run
into the protection of a town, there could be little chance of escape. Cliff's voice was telling him that the
pursuers were gradually closing the distance.
The sedan swept around a curve, driving toward the old house where Legira had laid in hiding. Harry lost
ground on an incline.
The nearer of the pursuing cars was now very close. Shots sounded as the chasers sought to stop the
flight. They were aiming recklessly at the car ahead.
Cliff leaned cautiously through the window. He fired in return, but to no avail. Harry, grimly holding to the
wheel, turned the long curve that went directly past the entrance to the old house.
A new menace rose with such startling rapidity that Harry could only utter a gasp of horror. The road
was scarcely wider than a single car. As they rounded the curve at sixty miles an hour, Harry saw another
car speeding from the opposite direction!
A head-on crash loomed as the immediate end to this mad flight. Almost petrified, Harry was unable to
swing his foot from the accelerator.
The danger from the car behind was uppermost in his mind. The smash was imminent—it was only a
question of yards before the cars would meet. Then came salvation.
The other car swung from the road. Its driver had spotted the entrance to the driveway of the old house.
Careening, the coming automobile rose on two wheels, then swerved parallel to the road and dropped
back on all fours.
Harry kept straight on. His wild eyes saw the outline of a trim coupe as he passed the car whose driver
had used such able judgment. Harry's ears heard an outburst of shots from behind.
An exclamation of amazement came from Cliff Marsland. The man in the back seat shouted in mad
exultation.
“He's got them!”
“Who?” demanded Harry.
A resounding crash came to Harry's ears. Cliff's explanation followed as they sped along the straightening
road.
“The man in the coupe!” shouted Cliff. “Shot the tires as they came by. I saw the flash of his gun. Clear
off the road—smashing into the trees—that's where they are now!”
CLIFF'S words were true. Back at the driveway, the man in the coupe had polished off the first of the
pursuing cars. With sure, quick aim, directly in the path of the approaching automobile, he had shot the
front tires.
Only one man could have performed that deed with such precision. It was The Shadow who had arrived
to save the lives of his men—both by quick work at the wheel and by ready action with the automatic.
But Cliff had not seen all. The escaping sedan was out of sight when the second car swung up and began
a terrific pursuit.
The men in it had witnessed the catastrophe. They were bearing down upon the stopped coupe. From
the sides of a rakish touring car, gun hands opened fire. The driver, confident in the ability of his
forewarned men, did not slacken speed as he hurtled onward. That was his great mistake. Before the
shots of the gangsters could take effect, The Shadow had fired. This time he did not aim at the tires. He
knew that the man at the wheel might be quick enough with the brake to avoid a smash-up. Instead, The
Shadow, with unerring aim, placed a bullet past the edge of the windshield. The Shadow's target was
