THE trap was laid. But even the man who had laid it could not foresee the outcome.
Gunner Macklin was acting in accordance with the instructions given him by Doctor Palermo. He was after big game tonight — game so big it appalled him. He did not even dare to mention the name of the man whom he sought to overcome. For Gunner feared The Shadow.
The gangster considered himself fortunate. In Louie Seligman he had a safecracker of the first water.
Besides the man who was to puncture Hoetzel’s strong box, Macklin had chosen four others.
“Bull” Goldman and “Carver” Brill were old reliables upon whom he could depend. With them were two Chicago gangsters, Artie Feldmann and Harry Boutonne.
Macklin smiled grimly as he drove uptown. He felt that he could rely upon any one of the four.
Macklin parked his car across the way from the Hoetzel house. A street light gave him a shadowy view of the building and the alley that led down the side. That was the way the men had gone.
Twelve o’clock had been the zero hour. Macklin had not arrived until five minutes later.
Macklin reached beside him and lifted a bottle. He swallowed a mouthful of liquor and steeled himself for what was to come.
The Hoetzel home was accessible only from the front or from the side. Palermo’s plans had called for an entrance from the side. The four men had gone by that direction, with Seligman, the safecracker, in command.
Louie alone knew the method of disconnecting a very important wire that controlled the burglar alarm.
Macklin had intrusted the man with that information.
The other four were lost in the blackness of the narrow alley, commanding the only approach — unless some one should reveal himself in front of the house. Any one who might enter that alley would go into the jaws of death.
The four men had been told to comb the alleyway, to make sure no one was hidden there. In leaving, they were to come in pairs. Seligman, should he be forced to flee alone, was to swing the bag which held his tools — and which, Macklin hoped, would later contain the swag.
The gunmen had been surprised at Macklin’s insistence on these rules. They did not know that their chief intended to be on the scene, watching with hawklike eye from across the street. For they had been told nothing concerning The Shadow.
MACKLIN did not know how the men had stationed themselves. He tried to picture their positions, but failed in the attempt, even though he aided his imagination with another swallow of liquor.
He satisfied himself with the knowledge that there were four good guns all ready for any person who might creep down that alleyway. There could be only one who might enter. That was The Shadow. No other person could have business there.
The man in the car gripped the handle of his automatic. He realized that Doctor Palermo was a keen analyst. Macklin, obeying orders, was not here for any idle purpose. Something warned him that the crucial scene might take place outside that alleyway.
Well, his title of “Gunner” was one that he had earned. Day or night, drunk or sober, Macklin was a dead shot.
If The Shadow appeared tonight, he would have to enter the alley and leave it. Macklin laughed a hollow laugh. He could picture The Shadow entering, but not leaving!
While the man in the car waited patiently, knowing that Louie Seligman was taking his time on the job, a very ordinary occurrence was taking place at the Larchmore Hotel.
A gentleman named George Clarendon was expressing his regrets because he was forced to leave so early. The girl to whom he spoke seemed quite disappointed after his departure. She did not return to the dance floor, where the hilarious party was at its height.
Instead, she went to a telephone booth and called a number. What she said, and what occurred because of it, played a very important part in the career of Gunner Macklin.
HALF an hour had gone by when the man in the automobile became suddenly alert. He fancied that he had seen something across the street near the alley. He raised his automatic while he watched.
Light, trembling shadows clung to the wall of the house next to the Hoetzel home. They seemed like living shadows — particularly one, blacker than the rest.
Gunner hesitated. He was looking for a shadow called The Shadow. He expected it to be elusive, but at least more than a vague phantom. He was ready to fire; but he knew that a single foolish shot would cause trouble for the four men in the alleyway.
The shadow that he was watching seemed like a human shadow. Macklin strained his eyes to find the form to which it belonged.
He was unsuccessful.
The shadow was motionless now. It began to move as though swayed by the slight wind. It seemed to slide along the wall toward the alley.
Still Macklin waited. His gun was trained on the opening of the alley; his finger was trembling on the trigger.
The shadow was in front of the alley. Little by little it was gliding into the darkness. Macklin clenched his teeth. The man must follow the shadow, he knew. Despite that fact, the man was still invisible.
The shadow merged with the blackness. It was gone.
To Macklin came the incredible realization that the man had gone with it. Before his eyes The Shadow had entered the trap! The phantom shape had been a living man!
Macklin expected to hear the shots of automatics. But he waited in vain. Evidently The Shadow had not reached the four men beside the open window. They would surely have detected his presence. It would have been impossible for the one man to have overpowered the four. Why was there no action?
Minutes were ticking by; The Shadow had not reappeared.
It was then that Gunner Macklin had a flash of revelation. A chance thought entered his mind; it began a chain of ideas that revealed the startling truth.
Unless The Shadow might be foolishly waiting at the opening of the alley, he must have joined the four men by the window. Macklin was positive that his own gangsters were loyal but he suddenly suspected the gunmen from Chicago. He visualized a scene that was remarkably correct.
Bull Goldman and Carver Brill lulled to indifference by the apparent watchfulness of the Chicago gunmen.
The Shadow, creeping down the alley, and entering the low window unmolested.
Macklin suppressed a cry of rage. He had been double-crossed!
As if in answer to his suspicions, a sound came from the alley. It was not the sound of a gun; instead it was a mocking laugh, uttered by some invisible being. Then came shots; and the laugh was repeated.
Four men dashed from the alleyway. Macklin counted them as they turned down the street. He could not tell them apart in the darkness; but he knew they were his four men — two true, and two double-crossers.
Macklin waited. He could seek vengeance on the Chicago men later. Now he had a score to settle with The Shadow.
A POLICE siren sounded from the head of the street. It could not have arrived so quickly if the shots had brought it. Something must have happened in that house.
The answer flashed through Macklin’s brain. The Shadow had overpowered Louie Seligman at work and had called up the police. Then he had mocked the men in the alley, laughing at them from the room within the building.
The shots had been fired through the window by Goldman and Brill, but they had been foolish, wasted shots.
The approach of the patrol only served to encourage. Macklin. He felt sure The Shadow would come out before the police arrived.
Here, in the darkness, he felt safe for the moment. Still, he would leave nothing to chance. He slipped the car into gear and placed his foot on the starter.
He saw a shadow across the street. It seemed to grow from the sidewalk in front of the alley. It was taking on a human shape, moving toward the building away from the Hoetzel house.
The patrol was coming closer.
Gunner Macklin started his car. It rolled from the parking space, and he shot it into high gear. He steered with his left hand, bearing directly toward the spot where he could still see the moving shadow. The front wheel grazed the curb on the opposite side of the street.
Macklin, his teeth clenched in triumph, leaned suddenly from the side of the car, his automatic in his right hand. He fired once — then again — and his bullets were flattened against the wall of the building. It was then that he saw The Shadow.
The headlights of the car illuminated the blackness of the wall. Revealed in the glare was a man in black — a silent, motionless figure, garbed in long cloak and broad-brimmed hat.
There was a sparkle beneath that hat-brim, as though the headlights were shining into two brilliant eyes.
By a strange twist of fate, Gunner Macklin had accomplished the unexpected. He had disclosed The Shadow, that dread phantom of the underworld. For the first time in the annals of gangdom, The Shadow had been unable to slip into some black crevice where the eye could not discern him.
The Shadow was on the spot!
Gunner Macklin, of unerring aim, had found his opportunity. His only mistake had been his first two shots. They had served as a warning.
Already, as Macklin was swinging his automatic directly at The Shadow, there was a motion of one of the black-clad arms. A flash of flame came from the wall. A second bullet. Then a third.
The first shot struck Gunner Macklin’s wrist just as his finger pressed the trigger of his automatic. The hand dropped as the bullet left the gun.
The second shot struck Macklin’s forearm. The third messenger from The Shadow’s pistol buried itself below Gunner’s shoulder. Then the car swung by the spot where The Shadow stood.
No longer was the sable-clad figure outlined against the wall. With the glare of the headlights gone, The Shadow had again become a portion of the darkness beside the street.
Pain and fear were overcoming Gunner Macklin’s rage. Now his one thought was of flight. Flight from The Shadow’s vengeance, from the patrol bearing down upon his car.
Steering with his one useful hand, Macklin drove like a madman. A taxicab shot in front of him at the corner. Macklin made a valiant effort to swerve his car, but his one hand lacked the necessary strength.
The cab veered away as the fast-moving automobile hit the curb and plunged against the side of a building. Macklin was thrown against the windshield. The police found him unconscious.
HALF an hour later, Gunner Macklin opened his eyes in the emergency ward of the Uptown Hospital.
The first face that he saw was that of Detective Steve Lang. The police officer’s expression was tinged with sarcasm.
“So,” he said ironically. “Gunner Macklin, eh? Playing around with Louie Seligman, the safecracker.
“We got the goods on you this time, Gunner. We got Louie where we want him. He’s just about ready to squeal, too. Whatta you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” retorted Macklin grimly.
“They say you’re going to pass out, Gunner,” returned the detective. “Better give us the lay before you go.”
Gunner Macklin closed his eyes. Steve Lang turned away in disgust. It was not the first time that he had tried to make a gangster talk, without success. As he faced the door, Lang’s face brightened with joy.
Into the room strode Jerry Haggerty, one of Lang’s confreres.
Jerry was the one man on the force who was ever able to make a mobster come clean.
“Let me talk to Gunner, here,” said Haggerty. “You be ready, Lang. I’m going to make him squeal.”
Haggerty leaned over the injured man.
“Look at me, Gunner,” he commanded in a harsh voice. “Got you at last, eh? Speak up!”
“Try and make me,” retorted Macklin, opening his eyes.
Haggerty leaned forward and whispered a few words into the man’s ears. Macklin’s jaw dropped. His eyes became glassy.
“How — how—” he could not overcome his stammer. “How did you know that?”
“You’ve been double-crossed, Gunner,” replied Haggerty. “There’s only one way to get the guy that did it. Tell us.”
“Palermo is The Shadow?” mumbled Macklin incredulously. “I can’t— I can’t believe it!”
“Don’t tell us what I told you,” said Haggerty, grimly addressing the injured man. “Tell us what you know.
“Begin a few months back. Tell us what happened in Florida.”
A look of hatred came over Gunner Macklin’s face. He could not figure how the detective knew of either Palermo or The Shadow.
He was only sure of one thing — that somehow he had been double-crossed. Now he was trying to build up facts in his bewildered brain. Haggerty stepped back to let Steve Lang sit close beside Macklin.
“I see it now!” screamed Gunner, trying to rise. “He told me last night— he told me we would have to get—” He sank back exhausted.
“I see it—” His voice was more quiet. “It was all a fake. He wanted to get rid of me, because I knew — I knew too much, and he didn’t need me any more. Fifteen grand, he paid me.”
“Begin with Florida,” came Haggerty’s voice.
MACKLIN’S eyes were shut. Had he seen the detective then, he might have confused his tall form with a figure clad in black that he had encountered not so long before. But Gunner Macklin was lapsing into unconsciousness.
“Go on with it, Steve,” said Haggerty. “I’m going outside a minute. I’ll be back.”
He went to the door and stood there waiting. A nurse entered, and approached Steve Lang.
“They telephoned to tell you that Detective Haggerty is coming up here,” she said.
“All right,” grunted Steve. Great stuff, he thought, to call up with such a message after Haggerty was already here.
But the man at the door seemed impressed by the word that the nurse had brought.
Gunner Macklin opened his eyes and began to speak.
“I’ll tell you everything, Steve,” he said. “I don’t think I’m going to die — but I’ll tell, just the same. I’ll begin when I was in Florida.” His voice became weak. “When — I was in Florida.”
An interne had entered the room, carrying a glass of medicine. He came directly to the bed, keeping his back toward the door so that his face was not seen by the tall man standing there.
“Let him drink this,” said the interne, speaking to Lang in a low voice. “He’ll be better then. He’ll talk, all right.”
He placed the glass to Gunner’s lips. The injured man gulped down the liquid. The interne turned away with the empty glass. He went out by another door, still keeping his back toward the spot where Jerry Haggerty stood.
Macklin sat up suddenly. His eyes brightened.
“I’ll talk now,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything, Steve.”
Lang looked toward the door just in time to see Haggerty step out. He called but the other detective ignored him.
Lang turned back to Gunner Macklin. The man’s testimony was important. Now was the time to get it.
“Down in Florida,” began Macklin glibly. “That was where I did a real job for this guy who double-crossed me.”
“What was his name?” inquired Steve Lang.
“His name?” gulped Macklin. “His name was Doc — Doc—”
The injured man pressed his hands to his chest. He tried to speak again, but his lips were soundless. He coughed suddenly, and collapsed.
The detective leaped to his feet. Some one entered the room. Lang turned and saw Jerry Haggerty.
“Hurry, Jerry,” exclaimed Lang. “He’s taken sick or something. Gee — I’m glad you came back. Where did you go?”
“Go?” echoed Haggerty. “What do you mean? Go? I just got here.” He pointed to the man in the bed.
“Do you think I can make him talk?”
Steve Lang was totally amazed. The situation seemed unexplainable. Then the unconscious condition of Gunner Macklin aroused the detective to action.
“Where’s that interne?” he demanded. “Ah!”—he saw a white-clad figure entering the door—”here he is.
Say, this patient’s passed out. You got another glassful of that stuff you just gave him?”
“That I just gave him?” queried the interne. “I haven’t been in here since you came.”
“Where’s the interne that was here?”
“I’m the only one.”
The interne looked at the form of Gunner Macklin. Then he turned to the two detectives.
“The man is dead,” he said solemnly, “and it looks to me as though he had been poisoned.”
ONCE again, The Shadow had failed to halt Palermo’s hand of death. Disguised as Jerry Haggerty, he had subtly urged Gunner Macklin into a confession.
But Palermo had foreseen the move. When he had heard from Thelda, he had come directly to the Uptown Hospital, knowing that any one injured near the Hoetzel home would be brought there by the police.
Disguised as an interne, he had been ready with the poisoned glass, hoping that The Shadow might be brought in wounded. Overhearing Macklin’s attempt to confess his crimes, Palermo had nipped the revelations by giving his own hireling the dose prepared for The Shadow.
With the arrival of the real Jerry Haggerty, The Shadow had disappeared. Palermo, his mission of death fulfilled, had left the hospital.
Gunner Macklin was dead, and two bewildered detectives and a mystified interne were the only ones remaining on the scene!