Mobsters aimed for that spot behind the wheel. The Shadow had dropped away. Bullets riddled the car body beside the driver’s seat. One mobster, circling the rear of the cab, was coming to attack the other side.
He was the next to meet The Shadow’s might. The black-garbed warrior had reached the curb. His automatic blazed its welcome. The gangster sprawled upon the sidewalk as The Shadow sprang toward the front of the taxi.
NEW shots from the dark. They were delivered from the front of the cab, from a spot close by the radiator. Two mobsters went sprawling from the running board beside the driver’s seat of the cab.
The touring car shot forward as a new driver handed it. A revolver barked an instant too soon. Its bullet nicked the chromium of the radiator. The Shadow’s automatic spoke in return. The touring car swerved, took the curb on the far side of the street and rammed against a building.
The sedan, which had waited behind, came forward, its headlights blazing down the street. Shots burst from The Shadow’s automatics. Simultaneously, new gunfire echoed from behind the sedan. Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland were opening fire from their coupe.
The coupe stopped. Caught between The Shadow and his henchmen, murderers leaped from the closed car to seek the cover of the houses, firing as they sprang for safety.
While guns barked, the shrill burst of a police whistle came from the avenue where The Shadow had left his car.
This was the signal that produced the unexpected. Luskin heard it as he cowered in the taxicab. Realizing that he, himself, was a man who had aided in plans of crime, Luskin uttered a hoarse scream and leaped to the door. A moment later, he had reached the sidewalk.
A man was close by the rear of the cab. It was Burnetti. The gang leader had managed to gain this temporary refuge. As he saw Luskin, Burnetti leaned forward and fired a quick shot that felled his quarry. Swinging, Burnetti aimed toward the front of taxicab.
He was too late. The Shadow, rising, loosed a shot that drilled the murderer. As Burnetti’s body collapsed upon the sidewalk, The Shadow reached the spot where Luskin lay. The man was dying.
“Speak!”
The Shadow’s command was a sinister whisper. Luskin responded. His lips moved feebly as they tried to frame gasping words.
The traitor had been double-crossed. He had been duped by an offer of easy wealth. Dying, he was seeking vengeance upon Mallet Haverly, the crook who had sent him to his death!
Mobsters were groaning in the street as Harry Vincent’s coupe shot by, heading away from this zone which police were approaching. The battle had been won. The time had come for prompt departure. Yet, while his agents were hastening away, The Shadow lingered.
From Luskin’s last words, this super-sleuth was seeking the answer to the crime that had been launched by Mallet Haverly.
CHAPTER IV
THE SHADOW’S TRAIL
POLICE whistles shrilled close by. A siren whined as a patrol car whirled down the side street, its searchlight playing a wide gleam. The taxicab beside the curb; the touring car rammed against a house wall; the sedan deserted in the middle of the block — these were tokens of the fight that had been waged.
Harry Vincent and Cliff Marshland had gained the avenue. No sign of The Shadow’s agents remained. Officers, alighting from their car, found mobsters sprawled upon the paving. But they did not see the two figures on the sidewalk near the taxicab.
Luskin, doomed, was stretched upon his back, his eyes were closed. His lips were moving feebly. Above him, a specter of blackness, crouched The Shadow. Burning eyes were upon the moving lips. The Shadow was seeking to read the utterances that were inaudible.
“Fifty thousand — dollars” — Luskin framed the words. “He — can get — a million—”
“Who?”
The Shadow’s question was a whisper.
“Haverly,” gasped Luskin, “A million — if he can get it. A million dollars—”
The lips twitched. They did not respond to the dying man’s delirious thoughts. Luskin’s head sank back. The man was dead.
The Shadow did not rise. Still crouching, he let Luskin’s body slide gently to the sidewalk. The Shadow could hear the shouts of policemen on the other side of the cab. New sirens — other cars were coming.
A cordon was forming in this street. Already, officers were starting to come around the cab. Listening, The Shadow knew that they would soon be at this spot where he still lurked unseen. Then came an opportunity.
A shout arose from the other side of the cab. A policeman, heading for the sidewalk, dashed back toward the street. A revolver barked; a man cursed. A police car came to a sudden stop as it whirled up beside the cab. There were sounds of a brief scuffle.
Jake, the fake cab driver, had tried to escape. He alone had escaped The Shadow’s bullets. Reviving from the knock-out blow which the gloved fist had dealt to his chin, Jake had made a bolt, only to be stopped by a policeman’s shot.
THE SHADOW rose swiftly. During the momentary interval, he made a quick whirl toward the building wall beyond the sidewalk. His figure merged with darkness just as another policeman approached the sidewalk by the cab.
A glimmering flashlight swept the pavement. Its rays passed by The Shadow’s feet. They did not disclose the lurking form. Then the flashlight revealed the body of Luskin. A shout brought another officer. He stumbled over the form of Burnetti.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the pavement. A stocky, swarthy-faced man appeared within the flashlight’s glare. He was in plain clothes. It was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the Manhattan force.
Cardona’s verdict was a quick one, formed as soon as the sleuth had spied the face of Luskin.
“This was the fellow they were after,” declared the detective. “He’s no gorilla. They got him all right — but they had a tough time doing it.”
Cardona swung to survey the face of Burnetti, which was now spotted in the circle of a policeman’s flashlight. The detective grunted.
“There’s a tough mug,” decided Cardona. “I know the guy. Burnetti. I’ve been waiting to pin something on this bird. I know who he works for, but this is the first time I’ve found him with the goods.
The detective turned to a policeman who had come up beside him. He gave an order.
“We’re going over to the Solkirk Apartments,” stated Cardona. “It’s by the old Majestic Theater. We’re dropping in on Mallet Haverly, the racketeer. He’ll talk tonight. Burnetti was his man—”
A policeman had opened the door of the cab. Cardona turned as he heard an exclamation. Like a spotlight, an electric torch in the officer’s hand revealed the slumped form of Dirk Halgan. Cardona uttered another grunt of recognition.
“This clinches it,” announced the sleuth. “Dirk Halgan — another pal of Mallet Haverly’s. Say — it’s too bad Rags Wilkey wasn’t in on this, too. He was Mallet’s best bet, before we got on his trail.”
Cardona turned. He produced his own flashlight. He took a measure which the policemen had neglected. He sent the glimmer of his torch along the house wall near the taxi. He was looking for lurkers. His light blazed upon the brick surface where The Shadow had been standing.
The glimmer revealed no sign of a human figure. The Shadow had anticipated this action. Silently, with amazing stealth, he had edged away from his position while the police and the detective were centered upon their discoveries of the dead bodies.
Joe Cardona snapped another order. He and the policeman with him went to their car and headed down the block. Joe was losing no more time in his plan to reach Mallet Haverly before the racketeer might receive word of the Waterloo which his minions had encountered.