Turning, The Shadow brought the big fire extinguisher from its place on the wall. With strength regained, he came sweeping down the hallway, an avalanche in black. Powerful arms swung forward as The Shadow reached the door that led to the living room.
The fire extinguisher crashed the barrier with the driving force of a battle-ax. Straight for the bolted side, a super stroke delivered by a being of mighty will. Wood yielded to metal.
The Shadow’s terrific blow shattered bolts and woodwork. Ripped free, the door swung open on yielding hinges. The Shadow had struck it from an angle; the fire extinguisher, released, went hurtling through into the room beyond.
ERIC HILDROW turned as he heard the crash. Both revolvers unlimbered, the evil plotter was on the point of murder. A one-man firing squad, he had just delivered his final scornful speech to the men huddled helpless in the corner.
The big extinguisher was bounding straight toward Hildrow. Dropping back as he turned, the big shot avoided its path. Knowing that a menace lay behind, he aimed for the shattered doorway.
Hildrow’s revolvers spoke. Aiming for blackness, the crook found a living target. The Shadow, lunging through the door, had sprawled upon the floor. Hildrow’s lower gun clipped that same right shoulder. The Shadow rolled backward.
Hildrow fired again, a wide shot, as the left hand of The Shadow whipped into view. Then, as Hildrow came bounding upon his wounded prey, The Shadow’s automatic flashed. At close range, into an approaching target, its work was perfect.
Eric Hildrow seemed to poise in air. Then, crumbling, he rolled forward upon The Shadow’s prostrate form. Dead, the master plotter lay bulky upon the living avenger who had slain him.
In turning on The Shadow, Hildrow had instinctively relied on Stollart. The secretary, however, proved to be a poor man in the pinch. That was due, in part, to a quick cry from Harry Vincent that came as Hildrow launched his attack on The Shadow.
“Get Stollart!”
Vic Marquette followed Harry Vincent. Together, they sprang upon the hesitating secretary. Stollart staggered back against the wall, his arms driven upward. Harry wrenched an automatic from his clutch. Vic delivered a punch and grabbed for the other gun.
Harry turned quickly. The door from the inner hall had swung open. Marling was on the threshold. Harry knew he must be an enemy. The Shadow’s agent aimed; but Marling was beating him to it.
A roar from the floor. The Shadow, writhing from beneath Hildrow’s body, had swung his good arm upward. He was expecting Marling. His flashing automatic was directed toward that inner doorway.
Marling wavered; he tried to hold his aim. Then came Harry Vincent’s shot, straight for the lieutenant’s body. Mortally wounded by The Shadow’s slug, Marling succumbed upon the instant when Harry’s well-aimed bullet reached its mark.
Echoes subsided. Then, from below in the hotel, came muffled shots. Gunfire on the streets. A weary laugh from The Shadow. The police, deliberately drawn hither by Cliff Marsland’s mad race, were fighting Hildrow’s band.
All remaining aids had come with Marling. The Shadow had foreseen such action. Racing toward his goal, he had summoned the law to take care of these lesser foemen. The last of Eric Hildrow’s evil cohorts were encountering their doom.
WHEN Commander Joseph Dadren arrived at Senator Ross Releston’s apartment, he found the gray-haired statesman seated at his office desk. Releston greeted Dadren with a smile. On the desk lay Dadren’s plans, with the necessary tracings superimposed upon them.
“All is complete,” declared the senator. “Our enemies have been eliminated. Marquette, of the Secret Service, is here.” Releston turned to introduce Vic. “He and I shall keep the plans until to-morrow. Then we can send them to the Navy Department under proper guard.”
“But I intended to take them!” exclaimed Dadren.
“Unfortunately,” smiled the senator, “you cannot do so. You are wounded, commander.”
“Wounded?”
“You are supposed to be. But another person has undergone that trouble for you. The person who rescued you, commander. He came here, also, to deal with Eric Hildrow.”
“A serious wound?” inquired Dadren, anxiously, as he began to understand.
“The same shoulder,” replied Releston. “A bad wound, but one that should not prove serious. We thought it best, commander, to tell the police that you were the wounded man.
“There was a complication about a car coming through Washington at ninety miles an hour. That was settled easily, because the driver said the car was yours. Our patient — let us call him Commander Joseph Dadren — is resting comfortably under the care of his secretary, Harry Vincent.”
“And the physician says—”
“That commander Dadren will be up and about within a week. Inadvisable, however, to move him. The police were satisfied, when I explained about the plans. They removed Eric Hildrow’s body, together with others that were about the hotel. Stollart is in custody.
“Let me suggest, commander, that you leave to-night for Cedar Cove. Keep your arrival quiet. Remain there until you hear from me. Then you can return to Washington.”
Commander Dadren smiled as he shook hands with Senator Releston. He walked out talking with Vic Marquette, while Releston put the completed plans in the big vault.
THE next morning, Harry Vincent entered a secluded room of the apartment to speak to the convalescent who was propped in a chair by the window. The one to whom Harry talked looked much like Commander Joseph Dadren. For The Shadow, foreseeing complications, had donned his former make-up while riding into Washington with Cliff Marsland.
Harry had learned the details of Dadren’s visit from Vic Marquette. He related the story to this patient by the window. Stern lips that looked like Dadren’s emitted a soft, whispered laugh.
The last touch had been delivered. The Shadow’s triumph had been gained. But his part remained unknown, save to those few whom he knew would keep the secret of his hidden might.
Again, while his keen eyes peered toward the city beyond his window, The Shadow laughed.