ribs.
'Get busy on that safe!' hissed Smarley. 'Open it up! Hand me over the Anitoga cash!'
Kelson gulped loudly, then:
'But I don't know the combination!' he panted. 'Honest, Smarley, I don't.
Mr. Melbrun was coming back.'
With all of Kelson's pretense at sincerity, Smarley was not deceived.
'No stalling,' he prompted. 'Get busy, I tell you! If you don't, I'll shoot!'
Quivering, Kelson approached the safe. He fumbled at the dial, as though trying to get the combination by guesswork. Smarley nudged harder with the gun.
'Start over.' The bookie's tone was low and harsh. 'No fake stuff, Kelson.
I want results in a hurry!'
Light from a floor lamp showed the tenseness of both faces. Kelson's sallow features were twitching; Smarley's visage was hard. It looked like a devil's mask, that first face belonging to the man who boasted that he had five.
The tense pair were between the floor lamp and the rear window of the private office. The window shade was drawn; Melbrun had lowered it earlier, when he turned on the office lights. But the shade, thanks to the position of the floor lamp, did not hide the scene in Melbrun's office.
The Shadow had arrived upon the adjacent roof. He was viewing a drama silhouetted against the yellow shade. Enlarged, the shadows of Smarley and Kelson looked grotesque, but their actions were portrayed in excellent detail.
Kelson's moving hands told what they were doing. At moments, The Shadow could see the shading from the safe dial, a lump of black against a smooth, upright block. Smarley's hand was plain, too, and as it shifted, the outline of
his revolver was quite visible.
A move at this moment would be fatal for Kelson. Awaiting the proper time,
The Shadow gauged the distance from his roof to Melbrun's window. It wasn't far;
a spring would carry The Shadow to the window ledge, which was fairly broad and
below the level of the roof where The Shadow crouched.
The problem was to remain on the ledge, and The Shadow had a simple plan.
Drawing an automatic, he reversed it, clutching the barrel and raising the handle of the gun as though it were the head of a hammer.
As The Shadow watched, a big shape of enlarging blackness blotted out the silhouettes of Smarley and Kelson. It was the safe door, swinging open.
With a lunge, The Shadow left the roof. He swished through the darkness, at a downward angle toward the window ledge. His arm was swinging as he came; his gun struck glass an instant before his feet landed on the window ledge.
That sledging blow shattered the glass in the upper window sash; the descending gun caught the woodwork like a grappling hook. The Shadow's cloaked form gave a backward sway, that would have pitched an ordinary jumper to the depths.
But this strange venturer did not fall. He still gripped the gun barrel, and its handle served him as a brace, hooked to the stout woodwork where the window sections joined.
The Shadow's recoil served merely to give him impetus for another lunge.
His free hand whipping his cloak across his face, he drove in shoulder first.
His new momentum carried him right through the window.
Amid a terrific crash of woodwork and a clatter of glass, the shade rattled upward. Continuing his lunge, The Shadow struck the floor and made a rapid roll for the shelter of Melbrun's big desk.
THINGS were happening as The Shadow wanted. In opening the safe door, Kelson had gained its partial shelter. Smarley's gun was no longer pressing the
secretary's back, because the bookie was grabbing the metal cash box. Matters were just right for Kelson to make a break, if he had nerve to try it.
By his sudden entry, his dive in the opposite direction, The Shadow added to the opportunity. Smarley saw the black-clad shape come crashing through the window and recognized The Shadow, even before he heard the cloaked fighter's defiant laugh from beyond the desk.
Forgetting Kelson, Smarley began to shoot, wildly, as he shifted for the rear door that he had opened.
Another gun gave immediate answer. The Shadow was juggling his automatic as he rolled, catching it deftly with the muzzle frontward, his finger on the trigger. He stabbed a shot above the level of the desk; one that came surprisingly close to clipping Smarley, considering the guesswork behind The Shadow's aim.
The Shadow wasn't counting on that first jab to stop the mobster. He simply wanted to get into rapid action, to keep things safer for Kelson.
Unfortunately, the secretary grew surprisingly bold, when he saw the spurt
from The Shadow's guns and its result on Smarley. The bookie went frantic, as he
snatched at the knob of the rear door. His gun in one hand, the box under his other arm, Smarley was in a fumbling mood.
Leaving the safe, Kelson drove across the path of The Shadow's fire, to grapple with Smarley.
As the two locked, The Shadow vaulted the desk, to drive into the fray.
Kelson had Smarley's gun wrist; the crook made a downward swing. Poking his own
gun in between, The Shadow stopped the forceful blow; but Kelson, ducking in the
wrong direction, received a glancing stroke.
Madly depending upon luck instead of common sense, Smarley shouldered Kelson toward The Shadow and made for the front door of the office, instead of the rear exit. His reversal of direction gave him a temporary leeway, and during the interval Kelson became the crook's unwitting ally.
Half groggy, Kelson grappled with the first person at hand, who happened to be The Shadow.
There were shouts from the outer office that seemed to blend with The Shadow's mocking laughter. Smarley was heading straight for a trap. Men had heard the fray and were coming in to learn the trouble. Dragging Kelson with him, The Shadow made for Smarley as the bookie fumbled with the doorknob.
It was then that Smarley made his smartest move, his one clever stroke amid the twisted battle. Almost under the muzzle of The Shadow's looming gun, the bookie yanked the door open and sprang away from it, still clutching his revolver with one hand and catching the slipping cash box with the other.
With a mere shift, The Shadow had the thug covered, but his own move came too late. Smarley's tug at the door had released a flood of office workers, followed by a pair of detectives. They saw only Kelson and The Shadow, engaged in what seemed a grapple.
As The Shadow whirled Kelson away with one hand and aimed for Smarley with
the other, he was flattened by a human avalanche of misguided attackers who mistook him for a foe intent on crime!
CHAPTER IV
MURDER WITHOUT PROFIT
FROM the moment that they sprawled The Shadow beneath them, eight attackers found that they had taken on an unruly bargain. They were unarmed, for even the detectives had shoved away their own guns at sight of a lone fighter going floorward.
The Shadow did not drop his gun, nor did he put it away; he needed it for Smarley, later. Nevertheless, he handled his present adversaries in a gunless style.
Doubling his knees, The Shadow drove his legs between a pair of plunging men and found two others. His feet met them so hard that they were hurled back into the mass behind them.
With a sideward roll, The Shadow took care of the two who were already upon him. Grabbing one, he flung the fellow against the other, so suddenly and vehemently that both were sprawled.
Out of the human tangle, The Shadow extricated himself, like a living knife slashing its way to freedom. He had not reached his feet yet, but it did not matter. He was able to deal with his quarry: Jake Smarley.
Profiting by the brawl at the doorway, the bookie cut across the room, past Melbrun's desk, timing his flight
