His gun was pointing toward The Shadow, his finger was upon the trigger. Rapid though the fire of The Shadow had been, the last of the trio had aimed while The Shadow’s automatic was still swinging toward him.
At the precise instant that the gangster fired toward The Shadow’s form, the black-clad shape dropped backward into the inner room. The gangster’s bullet smashed against the door, striking the very spot where The Shadow had been.
Then came a flashing response. In falling away, The Shadow had continued his aim. His body wholly within the inner room, he shot from the very edge of the doorway. The foiled gangster staggered, clutched his left shoulder, and slumped to the floor.
To Zipper Marsh, sprawled on the floor of the inner room, the quick succession of shots came with unexpected suddenness. They had begun the moment that he had viewed the form of The Shadow halfway through the door. He saw The Shadow’s backward step, and caught the flash of the final shot.
Rolling over and drawing himself to his knees, Zipper uttered a venomous cry as he whisked a revolver from his pocket and aimed it at the man within the door.
The Shadow had expected this. Timing all his actions with uncanny precision, the black-cloaked battler had reentered the inner room with full assurance that Zipper would be the least prepared of all his foemen.
The Shadow’s backward step, his steady hand moving away from the third gangster as it fired — both were the beginning of a conscious action. The Shadow swung inward, turning directly toward the spot where Zipper, crouching, sought to fire.
The safe-cracker might have rivaled The Shadow in safe-opening; as a marksman, quick on aim and swift with the trigger, he was no match.
The automatic blazed its fourth message of terror. Zipper wavered. His sneer turned to a hideous leer. The revolver fell from his nerveless fingers, flipping as it fell. Then Zipper’s body tottered forward and rolled sidewise.
So sure was The Shadow of his ability that he did not wait to see the fate that his bullet had delivered. Sensing that new dangers lay ahead, he sprang forward to meet them, following the only path that led to safety — across the outer room to the hall on the second floor.
The striding, black-clad figure came to an abrupt stop as it reached the farther door. Coming from the opposite direction was a man who had headed up the stairs.
The two sighted each other simultaneously. One gun flashed — The Shadow’s. Delivered at close range, the bullet found the heart of the gangster who had sought to block The Shadow’s path.
Now, at the head of the stairs, The Shadow stood cold and sinister, his form no more than a darkish outline in the gloom beyond the sphere of light that he had left. Like a huge phantom, he wavered back and forth, affording an elusive target for any who might be waiting. A gun flashed from the first floor; then another from a different spot.
The Shadow, now wielding two automatics, responded. He had outwitted his enemies. The waiting gangsters had fired first, and both of them had missed their mark.
Their shots had betrayed their positions. The Shadow needed no more. His bullets sped through the dark to their now-hidden targets. Screams of anguish followed from below.
Now came The Shadow’s triumph cry — a mocking laugh that rang out in ghoulish tones while sullen echoes awakened to hurl back the taunting cry. That laugh accompanied The Shadow as he sped down the stairs, a fleeting form of inky hue. A few moments later, he stood upon the porch above the foggy lawn, his burning eyes seeking new targets for his deadly aim.
A man came hurrying from a clump of bushes. The Shadow never moved. Like a shade of night, he stood beside a post, invisible to the other man until the fellow came full upon him.
The gangster’s startled gasp died as The Shadow’s right hand delivered a stunning blow. The force of the hand that swung the steel automatic was timed to perfection.
A second later, The Shadow was a moving shape upon the lawn, while the huddled form of his last opponent lay upon the porch.
A parked automobile stood in the obscurity of the driveway. One man was standing beside the car; another was at the wheel. The motor of the machine was throbbing softly.
“What about it?” growled the man at the wheel. “Think we’d better go inside?”
“Stay here,” was the response. “If Zipper’s in a jam, he’ll need us; he’s got to make a get-away—”
The sentence was not completed. The man beside the car toppled forward as something crashed against his skull. Before his companion could do more than utter a surprised exclamation, a tall, dark figure sprang from the mist and gripped him by the throat. With waving arms, the gangster-chauffeur struggled wildly; then his body was hoisted from behind the wheel as though lifted by a derrick.
The Shadow, by a swift surprise attack, had stunned the first of the two who were waiting for Zipper Marsh; now he held the second of these mobsters within his grasp.
After he had pulled his victim from the car, The Shadow lost no further time. His tall form whirled, and the ex-chauffeur shot through the air as though propelled by a catapult. He struck the edge of the drive headforemost. His body somersaulted and lay still.
Again, The Shadow laughed; this time the sound of his sinister mockery seemed stifled by the fog. A being whose very existence seemed incredible, The Shadow might have been materialized from the fog itself. Silent, tall, and indomitable, he remained for a few brief seconds at the scene of his latest triumph over men of the underworld.
Inspired by new impulse, The Shadow turned directly toward the car. There, he took the place of the man whom he had just ejected. Behind the wheel, his very form became invisible. The automobile moved forward under the guidance of his unseen hands.
The lights of the car flashed on as the vehicle sped along the driveway toward the road beyond. A tone of shuddering mirth marked the departure of The Shadow!
CHAPTER VIII
INTO THE NIGHT
THE car which The Shadow had appropriated was a trim, four-passenger coupe, ideally suited for the purpose required by Zipper Marsh. It was not a speedy vehicle, and for that very reason it was adapted to an unsuspicious get-away. As it rolled from the driveway by Adolph Grayson’s home, its lack of haste added to its innocent appearance.
But those who viewed the departure of the car were not deceived. A sedan filled with listening men had heard the muffled shots preceding The Shadow’s quiet get-away. They had hoped to hear such shots, but they were puzzled by the silence which now existed.
It was Gats Hackett, watching from the sedan, who gave a quick order when he saw The Shadow’s car pull out from the drive across the way. He knew that by all rights and all odds, Zipper Marsh was the occupant of the coupe; at the same time, he was anxious to make sure.
“Get after him,” he growled.
The chauffeur responded. The sedan took up the pursuit of the coupe. When they reached the drive, Gats saw that the man ahead had increased his speed. Then the chase began. From the beginning it favored the sedan. Though filled with passengers, the big car had the advantage because it was built for speed. Had the course been along an open road, Gats and his crew would have overhauled their quarry within a quarter of a mile.
But the man in the car ahead did not give them the advantage of the open road. He turned the coupe into a side road, then swung another corner, doubled back on his course, and followed these maneuvers with a new series of twists that thwarted all efforts to overtake him. Every time Gats’ big car swung a corner, its occupants saw the coupe turning one ahead.
To Gats Hackett, this crafty flight was maddening. The longer it continued the angrier he became. He growled futile orders to the driver. He cursed violently as he leaned from the window of the sedan, both guns unlimbered for action.