left him stunned and helpless. It would be minutes before Jollister could revive; in that space, other work must be accomplished by The Shadow.
Hoisting Jollister’s big form, The Shadow carried the man into a darkened room. There he placed his adversary upon a bed. Jollister gave a deep groan; then subsided. The Shadow went back toward the outer room.
He stopped abruptly as he reached the fringe of light. That groan of Jollister’s had produced the unexpected. By merest chance, it had drowned a slight sound from the outer room. The Shadow, unsuspecting danger’s approach, had stepped squarely into the field of a new foe.
The outer door had opened. Halfway in the room was Cady. The stooped crook must have heard sounds of the fray, for he was crouching, with ready revolver, watching that door to the inner room.
Gun leveled, Cady had the doorway covered. He was waiting for someone to appear. But when he saw The Shadow, a quick twitch came to his ratlike face. Cady gasped an oath; his finger faltered off the trigger.
Cady was startled by the suddenness of the foe’s arrival. He had heard no approach; to his beady eyes, The Shadow had materialized like a living specter. That was the first factor that caught Cady off guard.
The second was the rat-faced crook’s recognition of the enemy with whom he had to deal.
Clink Huron had mentioned nothing of The Shadow. Good reason, for not even Clink, though higher up than Cady, had any knowledge of The Shadow’s presence in the game. Cady, thought a shrewd worker, had a dash of yellow.
It showed in this crisis. A meeting with The Shadow was not to Cady’s liking. Instinctively, the rat dropped back as he steadied his failing finger on the cold trigger that was his sole reliance.
Had The Shadow reached for an automatic, Cady would have fired. Some human gesture on The Shadow’s part was the one assurance that the crook needed. Caught on the threshold of the inner room, The Shadow, himself, was in dilemma. His hesitation, however, lasted only for the slightest fraction of a second.
A SILENT bolt of blackness, The Shadow sprang forward in one mammoth leap. His cloak swished wide; its crimson lining flashed in the dull light. His stroke caught Cady on the instant of action. The crook broke at sight of the living avalanche.
Wildly, Cady scrambled for the door; catching the frame of the outer portal with his left hand, he turned to aim savagely with his right. Frenzied, he wanted to pump hot slugs from his gun; but his chance was gone. The Shadow was upon him.
One black-gloved fist gripped Cady’s wrist. The other sped for the crook’s throat. A gargle was the only sound that Cady made as his head went crashing against the door frame. Uptwisted fingers loosened.
The revolver slipped from Cady’s grasp. The rat-faced crook slumped helpless to the floor.
The Shadow’s right hand shot beneath his cloak; as it emerged, whisking an automatic, the black-clad fighter wheeled. Full about, spinning to the center of the room — such was The Shadow’s course. The move came just in time.
A hulking foeman was springing in from the hall. Cooler Caplan, picked by Clink Huron as Cady’s running mate, was here to back up his fallen pal. Clink had chosen Cooler with a reason. This big gorilla was noted for his readiness with a gat.
Cady had left Cooler in the hall, to be ready with aid. Cooler was here, uncalled, a huge revolver bulging from his fist. That .45 was a murderous weapon; Cooler had used the big “smoke-wagon” often in the past.
Sight of The Shadow was no deterrent to Cooler Caplan. He had heard Cady’s scuffle; he had piled in to aim for the first person whom he encountered. Springing over Cady’s form, the big killer lunged for the whirling figure in the center of the room. With a hideous snarl, he pressed trigger.
At the same instant, The Shadow fired. Two shots sounded as one. Flame flashed from both .45s, revolver and automatic. Zinging bullets passed in air. Two figures came to a halt.
The Shadow stopped, five paces from the spot where he had been when Cooler fired. The crook had been too quick in aim at that elusive target. His bullet had whizzed through the folds of the black cloak.
Missing The Shadow’s body, it had found lodgment in the wall by the window.
But Cooler’s halt came instantly. Stopped in his forward lunge, the would-be killer jolted upward. Both hands clamped to his chest; his right released the smoke-wagon and let the big gun clatter to the floor.
Blood stained Cooler’s fingers as his lips spat incoherent words. Eyes bulged above an ugly, twisted nose. Knees sagged, then gave. Cooler sprawled forward and flattened to the floor.
THE SHADOW placed a smoking automatic beneath his cloak. Standing in the mellow light, he surveyed the scene before him. He had dealt with three contestants in swift succession. Each conflict had led to another.
Craig Jollister had furnished unexpected opposition. The Shadow had come here to approach him unaware. Had the surprise been as compete as The Shadow had planned, Jollister would have offered no resistance.
Cady had gained a lucky break. The Shadow had turned the tables with an unexpected stroke, based upon his recognition of the fellow’s yellowness.
Cooler had driven in with murderous intent. Gun against gun had been the only course. The Shadow had slain a killer who deserved to die. The Shadow’s one regret was that shots had proven necessary.
Silence had been his watchword on this expedition. He had come to change events at Jollister’s without commotion. To stop Jollister’s departure; to overpower Cady; then Cooler — such had been The Shadow’s purpose.
Yet, as The Shadow listened, he could hear no distant shouts. No scurry of footsteps. The lack of tenants in this wing; the deserted house next door — those were fortunate factors. Apparently the simultaneous gun shots had not peen heard outside.
The Shadow laughed grimly. His course was undisturbed. Striding toward the door, he stopped by the floor lamp. He pulled the cord again and again. Four times the light blinked; then remained on. The Shadow glided to the room wherein he had placed Craig Jollister.