Zipper Marsh sank back, snarling, his body quivering with fear. For in that flash of enlightenment, he had automatically guessed the identity of the strange being who had emerged to clutch the ill-gotten gains.
He realized now that when he had entered this room, to carefully arrange the table lamp before employing it, he had overlooked the important detail of making a thorough inspection of the premises.
Some one had guessed his game. Some one had come here before him. Some one had lain beyond the fringe of light. Some one had been watching!
A master hand had foiled Zipper Marsh to-night; had outguessed him; had used him, and now held him within its power. It was the hand of some one whom Zipper feared.
That some one was The Shadow!
CHAPTER VII
THE SHADOW FIGHTS
BEFORE Zipper Marsh could make a single move, before he had been able to do more than discern the bulking shape that stood before him, The Shadow acted in a manner that left no doubt regarding his identity.
The rays of a powerful, narrow-circled flashlight sprang from the spot where The Shadow stood. Cowering before that glare, Zipper Marsh was helpless. The glow of the lamp on the floor seemed insignificant when compared with the sharp rays that were directed toward the gangster.
Zipper made no attempt to act. Well did he know that behind that light a hand was covering him with a deadly weapon. He was at The Shadow’s mercy, and a single miscue would mean his death.
Zipper trembled. He knew well The Shadow’s repute. Never had The Shadow compromised. Never had he asked quarter of the underworld; and the underworld asked none of him. Those who had faced The Shadow were many; those who had remained to tell their story were strangely lacking.
Now came a whispered voice that cleaved the gloom. The sinister tones of The Shadow were commanding. Zipper understood them perfectly.
“Stand up!” The Shadow ordered. “Back into the corner. Hands above your head.”
Zipper obeyed. Fuming, despite his fear, he was the portrayal of a cornered rat as he moved in response to The Shadow’s bidding. Facing the glaring torch of The Shadow, Zipper realized full well the futility of his carefully adopted precautions.
It was only as seconds dragged slowly by that the shrewd cracksman suddenly realized that he had unwittingly managed to interfere with The Shadow’s plans. The invisible being had obviously entered here beforehand, with the intention of secretly taking the spoils that Zipper might remove from the safe.
Had The Shadow gained a few minutes’ leeway before Zipper noted that the metal box was gone, those minutes would have proven vitally precious. In them, The Shadow could have attempted the difficult task of passing the guards outside the room before Zipper discovered the absence of the box.
Now, The Shadow, like Zipper, was in an unenviable position. He had two logical courses ahead of him. One was to attempt a rapid escape, leaving Zipper in the corner. That would be difficult. As soon as The Shadow had started into the cordon of guards, Zipper would cry out the warning.
The other course was to kill Zipper where he stood. That, in itself, would be an alarm. The noise of a pistol shot would bring in all the gangsters who were guarding beyond the door. The Shadow would encounter a mass attack.
Despite his precarious position, Zipper allowed a writhing sneer to increase the ugliness of his sordid lips. The Shadow, too, was boxed. The fact that each succeeding second brought no new action was proof of that single fact.
THE only motion on the part of The Shadow was the movement of the electric torch that held Zipper bathed in a circle of light. The glare wavered, moving up and down; then stopped to hold itself in one definite spot scarcely eight feet from the cringing gangster.
Five seconds — ten seconds — still the glare was unyielding. The Shadow spoke no word. Zipper decided that he was still deliberating.
It was then that a sudden, wildly hopeless plan suggested itself to the gangster’s fear-ridden brain.
To escape, The Shadow must kill. Zipper, alive, would be a menace behind him, acting the moment that The Shadow might withdraw. To kill by a revolver shot, The Shadow would give a certain alarm. There was only one alternate course that suggested itself to Zipper.
The Shadow — Zipper was sure — had decided to kill the man before him, but he would do it by a surprise attack, striking silently from the dark!
That was the game! Any moment now, The Shadow might leap forward, to down his quarry before Zipper could respond.
How could such an attack be stopped? Only by a previous attack on the part of Zipper himself!
Hopeless though it was, that plan on his own part could be the only way whereby Zipper had a chance to live. Seized by sudden impulse, the cracksman uttered a fiendish shout to allay his own dread. As he shouted, he pounced forward, directly toward the glaring light!
Instead of encountering a resisting, human body, Zipper landed forcibly against an object that overturned and sent him sprawling on the floor, the flashlight bounding a few feet away from him.
The fraction of a second later, the ceiling lights of the room came on, in response to an outside switch in the adjoining room. Some henchman, stationed by the switch, had heard Zipper’s cry.
In the new light, Zipper saw what had happened. The still glowing flashlight was equipped with a metal clamp. The Shadow had attached it to the back of a chair. Silently, the mysterious being of the dark had moved away, leaving Zipper convinced that the torch still rested in a black-gloved hand.
It was the chair that Zipper had encountered. The force of his spring had sent it scudding. Here he was on the floor, half bewildered, staring toward the door that led to the outer room.
That door was partly opened. Wedged nearly through the space was a shape of black. The Shadow was passing into the outer room, using his cloak to cover every inch of space that he had opened to let his tall form through, thus preventing men outside from knowing, by the light, that the door had opened.
Only a portion of The Shadow’s form was visible to Zipper, for the black shape was nearly through the door. But to the alarmed gangsters at the further door of the outer room, The Shadow was an approaching menace. The man at the switch had performed a double function. He had pressed two knobs, and had illuminated both the inner and the outer rooms.
There, directly before them, three of Zipper’s henchmen saw The Shadow. Both his hands had passed the barrier. They saw nothing of the metal box, for that had been hooked beneath The Shadow’s cloak.
They recognized The Shadow as their enemy. Revolvers were in their hands. They raised their weapons to wipe out this personage whom they detested as greatly as they feared him.
NO one ever caught The Shadow totally unready. Although he had been feeling his way through the dark, The Shadow was prepared. Dark metal glinted in his right hand as he brought his automatic into play.
With instinctive skill, he chose as his target the gangster whose aim outled the others. A spurt of flame — a cannonlike roar — the first of the three henchmen sprawled headlong on the floor.
With swinging aim, The Shadow delivered a second bullet. Another gangster plunged forward; his glistening revolver hurtled across the room impelled by the upward swing of a hand that suddenly lost its muscular functions.
Split seconds separated the first two shots; another fraction of time heralded the third. This was directed at the man farthest away — the one who controlled the light switch. He, like his fallen comrades, was bringing a revolver into play; and he possessed an advantage that had not been theirs.