“GET him, Clipper! Get Bodine!”
The hissed command came from the little hallway just behind the prostrate body of Cliff Marsland. There, from the darkness, Sneaks Rubin was speaking. The pasty-faced gangster had arrived at a crucial moment. Leaving nothing to chance, he had followed his two gunmen to make sure that they did the job.
And by working from the background, he had ended the plans of Cliff Marsland!
Sneaks fired no shot. This was not his job. He had hesitated long before he had followed his hirelings to the door of Bodine’s apartment. He had come only because they had not returned to the alley. He had been close enough to Bodine’s door to hear the gang chief’s last words.
Clipper Tobin picked up his automatic, which lay in the center of the room. Sneaks turned. The police were coming, and Sneaks had reasons for wanting to be outside that building.
He had delivered his blow and his order in less than two seconds. Now he was scurrying down the corridor, the door closed behind him, anxious to be in the fire tower before Arnold Bodine died.
The dull report of Clipper’s automatic reached the ears of Sneaks Rubin just as the shrewd little crook was crawling into the entrance of the fire tower. He grinned gleefully as he thought of Bodine lying dead.
Clipper could not have missed his mark.
But Sneaks Rubin thought wrong.
Clipper had aimed while picking his gun from the floor. Bodine, who chanced to be unarmed, in the security of his hideout, had dropped when the shot was fired. Before Clipper could shoot again a footstool hurtled across the room. It missed Clipper’s head by a close margin.
It struck his gun hand instead. The automatic fell from the gangster’s numbed fingers. As he scrambled for it, Arnold Bodine leaped toward the same objective.
Clipper gained the automatic, but before he could bring it into play, Bodine was struggling with him.
Clipper was the stronger; Bodine fought with the desperation of a man who knows that minutes gained will mean rescue.
They whirled about the room, Bodine hoping that he could knock the telephone from its table and shout for help. People might arrive from downstairs before Cardona and his squad. But Bodine did not succeed. Gradually Clipper brought the muzzle of the automatic toward his opponent’s body.
Shots cracked. They missed. Clipper, enraged, tried to free himself. He fired again taking hurried aim, and a bullet shattered the glass front of a small bookcase. Then Bodine, grappling, forced the muzzle of the automatic underneath his own arm.
Clipper pressed the weapon upward as he discharged two shots in quick succession. One reached its mark. Bodine, crippled, lost his hold. Clipper flung him to the floor. He fired his last two bullets into Bodine’s heart. Then he stood panting like a fierce beast that had killed its prey.
The struggle had carried him to the corner of the room. With a snarl, Clipper jerked open the large window and drank great drafts of fresh air. Turning, he spied Cliff Marsland’s helpless form. He aimed his automatic and pressed the trigger.
Then he remembered that the gun was empty. He leaped across the room like a wild animal and snatched up the automatic that lay beside Cliff. A sudden leer appeared upon Clipper’s evil face. He might need every bullet in this gun. Help was coming — every bullet might be useful. But that could wait. He pocketed the pistol.
With a display of prodigious strength, Clipper picked up Cliff’s body and carried it to the window. He looked out as he prepared to thrust the body through. The roof of the garage was a trifle to the left.
Directly beneath was the blackness of the blind alley. That was where Cliff Marsland would die!
Clipper was thrusting the body headforemost. Cliff’s head and shoulders were hanging over space.
Clipper gripped the victim’s waist for the final effort. As his hands lifted upward, a revolver shot sounded from the doorway. Clipper staggered back, his left shoulder limp. The body of Cliff Marsland slumped downward against the wall, the head resting on the window sill. The timely shot had saved him from a horrible death!
A MAN clad in black was standing in the doorway, a smoking automatic in his gloved hand. His expert shot had picked the one spot on Clipper’s body that could have been struck without danger to Cliff Marsland. Clipper dropped to the floor, his automatic dangling in his right hand. He managed to turn his head.
“The Shadow!” he whispered.
He had recognized the avenger of the underworld. The tall man with the turned-up cloak and the wide-brimmed slouch hat concealing his face was indeed the strange being of whom Clipper Tobin had often heard. And now he had met The Shadow!
Clipper’s bulging eyes noted the body of Arnold Bodine. The form of Cliff Marsland was beside him. He had killed one. He was not to be cheated of the other!
With a snarl, he seized Cliff’s body and twisted himself behind it. He pulled Cliff’s loaded automatic from his pocket and pointed it toward the door and fired.
His first shot, a hasty one, was wild. The second was well aimed, but the bullet never left the muzzle.
Once again The Shadow’s marksmanship prevailed.
He had chosen the automatic in Clipper’s hand as his target, and his shot proved true. The gun fell from Clipper’s stunned claw. The killer was helpless.
Even then Clipper Tobin would not yield. The shrill sound of a police whistle came to his ears. He was defeated in conflict, and captors were approaching. Still, he was determined at least to elude The Shadow.
He raised himself and carried Cliff’s body up before him as a shield. Wounded as he was, his effort cost the killer energy.
The two forms stood before the window. Now The Shadow advanced, his gun ready for the first vulnerable spot that Clipper might offer.
Clipper cursed. If he had realized what was about to happen, he would have shot Cliff before he lost his gun. At least one more enemy would have died with him. But that was too late. Here, however, was another scheme for safety.
As the black-clad Shadow came closer, Clipper suddenly flung Cliff’s body forward, almost into the arms of the man in black. With a leap he was through the window; with a wide swing, Clipper projected himself toward the roof of the garage, ten feet below.
The Shadow caught Cliff Marsland’s body with one arm and let it slide gently to the floor. He reached the window and stood there like a gigantic silhouette, staring into the darkness. Reflected lights from the avenue revealed a tragic scene.
Clipper’s drop had carried him at an angle over the intervening space to the garage roof. He landed there, on the very edge. He was a target for The Shadow, but the man at the window did not fire.
Instead, he calmly watched Clipper Tobin struggle against the hand of Fate. For Clipper was slipping from his precarious post of safety. His body had toppled over the edge; he was fighting to draw himself to the roof.
But his crippled arms were unequal to the task. Clipper had signed his own death warrant when he had made that desperate plunge. The force of the ten-foot swing had jarred him; now his clutching hands were losing their hold.
Numbed fingers slipped. With a fearful cry, Clipper Tobin lost his battle and pitched downward into the Stygian depths of the concrete-floored alley!
The crash of his body awoke a frightful echo. His death scream floated upward. A deep, sighing groan sounded from the blackness. All was still. The Shadow waited.
He heard the sound of footsteps echoing beneath. They did not follow to the spot where Clipper had fallen. They were pounding toward the fire tower.
Swiftly, The Shadow whirled across the room and locked the door of the little hallway. The action was none too soon. Already men were entering the outside corridor. Joe Cardona’s squad, dispatched to prevent the murder of Arnold Bodine, was already at the doorway of the apartment!
The strong door, which Bodine had purposely placed at the entrance, withstood the pounding of the detectives’ shoulders. The gruff voice of Joe Cardona was shouting in the corridor.
Muffled commands could be heard. Cardona was planning to prevent the escape of the man who had closed that door. In the meantime, The Shadow, a strange form in black, was quietly bending over Cliff Marsland, reviving the unconscious man.
Cliff opened his eyes. The Shadow stepped away. Although his head throbbed, Cliff’s confusion cleared away rapidly.
He did not know who had struck him down. He did know that The Shadow had come to his rescue. Too late to save Arnold Bodine, however. The body of the big shot lay but a few feet away.
There was a lull outside. The attackers were waiting to hear if any sound came from within. A voice called up from the alleyway below.
“We’re down here, Cardona! There’s a dead man here!”
The silence indicated to the crier that Cardona had not yet forced his way into Bodine’s apartment. The beam of a powerful flashlight shone outside the window. The men who had found the body were centering its glare upon the roof of the garage. That means of escape was cut off. Police would soon be there.
THE words from the alley echoed in Cliff’s mind. He realized instantly that the dead man must be Clipper. He wondered what The Shadow intended to do. He saw the black-clad form studying the body of Bodine. Was The Shadow about to don a disguise — to deceive Cardona and his men into thinking that he was Arnold Bodine?
No. That would be hopeless. Too many explanations would be necessary. Cliff groaned as he realized that he was a burden on The Shadow. He knew that fact as he tried to climb to his feet, and sank back weakly.
The Shadow could escape, even if he had to fight his way through the minions of the law. But he would not desert his associate.
Leaning against the wall, Cliff watched The Shadow. The mysterious man seemed purposeless, as he strolled about the room. At last, he stopped by the wall in a front corner of the room, and tapped softly.
Cliff could hear a laugh from the man in black.
There was terrific pounding from outside. The blows of a sledge hammer resounded against the corridor door. Wood was splintered. Triumphant shouts followed. The police were breaking in!
The Shadow opened the door of a closet near the corner where he had tapped. He entered. Cliff could see his arm moving up and down.
Now the man in black was across the room again, his hands upon the body of Arnold Bodine. Cliff saw the flash of metal as The Shadow brought forth a key ring from the dead man’s pocket. Once more The Shadow was back in the closet. He emerged and swept toward Cliff. Clutching the black arm that was offered him, Cliff gained his feet.
Crash! Cliff heard the thud as the splintered door gave way. The Shadow was in the closet, drawing him along. He could hear the shouts of orders from the men who were entering the room.
The closet door closed. The powerful clutch of The Shadow was beneath Cliff’s arms. He was thrust toward the side of the closet. He felt himself descending through the floor.
Clutching, he caught the rungs of an iron ladder; he gained a foothold, and let himself down a step.
Something clicked above. The Shadow had closed the secret entrance.
Weak though he was, Cliff managed to keep moving downward. He felt a hand supporting him from above. His feet touched a solid floor. He leaned against the wall and waited.
He knew that The Shadow was beside him. They were at the bottom of a short shaft, some fifteen feet in depth.
Cliff understood it all while he leaned there in the darkness. The Shadow, ever alert, had divined that Arnold Bodine would not dwell in a hideout that had but a single exit. The roof of the adjoining garage had been the clew.
The space between the closet and the wall served a definite purpose. It was a means whereby Bodine could leave his rooms unseen. The Shadow had discovered the lock of the secret door, formed by the wall of the closet. He had obtained the key from Bodine’s body. They were on their way to safety!
Cliff wondered why The Shadow was waiting. He did not believe that his rescuer could be at a loss.
Then he realized that the delay was made to give him time to recuperate his strength.
“I’m all right!” he whispered. “Let’s go!”
A click and the wall ahead moved outward. A firm hand gripped Cliff’s arm. With The Shadow, he stepped forward. They were inside the garage, on a narrow stairway. The tiny gleam of a flashlight appeared, and Cliff made out the stone flight of steps ahead.
Evidently, this was a seldom-used side stairway. They descended, while the flashlight showed the way.
There were no windows — nothing but stone walls on either side. And a locked door blocked farther passage at the bottom!
A BLACK-GLOVED hand appeared in the light, holding the key ring. The lock was opened. The door moved outward and showed a dim corner of a garage floor. An expensive coupe was standing ten feet away.
“Get in the car,” came a whisper.
Cliff was steady now. He walked across to the car, opened the door, and entered it. Resting on the comfortable cushions, he looked back toward the door through which he had come. It was closed now, and it bore the placard, “Air Shaft,” in large white letters.
Before Cliff realized it, the starter was buzzing. He was surprised to see a man in the driver’s seat. The Shadow had silently taken his place there. He was no longer a man in black. Cliff could not distinguish his features in the darkness, but noticed that the cloak was gone, and only the slouch hat remained.
The car moved toward the door of the garage. There a burly policeman stopped it. The man beside Cliff leaned from the window and pulled back the side of his coat.
“From headquarters,” Cliff heard a gruff voice say. “This is Bodine’s car. Cardona told me to bring it around.”
“All right,” came the policeman’s response.
The car rolled out, on the side street. The driver did not speak another word. They traveled on through darkness; even when they crossed the avenue, Cliff could not glimpse the other man’s face in the light, for his head was turned away.
The car pulled up in darkness on another side street. Fifty feet ahead, Cliff saw the electric sign of the Hotel Metrolite. He understood that this was his destination. He waited a moment. The man beside him made no comment.
Cliff opened the door and stepped to the sidewalk. He walked steadily now. When he reached the door of the hotel, he glanced toward the street to see the tail light of Arnold Bodine’s coupe flashing toward the next avenue.
Once again, The Shadow’s daring had overcome all obstacles. A timely rescuer, he had carried Cliff Marsland from the midst of danger; and the escape had been so cleverly contrived that Cardona and his plain-clothes men would never know what had occurred!