THE SHADOW’S BATTLE
THADDEUS WESTCOTT rubbed his forehead uneasily. The motion of the limousine seemed to disturb him. He reached for the speaking tube that communicated with the chauffeur.
“Drive more slowly, Craig,” he said.
It was the second time that he had given the order. The speed of the car dwindled to a snail’s pace. Westcott leaned back in the cushions of the seat.
“Not feeling so well?” questioned George Clarendon.
“No,” replied Westcott. “I’m a bit dizzy, George. Perhaps it was a cup of coffee that I drank after dinner. It tasted a bit unusual. I seem to be feeling worse every minute.”
“It would be absurd for you to go out to Long Island,” declared Clarendon. “Why don’t you stop at the Thermon Hotel overnight? Doctor Geoffrey is house physician there. I’ll tell him to take care of you.”
“I am leaving for the South to-morrow,” objected Westcott. “All my bags are packed. Out at the house—”
“That’s fine,” said Clarendon. “The chauffeur can bring them in to-morrow morning, before train time.”
Westcott closed his eyes and nodded weakly.
“I guess you’re right, George,” he said. “I’m — I’m — not feeling well. You do whatever is — best.”
“Stop at the Thermon Hotel,” said Clarendon, through the speaking tube.
The limousine drew up before the hotel. Craig stared in surprise as he saw Clarendon helping Thaddeus Westcott from the car. The chauffeur clambered from the front seat to give aid.
“He’s all right,” assured Clarendon. “Wait here. I’ll take care of him.”
The two men went into the hotel. Clarendon reappeared about ten minutes later.
“Mr. Westcott is feeling better,” he said to the chauffeur. “He had a slight attack of indigestion. The doctor is with him now. He is going to stay here overnight.
“He wants you to take the car back to Long Island. Bring his bags and tickets in before eight thirty in the morning.”
“Very well, sir.”
A taxicab had pulled up in front of the limousine. Craig angled the big car backward and forward and swung into the street.
He glanced behind him as he departed. He could see no sign of George Clarendon. The man had disappeared.
THE limousine traveled over the Queensboro Bridge and whirled along a broad highway. The car reached a road that turned off from the highway.
The chauffeur lighted a match and applied it to a cigarette. The car sped along until it approached another road bordered by thick woods.
Far ahead, Craig saw a figure in the glare of the headlights. A man was standing with outstretched arms. He appeared to be wearing a uniform.
Craig grinned. This part of Long Island was used as a landing place for cargoes from ships. Coast guards, prohibition agents, and local police were constantly on the lookout for bootleggers in large, powerful automobiles.
Craig had been stopped before, but never on this road. He applied the brakes and the big car coasted to a halt.
The waiting man stepped up to the car. His badge glimmered, but his face was lost in darkness. He spoke gruffly as he accosted the chauffeur.
“What you got there?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” replied Craig. “This car belongs to Mr. Westcott, who lives farther up the road.”
“Yeah? Well, we’ll look and see.”
Two forms emerged from the side of the road. The chauffeur could make out the dim shape of an automobile drawn up in a small clearing that extended to one side.
The man with the badge drew an automatic from his coat and held it loosely as he eyed the chauffeur. Craig heard the door of the limousine open behind him.
“Nobody in here,” came a voice through the darkness.
“No?” The man with the automatic spoke incredulously. “Take a look in there. Make sure there’s nothing in back.”
A man started to enter the car. He turned on his flashlight to illuminate the interior. A sudden exclamation came from his lips.
“Looks like something!” he said. “Something black, on the back seat — Look out! Look out!”
WITH his warning cry came a sharp revolver shot. It startled the chauffeur as well as the man who had stopped him.
Craig turned his head and saw the glint of a revolver. Another shot burst the silence.
The man at the door of the limousine fell into the road.
The leader — he with the badge — uttered an enraged command. Instantly a group of men appeared from beside the road. Craig saw the leader level his automatic. The chauffeur realized that he was the helpless target for the man’s gun.
But before the trigger was drawn, another shot came from the opened door in the back of the car. The leader’s arm dropped; his gun fell to the ground.
The attackers were shooting into the back of the limousine. Craig flung himself flat on the front seat.
He was more amazed than the attackers. They had fancied that they were dealing with an elderly, unarmed man; but Craig thought that the car was empty. He could not imagine who was returning the gunfire.
The firing ceased as the two men staggered forward into the glare of the headlights. They did not realize that they were making targets of their bodies; they were only hoping to escape that deadly trap in the rear of the car.
Then a voice spoke from the darkness, beside the car.
“Craig,” it said, in a low whisper.
The chauffeur arose, startled by the mention of his name.
“Drive ahead,” said the voice.
As the chauffeur obeyed, one of the men lying on the ground raised his arm to fire. There was a spurt of flame two feet away from the chauffeur. The rising man fell.
Craig threw the car in gear and the huge limousine shot ahead. Craig could not understand what had happened; he only knew that he had been saved from a mass attack of armed men.
He heard wild parting shots as he sped away; then above them, the sound of a long, wild laugh — a laugh that was filled with eerie mockery as it seemed to come from the blackness of the surrounding woods.
The weird laugh was chilling. Craig shuddered at the echoes of its gibing tones. He drove madly ahead, so rapidly that he had no fear of pursuit.
He fancied that his mysterious deliverer was safely in the car; that he was carrying the man with him.
The limousine shot in between the gates of Thaddeus Westcott’s estate.
Craig did not pause until he had reached the door of the garage. Then he turned and looked into the back seat.
It was empty! The dome light of the car revealed only the marks of bullets. There was no sign of the unknown passenger.
Craig wondered what had become of the man, and the thought made him uncomfortable. Had he abandoned his rescuer to the thugs, back on the road?
Craig could only ease his mind with the recollection that he had followed orders. It would be folly, now, to return to that scene.
BACK on the road through the woods, a group of crippled men were entering their car. Two of them were badly shot. All but one had suffered wounds.
The unscathed man growled as he stood beside the car, throwing the rays of a searchlight in all directions.
“Got away, all right,” he mumbled, between clenched teeth. “Got away in the car, with the chauffeur! There’s no use waiting around here any longer. Come on, gang, we’re moving before some of these hick cops show up!”
He climbed into the car and took the wheel. The searchlight was off now; but the glare of the headlights threw a long range of whiteness down the road.
Across the path of the car lay a blot of blackness, a long, oddly-shaped shadow. The driver of the car did not give it a second thought. He took it for the shadow of a tree.
The car moved slowly forward. As it passed the spot where the shadow had been, a long, agile form leaped forward. It would have been invisible in the darkness, except for the fact that it momentarily obscured the rear light of the car.
The vague form attached itself to the back of the vehicle, and remained there while the automobile jolted along the dirt road.
The man in the front seat was muttering incoherent oaths as he drove along. His low voice was drowned by the groans of wounded gangsters. But he did not hear those sounds.
Still ringing in his ears was the peal of a taunting laugh — a laugh that no hardened denizen of New York’s underworld could fail to recognize.
For the laugh that had sounded when the limousine had fled to safety was the triumphant cry of The Shadow. Single-handed, the invisible man of the darkness had won the fight, against tremendous odds!