Glade Tremont was in The Shadow's power. Until now, the man of the dark had played a waiting game, never once revealing his hand. From the start, he had realized that he was dealing with a new game of crime.
He had divined that all the evidence against the crooks was hanging by a single thread — ready to be dropped into oblivion. Released of their burden, Tremont, Savette, and Orlinov would be beyond the law.
Now, thrusting from the dark, The Shadow had checkmated the first of the terrible three.
He was master of the situation. As Glade Tremont, he might deceive the lawyer's crafty confederates. But to do this, he must leave this house.
Divested of his cloak and hat, The Shadow could easily pass Biff Towley at the outer gate. But he must first eliminate Glade Tremont.
That was why the lawyer cringed with fear. He did not expect The Shadow to fire a shot — such might be interpreted as a signal by the men outside. But the lawyer did expect to die by The Shadow's hand. A blow from that heavy automatic — a thrust with an unseen knife — powerful fingers clutching at his throat — these were the harrowing thoughts that entered the cowed lawyer's mind. The Shadow, however did the unexpected. Calmly, he drew his cloak about his shoulders. His slouch hat once more covered his features. The false visage of Glade Tremont was concealed from view. What was The Shadow's purpose?
Gradually, it dawned upon Tremont that the man in black intended to take him from this place. The wisdom of such a course was apparent. A dead body, hastily concealed, might be discovered, particularly if Biff and his henchmen entered the house for any reason at all.
Furthermore — the thought brought a faint hope to Tremont — The Shadow might have a use for his captive. That was it! Tremont's wavering pulse beats quickened. The Shadow would take him away — off to some hidden lair, to hold him there a hostage as Cliff Marsland was held at Orlinov's. The checkmate would be stalemate. Neither side could move.
Tremont did not relish the situation; at the same time, he realized that the plans of his associates would go on, uninterrupted.
Tremont was none too sure of Savette and Orlinov. Crook like, he, himself would have been willing to sacrifice a companion for his own good. He fancied that Savette and Orlinov would do the same. What if The Shadow should kill Glade Tremont? They would retain the upper hand. Tremont cursed himself for his folly in coming here.
The Shadow's automatic seemed to beckon. Weakly, Tremont arose and moved in response to the command. The black-gloved hand that held the automatic was close to Tremont's body. The barrel of the gun was against the lawyer's ribs.
Tremont trembled as he sensed the touch of the metal. Quivering, he walked from the room, crouching low at The Shadow's whispered order.
Well did Tremont know the repute of The Shadow. He knew that the mighty hand would not falter in the face of danger. A shot, now, would not be to The Shadow's liking; nevertheless, that weird personage would not hesitate to use his gun if his commands were disobeyed. The Shadow did not fear the hordes of gangdom.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Here, The Shadow's hissing whisper formed one word:
"Stop!"
Tremont obeyed. He listened while The Shadow spoke low and with emphasis. The command was plain. Tremont was to leave and enter his car; to wait there for The Shadow.
It was the man in black who opened the door. Standing in the gloom, his automatic still a threat, he watched Glade Tremont walk from the house. Then his tall form flitted through the opening. The door closed almost as if the lawyer himself had shut it.
Tremont descended to the drive. His footsteps crunched upon the gravel. The step of the car creaked as he entered the automobile.
He could not see The Shadow — in fact, Tremont dared not look behind him. He entered the car on the side opposite the driver's seat. As he shut the door, he stared past the wheel. He saw the opposite door closing softly.
The Shadow had tricked him! Instead of keeping him covered, The Shadow had silently flitted past the car to the other side. Noiselessly, invisibly, he had entered. Tremont could see only a mass of black. It indicated The Shadow — behind the steering wheel of the car!
The starter purred. The motor throbbed. The lights of the car came on — with the exception of the dash light. The two men in the car were invisible.
Tremont sensed the boldness of The Shadow's plan. If anyone had been seen, it must have been Tremont himself. With the car pulling away openly, Biff Towley might be deceived into thinking that Tremont was leaving of his own accord, at the wheel of his coupe.
Tremont suppressed a groan as he realized his hopelessness. Why should Biff suspect that anything was wrong? He and his hounds of the underworld had been watching this house all evening. Only Tremont had been seen to enter. They did not suspect the presence of The Shadow!
Deliberately, The Shadow drove Tremont's car to the circling end of the drive. He swung the wheel; then backed the car and started it forward. He headed out along the drive, toward the safety of the street. Tremont was too alarmed to move. He was being shanghaied in his own automobile, and he could not prevent it!
All seemed well with The Shadow's plan. The calm handling of the car gave every indication that nothing could be wrong. But as the front wheels turned left from the drive, an unexpected interruption occurred, From a car hidden across the street, a blinding searchlight turned its rays directly upon the coupe!
Biff Towley was making sure. He knew that if Glade Tremont were leaving, the searchlight's momentary glare could do no harm. The gang leader, with stout henchmen by his side, was watching from his own machine.
The bright light revealed Glade Tremont. But it showed more than that to Biff Towley. It indicated that the lawyer was not driving the car. Another man was at the wheel, and in the brilliance the full form of The Shadow was brought to view!
In a twinkling, Biff saw the situation. A hardened gangster, he had heard much of The Shadow. Like every other evildoer, the swarthy gang leader had sworn to some day slay the man who had so long terrorized the demons of the underworld.
"The Shadow!"
Biff Towley spat the words. His wolfish snarl rose as a battle cry. Swerving, almost at a standstill, the coupe was directly in the path of Towley and his gorillas, a perfect target for their gunfire!
Split seconds brought results. The gleam of the searchlight; Biff Towley's cry; Glade Tremont's reaction. Hearing the shout, the lawyer flung himself low at the wheel. He was grabbing at The Shadow's right hand, which held its automatic poised above the wheel. At the same time, Tremont had dropped his head and shoulders, fearing that they might block the path of shots from the other car. In this sudden turn of affairs, The Shadow was not idle. The glare of that light brought a taunting, whispered laugh from the grim, unseen lips of the man of the night.
As Tremont's form flung toward him, The Shadow's arm came up. The barrel of his automatic caught the lawyer's descending chin. Tremont's knees shot forward, his back caved, and he crumpled on the seat, his head below the side window.
The Shadow had wasted neither shot nor time in this quick meeting of the first attack. His hand had swung upward for a double purpose. First, to eliminate Tremont; second, to beat the other men to the opening shot. While Tremont's head was still hurtling backward, The Shadow's finger pressed the trigger of the big pistol.
There were three simultaneous results. A loud report sounded within the car. The searchlight was extinguished. The clatter of shattered glass was heard.
With sure, swift aim, The Shadow had burst the blinding eye that had revealed his form.
A single shot had done the deed.
The motor of the coupe snorted. Above its thrum came the defiant shouts of thwarted gangsters. A deluge of fire burst from the parked car. Spurts of flame appeared from trees and bushes near the house, where Jake Bosch and other men were stationed.
All were firing blindly. The coupe, gaining speed, was whirling down the narrow street, a fleeing, elusive target that defied the marksmanship of gangland's gunners.
Angrily, Biff Towley hurled his car into gear. His powerful machine leaped forward.
Gangsters, scrambling from the lawn, leaped upon its steps. Others came running, to join the mad pursuit in the wake of Biff's sedan.
Gangsters were leaning from open windows, blasting away at the zigzagging coupe.
Shots were wild. Oaths were futile. The coupe had gained a precious start.
Biff Towley, leaning over the wheel, leered grimly. Ordinarily, he would have told his men to stay their fire until the range was closer. But now this torrent of leaden hail was working in accordance with a well-planned idea.
The headlights of the sedan showed the fleeing car half a block ahead. Then beyond, Biff saw the sight for which he hoped.
From a side lane came a long, low touring car. It shot to the middle of the narrow street and stopped there. From its dark sides came new shots — a barrage directed toward the approaching coupe. The Shadow was trapped between two fires! Anticipating some such situation as this, Biff Towley had stationed his carload of reserves with instructions to block the path of any escaping enemy. Had the coupe continued on its mad dash, it would have run into certain doom. Had it stopped in its course, Biff and his shooters would have found it easy prey.
As the first shots came from the men huddled in the blocking car, The Shadow was momentarily out of range from both directions.
It was on that instant that The Shadow acted. Alone, between two formidable dangers, he made an amazing effort to elude them both. On the left of the road was a low wall lined with the trees. On the right was a hedge.
Those black-clad hands gave the wheel of the coupe a mighty twist to the right. The car spun on two wheels. It shot over the low curb, and knifed its way through the matted thickness of the barberry hedge!
Its tires digging deeply in the soft turf of a bush-covered lawn, the car sped onward, The Shadow's amazing skill guiding it along its lurching way.
It crashed through shrubbery, and skirted low-branched trees. Its gleaming lights showed an oddly formed course toward a wooden picket fence that bordered an extension of the lane.
The wooden spikes crackled as the car drove its way through to safety. Almost toppling as it struck the bumpy path beside the lane, the car righted itself as the deft hands whirled the wheel.
With Glade Tremont's body bouncing crazily at his side, The Shadow piloted the car down the narrow, winding roadway, heading away from the crossing where the touring car had awaited him. A long shout arose from the slope behind. The gleaming lights of the touring car had spotted the return of the coupe. The low-bodied car took up the pursuit that Biff Towley had lost.
Back on the side street, Biff, his sedan stopped past the spot where The Shadow had hurtled his car from view, joined in the mad race to overtake the man who had fled.
As his sedan turned the corner and sped down the lane after the distant taillight of the touring car, footsteps pounded along the sidewalk beside Biff's car. Half a dozen running hoodlums were bringing up the rear.
By a swift, daredevil chance, The Shadow had shot from a death trap. Two cars and more than a dozen desperate gangsters were on his trail. In the coupe, grimly clutching the jostling wheel, The Shadow laughed as he bumped on through the night. He was on a narrow winding road that might lead nowhere. What would be the outcome of this mad race?
His captive was bobbing helplessly at his side, but The Shadow gave no heed to the man whom he had taken. He was engaged in the thrill of the moment, his mighty schemes and well-laid plans depending entirely upon what might happen now.
On, on, went The Shadow, seeking some avenue where he might turn, guiding his way along the twisting road that was curving its rock-incrusted route down a rugged, rambling slope.
Soon he would be at the end of this path.
Ahead, there might be safety. Ahead, might lie a trap more formidable than the one which The Shadow had escaped. The thumping of the rocky road was racking the frame of the coupe.
Life or death hung in the balance with the great hazard yet to come.
Again, The Shadow laughed. His mocking mirth rang clear and bold through the blackened air of night!