In that moment, The Shadow altered his plan. Instead of opening prompt fire toward the outer doorway, he plunged full length upon the floor.
The wounded crook was out in the hallway; his pals were gone from view. None had waited to see The Shadow's final move. They thought that he was still backed against the window. Then came the result that crooks awaited.
A terrific crackle shattered the window, ripping the shade into shreds. From outside came the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun as it rattled bullets into the lighted room. Those slugs slammed the wall of the hallway, past the opened door.
The Shadow had divined the double trap. He had made his drop just in time. The crooks attacking from the hallway had been sent there to reveal The Shadow in the glow of lights. Machine-gunners, waiting beneath the parapet atop the old garage, were waiting for the telltale blackness against the window shade.
THE drilling barrage ceased. Perhaps the outside crew thought they had finished The Shadow; possibly they were in doubt. The latter case was so likely that The Shadow could not afford to rise above the level of the sill. Propped on both elbows, he began to worm his way forward toward the hallway.
A lookout poked his head into view, dodged away to report that The Shadow was alive and on the move. The gunmen in the hall were none too sure of their own security. They knew, though, that The Shadow could not afford a hasty drive. They feared that he might eventually reach the light switch, still below the level of the outside machine gun. They wanted to offset that.
The crooks had the method. Their first approach had been cautious; but with time to spare, they could make all the noise they wanted. The Shadow heard a hoarse call from the hallway.
Something thumped up the stairs. Shifting slightly to his right, The Shadow craned his neck.
He saw the weapon that the attackers were about to assemble. It was a sub-machine gun, with a shield.
Given a few minutes longer, they would shove that death device into the doorway. It would completely fix The Shadow. His automatics could not riddle the shield. If he stayed close to the floor, the hallway gun would drill him.
Contrarily, if The Shadow made a dash to capture the new weapon, he would have no time to spike it.
Again, men from the garage roof would have a target. They would fell The Shadow through the open window.
The extent of The Shadow's future life seemed a matter of minutes. In that short interval, however, The Shadow saw a chance for exit; one that his adversaries had forgotten, because they thought it completely blocked.
That route was the door to the little room where Shark Meglo had gone. Bolted from the other side, the stout barrier looked impenetrable. With a head tilt, The Shadow eyed it. He edged toward that door; then waited the right moment.
Scraping of steel told that foemen were shoving the submachine gun toward the doorway. A lookout took another peek and dived away. The Shadow gave no further hesitation. With a quick spring, he came to his feet, took a bound forward and side-stepped toward Shark's door.
The move was too swift for the outside crew. When they started a new rattle of their machine gun, The Shadow was out of line. The bullets from the garage came zipping straight through the lighted room and pummeled the hallway wall. The gunmen in the hall yanked back their submachine gun and laid low.
Even when the outside gun ended its brief drill, the men in the hall still waited. They wanted to make sure that the barrage would not resume. The Shadow had depended on that interval. He knew that he would need a few seconds at Shark's door.
THE SHADOW arrived at that barrier with one hand raised high. In his fist, he held an automatic by the muzzle. Using the big gun as a bludgeon, he sledged a titanic blow for the panel of the door.
No woodwork could have stopped that slash. The panes splintered. The Shadow's arm went through.
As The Shadow's hand stopped short, it gave a slight upward toss. The automatic flipped in his fist; he caught it by the handle. His hand swinging sideward, The Shadow pumped bullets into the room. Those were for Shark, if he happened to still be there.
His last shot given, The Shadow dropped the automatic. His fingers found the bolt and yanked it. His other hand had cloaked his second gun; free, that hand turned the knob.
Crooks from the hall had heard the crash, with the ensuing gunfire. As they sprang into the lighted room, they saw The Shadow wheel into the darkness of the little room beyond. The door slammed as they opened fire.
When they halted, momentarily, a fist poked through the broken door and stabbed shots back at them.
One thug toppled. The others dived for the hall.
The inner room was empty. The Shadow learned that as he glanced about. The slight shaft of light through the broken door gave him all the glow he needed. Shark Meglo had been too wise to keep himself boxed. The ceiling showed the route that Shark had taken - a trapdoor just above an old metal bed.
The Shadow clambered up to the trap. Shark had clamped it from above; but had done a hurried job, never thinking that The Shadow would travel this far. The trapdoor gave slightly.
Bracing himself, The Shadow heaved upward with both arms. The rusted clamp gave. The way was open.
Across the alleyway, crooks had risen from their machine gun. They heard a challenging laugh above.
Looking upward, they saw The Shadow at the roof edge of the house, a full story above their level. No longer was the garage parapet a protection. They had no time to tilt their machine gun. Savagely they yanked revolvers and began a hasty fire.
The Shadow's shots were quicker. He sprawled the thugs by their parapet. Grabbing the roof edge with one hand, he swung downward and outward; then, as he came inward like a pendulum. he released his grip.
The machine-gunners had done The Shadow a favor when they had so completely blasted away the window of Shark's living room. The Shadow came hurtling through that big opening at a downward angle. He hit the floor almost among the thugs from the hallway, who had entered to start a drive through the door that The Shadow had cracked.
To those gunners, The Shadow was a living nightmare, returned from blackness. He came from the one direction that they did not expect. There was a mad scramble for the inner room to escape the shots that The Shadow fired.
As his foemen finished their dive, The Shadow was at the hallway door, possessor of the submachine gun.
He slammed the outer door and locked it. The submachine gun went tumbling down the stairs, with The Shadow following it. Sirens from the outside air told that the law was answering the alarm that gunfire had produced. The police were at the front door when The Shadow reached the ground floor.
Choosing a rear exit, The Shadow was gone, slipping through a closing police cordon. He had left the rest of Shark's followers as trophies for the law.
LATER, The Shadow reached the hidden, darkened abode that served as his sanctum. There, he reviewed the night's events. Shark Meglo had gained the loot he wanted, and that boodle had gone back to the master-crook. The man who engineered these crimes was still under cover. Nevertheless, his game was very badly bent.
In the sanctum, The Shadow received a telephone report from Burbank. Harry Vincent and Michael Chanbury were still at Silsam's. Both had testified that Hugo Silsam was just ready to tell the name of the man who sold the stolen gems when Shark had entered to prevent it.
That connection was too obvious even for the police to miss. They would recognize that the jewel seller was the brain behind crime. They would scour Manhattan for that master-crook.
Intervals of a few weeks had always intervened between the former crimes. Certainly, a similar lapse would again be necessary before the head of crime dared to move again. That prospect solved one problem that pressed The Shadow. That was the matter of a new identity to replace his impersonation of Lamont Cranston.
The Shadow needed a guise that would serve him through the future; one which no one, even in wildest fancy, would ever link with The Shadow. The Shadow had long reserved such an identity for the right time; and that time was the present.
Agents could handle details of the immediate future. Knowing that, The Shadow gave instructions to Burbank, in detail. The sanctum light clicked off. A strange laugh sounded in the darkness. That mirth betokened The
