One block away, the cab wheeled right beneath an elevated structure. As it did, a rakish touring car came roaring down the avenue, to take up the taxi’s trail. The first of Spark Ganza’s crew had arrived; they had seen the taxi’s speed and were suspicious of it. One of several cars, this crook-manned machine had happened upon a lucky chase.
As the touring car neared the corner, a coupe drifted from the side street, following in the taxi’s wake. For the last few minutes, this coupe had been parked near the Maribar Hotel. It had moved from the curb just as the taxi passed.
A long arm thrust itself from beside the coupe’s steering wheel. A steady hand aimed an automatic for the touring car. A big.45 spoke its opening shot. A bullet shattered the windshield of the thug-manned automobile. The driver veered the car, to swing inside an elevated pillar.
A pair of men shouted vicious challenge as they turned a machine gun toward the coupe. They were answered by a fierce, strident laugh, accompanied by three staccato reports from the automatic that had fired the first shot. Bullets found the machine gunners. One man sagged; the other half dived from the car. As the crook at the wheel swung wildly toward the side street, the leaning machine gunner was precipitated to the paving stones.
THE SHADOW had intercepted the first of Spark Ganza’s death cars. A wild-eyed hoodlum had resorted to flight. Bouncing over a curb, the touring car sped eastward, away from the direction of the Maribar Hotel; off to a course far different from the one that the taxicab had taken.
Those gunshots, however, were a token that would draw men of crime. The Shadow knew it as he wheeled his coupe to the curb. Swinging from the car, he formed a long, tall figure by the running board. Though hatless, cloakless, his dark clothing served him. Between his car and the gloom beneath the elevated he was in a position where no glare revealed his waiting form.
Two cars were thundering toward the focal point. One, a sedan, was coming down the avenue. The other, a touring car, had taken the street in front of the Maribar Hotel and was riding east to join the attack. The double odds failed before the two cars reached The Shadow.
Shots echoed from a doorway on the side street. The Shadow’s agents had taken cover; they were ready with a barrage as the touring car passed. Their shots winged the driver. The touring car hurtled toward the corner, mounted the curb and smashed through a plate-glass window that marked an empty store front. Crooks sprawled to the sidewalk, their machine gun still in the car. They rolled for cover, dazed.
At that moment, the sedan neared The Shadow. It was coming on guesswork only. The thugs at the windows knew that The Shadow was somewhere about. They were not expecting him when he appeared. Mounting the running board of his coupe, The Shadow opened a two-gun bombardment as the sedan hit the crossing.
Crooks ducked as a withering fire hailed through the windows of the sedan. The man at the wheel crouched low; jabbing the accelerator, he weaved between the “el” pillars, making full speed down the avenue. The Shadow let him take his course, for the machine gunners were opening wild shots. Directed high by crouching men, the rattling gun sprayed the second-story fronts of buildings.
The sedan had passed, its menace temporarily gone. The Shadow, however, was determined to halt it, whether its driver sought flight or not. Aiming quickly, he boomed both guns for the rear of the car. One bullet punctured the gasoline tank. Another burst a rear tire. The sedan skidded, jolted, cracked an elevated pillar. Doors opened; scattering thugs dived everywhere for cover.
No other cars came. There was good reason why they did not appear. Sirens were wailing from every direction. Police cars were surging upon the scene. The Shadow was back in his coupe. His agents had found a passage beside their doorway. Patrol cars, bucking traffic, were riding up to chase the fleeing thugs. The fight had become the law’s, by The Shadow’s design. He had found time, en route to the Maribar Hotel, to telephone a tip-off to headquarters.
THE SHADOW had named the exact spot where battle would commence; namely, the corner beneath the elevated. Police had converged upon the spot, to find their work ready for them. Already, the police were pursuing the first car with which The Shadow had done battle. Two more machines were wrecked. Officers were piling down upon the thugs who had sprawled from those crippled cars.
Desperately, crooks gave battle; but the odds were all against them. Thugs fell as they fired; others surrendered to the law. In the lull that followed, distant sirens wailed, accompanied by faint shots that receded beyond hearing distance.
Another car – the last – with Spark Ganza at its wheel, had come up against the police. Giving battle as they fled, the last crooks were speeding away from the vicinity that they had come to cover.
All chance of trailing Furbish’s taxi was ended. Those crooks would be lucky if they managed to escape.
As traffic nosed timidly along the avenue, The Shadow started his coupe. He rode one block southward, passing the wreck of the sedan; then wheeled to the right, found the next avenue and circled around in front of the Maribar Hotel.
All was quiet there. The inside men were glad that they had not mixed in the outside fray.
Nearing the corner, overhung by the elevated, The Shadow saw the smashed, abandoned touring car that stood as mute evidence of the efficient work his agents had performed. Harry and Cliff had made a comfortable departure.
Passing beneath the elevated, The Shadow delivered a whispered laugh – sardonic mirth that was confined to the interior of his coupe. He had shown his enemies how useless odds could be to them. He had escaped their trap. He had arranged the visit between Furbish and Rowden. He had covered Furbish’s departure after a completed transaction.
All this, despite Malfort’s cunning schemes. Bad word would reach the supercrook tonight; word that his trap had failed, that his hordes were scattered. Malfort’s methods had proven futile against The Shadow’s plans.
More than ever before would Malfort know that to succeed in crime, he would first have to quell The Shadow.
With a man of Malfort’s insidious moods, that could mean trouble.
Even to The Shadow.
CHAPTER XIV – MALFORT PLANS ACTION
MORNING found Kenneth Malfort seated in his living room. The fire was crackling with fresh logs that Wardlock had added. There was added light from lamps about the room; but no daylight penetrated. Every window of the room was shuttered.
Malfort was reading the morning newspaper, with their scare-head stories of last night’s battle. The police had completely routed a criminal horde. Half a dozen thugs had fallen in the fight; twice that number had been captured. One carload of thugs only, had made a get-away.
Spark Ganza had been in that fugitive car. Spark was a wanted man. Though his henchmen had not talked, they had been identified as cronies of Spark Ganza. The law was on the lookout for Malfort’s lieutenant.
The printed reports did not seem to perturb Malfort. As he read new details, the master crook merely smiled. His smirk, however, was an ugly one. Wardlock, when he noted Malfort’s face, was quick to display a grin of his own. The moon-faced secretary knew his master’s moods.
Forced to duel with The Shadow, Malfort had accepted the challenge with confidence. He had been too confident, from Wardlock’s view. Double defeat had come to Malfort; the experience had changed his opinions of The Shadow as an adversary. That, as Wardlock saw it, was fortunate. From long service, the secretary knew that Malfort was always at his best on the rebound.
After all, The Shadow had gained no lead to Malfort himself. The master crook was as secure as before. All that troubled Wardlock was the fact that Malfort could no longer summon a full crew of thugs. Spark Ganza, wanted by the law, would have to make out with his few remaining followers.