A coupe was traveling along a lonely road. Its speed decreased as it reached a sharp hill.
Halfway up the incline, the driver shifted into second gear, and turned the car to the left. The rear wheels wallowed through a film of thin mud, then went along over a dirt road. The car kept climbing, and finally came to a stop on the summit of the wooded hill.
The lights went out. The car was in darkness. On the right, all was impenetrable; on the left, a slight trace of the cloudy sky indicated a clearing.
The coupe remained where it had stopped. The driver was waiting. The faint sound of an approaching car came from below the hill. The noise increased, and soon the glare of headlights appeared, tilting up along the dirt road.
A touring car pulled up alongside the coupe. Its lights went out. A man stepped from the vehicle, and approached the other car. He spoke through the darkness.
"All O.K., Whitey?"
"O.K., Jake. Come around the other side."
The man followed instructions. He opened the door on the far side of the coupe. A flashlight shone in his hand. Its rays showed the bound form of Harry Vincent.
Harry's form was toppling outward as the door opened. Jake thrust the body back with a rough motion.
"Lucky the door didn't come open, Whitey," he said. "This bimbo would have landed in the road."
"What if he had?" was the retort. "You was comin' along, wasn't you? You coulda picked him up!"
"Well, you got 'im here easy enough," said Jake. "This is a nifty spot for a bump-off.
Kinda close to the Green Mill, though. Think it's a good idea to give him the works here?"
"There's never been a comeback from a job pulled here," replied "Whitey." "There won't be, neither — not for twenty or thirty years, anyway."
There was a peculiar significance in the man's voice that impressed his companion. Jake satisfied himself that Harry was too securely bound to effect an escape. Then he emerged from his side of the car, and walked around to join the other man.
He plucked Whitey by the sleeve, and drew him to the front of the coupe. There he began a low conversation.
"There's only two guys besides myself that ever knew this lay," he said. "One was Biff Snider. He was bumped off a month ago, and he never said nothin'. The other is Whitey Shane.
That's you. And you're keepin' mum. Savvy?"
"Sure thing, Jake," replied Whitey. "Spill the lay. I'm with you."
"Remember you're workin' with Jake Michener, then, and don't forget it. This is between us an'
nobody else. It's only been worked once before, an' this may be the last time it's pulled here.
"When we're through, nobody's goin' to be wise — an' nobody would be wise even if they did find out."
"O.K.," agreed Whitey.
"I don't know who this guy is; and I don't care. We caught him snoopin' around the Green Mill, an' we were put there tonight to nab any snooper! We're gettin' paid for it — leastwise I am -
an' I'm splittin' with you, fifty-fifty. That's enough, ain't it?"
"Suits me, Jake."
"All right. Come along, then. Stick close to me. I'm goin' to show you the lay. Wait. We'll go around the car here, so we can see that this bimbo is still tied up tight."
After a quick glance at the prisoner, Jake led Whitey across the road and off to the left.
The ground was level and gravelly.
"Easy now, Whitey," said Jake. "Stop here. Now, listen." Jake stopped, found a stone, and tossed it ahead of him. The bit of rock did not strike ground. Whitey Shane listened in astonishment. Seconds seemed to pass; then came a soft splash from interminable depths.
"What's out there?" asked Whitey.
"A straight drop," declared Jake Michener. "Eighty feet down — and a hundred feet of water after that. A hundred feet if it's an inch."
"A hundred feet of water!"
"Sure. We're at the top of an old quarry. You can see it in the daytime, comin' up the road. A straight edge of rock, stickin' straight up in the air."
"The quarry ain't been worked for years. It's loaded with water, and the water's there to stay."
"I get you. We'll chuck this guy over — "
"Chuck him over? Say, Whitey, don't you get the lay yet? We're not goin' to heave him.
We're goin' to let him slide in — car an' all! That's the way we're workin' it!"
Whitey whistled in admiration at his companion's scheme. This was murder simplified. A car, toppling from the top of an unguarded cliff in the dark. An accident encountered by a person who had lost his way.
No evidence to tell the story. Even should the car be discovered by a probing of the depths, there would be no proof that a crime had been committed.
"This is a big job tonight, Whitey," declared Jake. "What's in back of it is something I don't know. I've got the dough, that's all.
"You know the instructions I got. Watch the Green Mill an' see that two guys came an'
went without running into trouble. Grab any fellow that looks suspicious. That's what we did."
"An' bump him off our own way," added Whitey
"Which is what we're doin'," declared Jake.
"All right, let's get goin'."
"Take your time, Whitey. Nobody ain't goin' to bother us out here. We're goin' to pull this job perfect, just for practice. Let's suppose that somethin' might go wrong — somebody figure that a car had gone down here. What would be the likely way?"
"Well, it's dark along here. The road ends where we've got the cars — "
"An' if you came up here by mistake, you'd turn around, wouldn't you?" Jake suggested.
"Sure. I'd have to," admitted Whitey.
"Well, supposin' you were backin' your buggy an' you went too far back."
"That's the ticket, Jake!" exclaimed Whitey, with enthusiasm. "We'll swing the car with this guy in it."
"Right. Come along."
The gangsters began their preparations. They were toughened characters, both. Often before, they had fought side-by-side.
Jake Michener was widely known in gangdom. He and his pal, "Biff" Snider, had made a specialty of taking victims on one-way rides.
Since Biff's death, which came as a result of a gunfight with New York detectives, Jake had teamed regularly with Whitey Shane, and the new sidekick had proved a capable successor to the lamented Biff. This was Jake's job, and he was the leader. At his order, Whitey stood by the side of the coupe, while Jake turned the touring car with great care.
Backing the old vehicle to the end of the road, Jake again extinguished its lights; then joined Whitey and glowered at the helpless man in the coupe.
Harry Vincent's form was slumped almost to the floor. Jake clambered into the driver's seat and moved the coupe to the right. He jockeyed the car back and forth in short stages until its rear was across the road, turned directly toward the edge of the quarry.
"The wheel's set straight," declared Jake, in a satisfied voice. "It don't hurt if this buggy turns while it's rollin'. It can't miss where it's goin'. That edge runs along straight for a hundred feet."
"Funny they don't have no fence there," observed Whitey.
"This ain't a regular road," explained Jake. "It was used as a work road for a while — that's why it's the way it is."
He glanced at the victim. He saw Harry Vincent's eyes turned upward. Jake laughed ruthlessly. He could see an alarmed expression in those eyes, as they glittered beneath the rays of Whitey's torch. At the same time, he knew that the prisoner had no exact idea of what was to occur. This snooper would be due for a real surprise, thought Jake.
"Ready now?" questioned Whitey.
"No!" exclaimed Jake. "Wait till I get these windows up. Hoist the one on your side.
Then shove this bird over here in the driver's seat. Wait — I'll give you a hand."
Harry Vincent was hoisted to the seat which Jake was vacating. The gangster arranged him directly behind the wheel.
Whitey Shane extinguished his flashlight and reached in the car to release the emergency brake. Jake Michener pushed him to one side.
"I told you there wasn't goin' to be no comeback on this job," he said. "It would look fine, wouldn't it, if somebody fished up this buggy and found a guy trussed up!"
"It would be just as bad if they found him pumped full of lead," retorted Whitey. "There's no use plugging' him if he's goin' down with the car."
"Who said anythin' about usin' a gat?" questioned Jake, in the darkness. "What do you think I brought along that bottle for? An' those rags? Wait here till I get em'."
Jake Michener went to the touring car and returned quietly. He instructed Whitey Shane to turn on the flashlight.
In expert fashion, Jake applied a saturated rag to Harry Vincent's nostrils. Harry's head toppled back against the seat.
A knife gleamed in Jake's hand. He cut the bonds that held the victim, and severed the gag that had prevented him from raising an outcry.
"All set," he declared. "Now we're ready to let go. We frisked this bozo back at the Green Mill. I left a little money on him, and the licenses for the car are in his pocket."
"That dope I just gave him will hold 'im. Maybe he'll wake up at the bottom of the quarry.
Maybe. Maybe not."
"Let's go," urged Whitey, "we've been spendin' enough time. We didn't do nothin' to cover up our trail when we came here. Don't forget that."
"There wasn't any need for it," said Jake. "Don't worry, Whitey. As soon as I get in our car, let the brake loose on this buggy. There's a gradual slant to the edge of that pit, and it'll go right over. Then come over and we'll chase out of here."
Whitey waited as ordered. Jake hurried to the touring car and started the motor. It roared as he pressed the accelerator.
Whitey, taking the signal, reached forward to release the emergency brake. He grinned as he thought of one detail that Jake had overlooked. Whitey turned on the headlights of the coupe.
A good touch of detail, he thought. The lights would soon cease glowing under water. The handle of the emergency brake clicked. Whitey stepped back and closed the door with a slam.
The coupe commenced to move slowly backward. Whitey gave it the impetus of a push. He hurried over to the touring car and clambered in beside Jake Michener. Both gangsters looked forward at the rolling coupe. Its front wheels jogged as they lifted over the left edge of the road.
It was thirty feet to the top of the quarry. Jake's car was turned so the two men could witness the fatal plunge.
Only seconds remained in the life of Harry Vincent. Two hardened gangsters were looking on in enjoyment — the sole witnesses of the certain doom to which the unconscious man was traveling. The motor of the touring car was roaring as Jake Michener prepared to drive away as soon as the coupe had disappeared.
Then, with amazing suddenness, the coasting car was revealed in every detail beneath the glare of a powerful searchlight! A huge automobile was whirling up the dirt road that came from the highway!
The gangsters had not heard the purring whir of its powerful motor, because of the roaring motor of their own car. The mighty monarch of the road was approaching with the speed of a meteor!
"Look!" cried Whitey Shane.
The great car was turning to the left. Its driver, guided by a strange intuition, had sensed the situation in an instant. For a moment the gangsters thought the big car was out of control. It was heading directly toward the edge of the quarry!
Then the powerful car swerved to the right. Its wheels skirted the edge of the threatening pit. The huge roadster was leaning to the left, almost toppling toward the depths below! It righted itself and shot directly into the path of the rolling coupe.
Brakes screamed as the two cars met. The superman who drove the huge car brought his machine to an instant stop within a dozen feet. The rear of the coupe crashed against the front of the great roadster. The impact was a sharp one. The rescue car was on the brink of the precipice.
The force of the coupe would have driven an ordinary car over the edge. But this monster machine withstood the blow. For the fraction of a second it began to rise and shift toward the danger zone. Then it became motionless, blocking the coupe from destruction.
Jake realized that this was no chance occurrence. This huge automobile had come from nowhere. Its driver had accomplished the seemingly impossible. The helpless man was saved!
"Give him the works," exclaimed Jake to Whitey, "Give him the works. Quick!" As he uttered the order, Jake Michener headed the touring car directly toward the locked automobiles.
Whitey Shane was leaning from the side, his automatic drawn. His first bullet spat against the side of the anchored roadster. The next whirred through the top.
Whitey Shane was timing his third shot. Jake Michener, grimly driving the touring car in second gear, was swinging the wheel with one intent — to crash the side of the rescuer's car, and to do what the slow-moving coupe had not done — hurl the big car to its destruction!
At that instant, the quick staccato of revolver fire replied to Whitey Shane's shots. A bullet struck the aiming gangster in the arm. Another crashed solidly through the windshield and found its mark in Jake Michener's chest.
The driver of the touring car slumped behind the wheel. The turning motion of the car ceased. Instead of striking the big roadster in the middle, the gangster's car sped toward the rear of it. Wounded, Jake Michener had lost control.
The rear fender of the touring car clicked the bumper of the roadster. A piercing scream of terror came from Whitey Shane, as he felt the touring car hurtle forward into space. The long scream faded as the car shot downward into the depths.
A dull, distant splash marked the doom of the killers. Jake Michener and Whitey Shane had plunged to the fate that they had planned for others.
Silence followed. Upon the brink of that pit stood a man in black — a figure invisible in the darkness. From the verge of doom came a long, mirthless laugh — a laugh more terrifying than the scream that had come from the lips of Whitey Shane.
The Shadow, dread man of vengeance, had traced the path of the gangsters. He had arrived at the moment when the plan of the evil-doers seemed impossible of failure. Sweeping from the darkness, The Shadow had saved Harry Vincent from destruction.
Once more The Shadow laughed!