Turning quickly, The Shadow swung toward the man whom he had spilled, expecting final
trouble from that foe. The crook, coming up from the floor, was aiming while he leered. The
Shadow sought to beat him to the shot.
A race that was almost instantaneous. One of those hazards which The Shadow had risked
time and again. A contest that depended upon the last instant. Such was the quick, grim
drama that came to an unexpected end.
Commander Dadren, crawling from the wall, had plucked up a loose revolver. Resting on
one arm, the commander had aimed for the rising gunman. Dadren's shot came in that tiny
interval of time that yet remained.
As the revolver flashed, the crook hunched. His gun arm wavered and his snarling face
dropped. The flame from The Shadow's automatic stabbed through the pungent smoke that
filled the room. The bullet sizzled just above the crook's drooping head.
No need for another shot. The last foeman was plopping to the floor. Plucking up his second
automatic, The Shadow wheeled toward Dadren, who was rising with a firm clutch on his
smoking automatic.
Nodding, the commander came to his feet. As The Shadow headed through the doorway,
Dadren followed. The Shadow and the man whom he had rescued were hot on the trail of
Eric Hildrow.
CHAPTER XXII. PURSUIT DELAYED
AS The Shadow and Commander Dadren reached the ground outside the cottage, they
heard the roar of a motor. Eric Hildrow had gained his coupe. He was on his way to the
bridge that led from the little island.
Dashing through bushes, The Shadow spied a second car parked well across the clearing.
It was Pete's sedan. Hildrow, in his mad flight, had forgotten it.
The Shadow clambered aboard. Dadren leaped in beside him.
The key was in the ignition lock. Hildrow had either been seized by panic or had counted on
his last henchman to slay The Shadow. Perhaps both possibilities were correct. All that
mattered was the pursuit which The Shadow took up at once.
The tracks through the trees took a sweeping curve on their way to the bridge. It was a wide
detour that The Shadow remembered. Ignoring it, he drove the sedan straight through a
clump of bushes.
The thicket crackled as the car ripped through on level ground. The wheels spun on a slimy
spot, then took hold. Whining in second gear, the sedan jounced up a slight embankment
and came crashing through more bushes, out to the traveled path. The Shadow shifted to
high.
The Shadow had clipped off a third of the distance to the bridge. Hurtling forward, the sedan
was on the trail of the coupe. Dadren, hanging to the ledge of the window, had not noticed
the blood that stained The Shadow's shoulder. He was blurting out the facts that he knew.
'He'll head for Releston's,' stated the commander. 'We must stop him. His name is Eric
Hildrow. He told me. Eric Hildrow—a pretended friend.'
THE SHADOW laughed softly as he heard the name. Hildrow had been listed among those
who had visited Senator Ross Releston. Dadren's statement supplied the one point that The
Shadow wanted. He knew his many-faced enemy by name, at last.
The bridge. As The Shadow whirled the wheel despite his numbed arm, he gripped it with
his weakened hand and yanked an automatic from the pocket of the coat that he was
wearing.
The sedan shot upward over the raised approach, like a ski-jumper on the take-off. It
ploughed down upon the loose planking with terrific force. The reinforced bridge held. The
Shadow, gun in hand, leaned from the opened window by the driver's seat.
He took steady aim for the coupe which he now saw for the first time. It was on the far side
of the bridge, within range of The Shadow's fire. Just as Hildrow's car reached the ground,
The Shadow pressed the trigger.
The coupe jolted with the shot. The Shadow had picked a rear tire. As the crippled car went
bouncing onward, The Shadow aimed for the other wheel. The sedan was midway on the
bridge. Commander Dadren delivered a chuckle as he also drew a gun. Another shot by
The Shadow and the master marksman would have Eric Hildrow at his mercy.
Just as the sedan had passed the center of the bridge, at the very moment when The
Shadow's finger was about to press the trigger of the level gun, a terrific roar thundered
upward from beneath the bridge itself.
The center of the structure lifted. The end portions heaved, then tilted downward from the
force of the explosion. The sedan went skidding on the shore side of the shattered bridge.
A sidewise tilt would have plunged it into the Potomac, but for The Shadow's skill. His foot
pressed the accelerator as his left hand dropped its gun and yanked the wheel. The sedan
leaped forward as it crashed through the flimsy rail. It toppled on its side and crashed on the
stony bank of the river.
For a moment, the car seemed on the point of rolling back into the water. Then it stopped,
tilted at a precarious angle. The Shadow turned the key; then opened the door and edged
out.
Commander Dadren followed. Both had escaped injury, it seemed. Then The Shadow
slumped as his left leg gave beneath him.
Commander Dadren saw the bloodstained shoulder. He realized for the first time that his
companion had been wounded in the fight.
Resting on the bank, The Shadow pointed weakly ahead. Dadren shook his head.
The coupe had made an escape, despite its jouncing wheel. It was too late to overtake it on
foot. It must be more than a mile ahead. The sedan was badly wrecked. Two wheels were
broken; the radiator was driven back upon the motor. Rust-colored water was forming a
slow, trickling rivulet down the bank of the Potomac.
BACK in the office of the cottage, a man was leaning heavily upon the desk. His head was
lowered; his eyes were glassy. But a leer showed on his hatchetlike face. It was Korsch.
Though mortally wounded, Hildrow's lieutenant had revived for a final effort of evil. His left
hand was supporting him. His right was dipped into an open drawer. There it still clutched a
little lever.
The bridge had been mined as an emergency precaution. Korsch, knowing that Hildrow was
pursued, had pressed the switch that controlled the charge. Seeking to block The Shadow
from the mainland, he had nearly succeeded in eliminating the master fighter.
Korsch began to weaken. His fingers loosened from the lever. His right hand went to his
chest; his left arm wabbled. A cough racked his frame; then Korsch toppled and went rolling
on the floor. A final gasp; the lieutenant was dead.
MORE than a mile beyond the bridge, Eric Hildrow had stopped the coupe upon the
stone-jagged road. Feverishly, he was removing lugs from the left rear wheel. The man who
had fled ahead was with him. His numbed arm was recovering; he was jacking the car while
Hildrow worked to remove the ruined tire.
Both had guns in readiness while they hastened to put on the spare. They were ready to
take to the woods should The Shadow and Dadren appear. As minutes passed, Hildrow
began to chuckle.
'Korsch did it,' he announced to his companion. 'They're trapped in the sedan, both of
them. Dead, perhaps. But we have no time to return and see. We'll be on our way inside of
