rather rapidly; finally he emptied the bottle. As he was about to set it on the table, he tilted the top of the bottle, and pointed it toward the man with the cap.
All eyes shifted toward the stranger. The man was leaning over the table, ignoring his drink. His hands rested beneath the table. The other men in the room began to move. Hardened grins appeared upon their faces. They were all known to Spotter; he recognized the fact that his companions were the boldest thugs of the underworld. He grinned also, for he was sure that guns would not be needed to-night.
Only one man displayed too much eagerness for what was to come. That was Pedro, the Mexican. He acted one second too soon. Spotter's motion had been the signal for a sudden attack that would come with cleverly calculated stealth. But Pedro, a look of grim vengeance appearing on his face, could not wait. He swung from his chair and sprang upon the huddled man who wore the cap. The Mexican's hand shot upward from his coat. The machete gleamed and came downward with a sure, well-aimed stroke.
The blade never reached its mark. As Pedro hurled himself across the table with amazing speed, the man with the cap slid quickly away from the wall where he sat. The machete whizzed by, cutting the shoulder of the sweater. Pedro, with all his weight behind the blow, fell forward upon the table.
Like a flash, the stranger was in the center of the room. He was standing, head up now, with both hands buried in the fold at the bottom of his sweater. His eyes were flashing as he glanced quickly around the room.
Only Spotter did not move. He grinned as he watched with his crafty eyes. By quick action the unknown man had reached the floor while the others were still rising. He stood there now, his shadow round and black upon the floor before him.
This was only for an instant. The nine thugs were in motion. Those nearest the stranger leaped with one accord. Two of them were drawing knives. The others were hurling themselves to the spot where the stranger stood.
With a quick, short motion the hands came from the fold of the sweater. The quick shots of two looming automatics burst the silence of the low-ceilinged room. Spotter could see the spreading motion of the stranger's hands as the bullets found their marks.
SOME of the cutthroats sprawled upon the floor. The others, springing forward, fell in a mass upon their prey. The wiry man went down beneath the heap. Spotter grunted in satisfaction as he saw knives gleaming, raised to strike.
Then from the heap of men came a single pistol shot. Simultaneously the light in the ceiling was extinguished. Glass clattered to the floor. The overpowered victim had freed a hand, and his quick, instant aim had been true. The room was plunged in darkness.
Spotter slipped toward the door. There were shouts coming from the floor. Ten men, the giant Mexican included, were fighting one. But in that blackness they could not identify the enemy they sought. A chair crashed against the door. An oath came from Spotter.
The battler was free! He was fighting like a demon! Every blow he struck was finding a mark. Bottles crashed. Tables hurtled against the walls. The lone stranger was moving everywhere, using anything as a weapon. His foemen were battling blindly. They were powerless.
Spotter could hear groans and sharp oaths. He realized that the conflict would soon cease, with the one man victorious. Then he would be alone with the enemy whom he had betrayed. Alone with The Shadow!
There was a thumping at the door. Spotter had cleverly bolted it when he had entered, to cut off the only avenue of escape. Now he rose cautiously from the floor, drew back the bolt, and let the door swing inward.
The light of the outer room revealed the faces of excited gangsters. They leaped away from the door as it opened - only Red Mike remaining. He was the one who had knocked. Spotter darted through the opening.
The proprietor of the Black Ship held a flashlight and a revolver. But before he had an opportunity to enter to the rescue, the cutthroats swept him aside as they came staggering out. A flying chair struck Pedro as the big Mexican emerged, and he was stretched prone upon the floor.
Rowdies were crawling from the door - groaning, whining. Beaten men they were. The last one collapsed in the entrance. Then a tall figure appeared from the darkness. It raised the fallen ruffian and held him in mid-air. Red Mike pointed his revolver, seeking an angle from which he could shoot without striking the helpless man who was being used as a shield.
Then the body of the crippled thug was hurled forward. It landed against Red Mike with terrific force, sending the proprietor to the floor.
The door of the inner room closed with a bang. The bolt clicked as it was shot in place. The thick, iron-plated door blocked all entrance.
Then, to the ears of the men of the underworld, came a strange, ominous sound. It could be heard above their excited voices - heard even though it was muffled by the heavy barrier.
It was a hollow, mocking laugh - a chilling laugh - a laugh that made those hardened crooks stare at one another in sudden alarm.
Spotter shuddered as he recognized the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XXIV. A HORDE ATTACKS
RED MIKE restored order. There were fully three dozen angry men in his outer room - would-be killers who uttered mad threats as they saw their comrades stagger from the inner room. These fighters of the underworld had become suddenly silent when they had heard The Shadow's mocking laugh. Then their shouts had recommenced - to stop when the proprietor of the Black Ship held up a commanding hand.
'Quiet!' he howled.
The babel ceased. At Red Mike's summons, several men came to the aid of the wounded crooks who had been in the fight. Not one of the ten had escaped uninjured. Three of them were badly hurt; they were carried to the street.
The bullets from the automatics had been well aimed; most of them had struck the arms and shoulders of the attackers. The Shadow had been swift to cripple his foemen.
Only two of the tribe were capable of further battle. One of them was Pedro. The big Mexican had not been hurt until the chair had struck him during his rush to safety. He was again ready for action, recovered from the blow that had sprawled him.
He still gripped his huge machete. He flourished the weapon and leered venomously as he shouted to Red Mike.
'He is hurt!' cried Pedro. 'He is hurt, I tell you! He is in there; where we can get him!'
'Wait a minute,' commanded Red Mike.
He turned toward the door that led to the street. Two men were standing there.
'Look outside, boys,' ordered Red Mike. 'We don't want more gun play until we know that things are quiet.'
The men left the Black Ship. The proprietor listened at the door to the inner room.
'We've got him, all right,' he said quietly. 'He was lucky, that's all. He can't get out of there. We can take our time. Who is he?'
The question was put to Spotter.
'A stool,' said the crafty-faced man. 'I seen de guy once before. He's a bad egg.'
A chorus of snarls followed these words.
'Spotter knows 'em all,' affirmed a thug. 'He can pick 'em out when he sees 'em. Let's get busy.'
Spotter smiled. He had made the right statement. He was glad that he had not mentioned the name of The Shadow. It was known to comparatively few in the underworld; those who had heard the name held it in awe.
'Easy now, boys,' commanded Red Mike. 'Wait till we know that everything is quiet.'
One of the two men who had left now reappeared at the entrance.
'All right outside,' he reported. 'Geek is watchin'. Youse can go ahead.'
Red Mike produced a hammer and chisel. He began to pry one of the iron plates from the door.
'Watch out, Mike,' warned Spotter. 'He may pot you t'rough de door.'
'Not with them little toy guns.'
The iron sheet had been nailed fast to the top portion of the door. It yielded as the proprietor worked upon it. With great effort, Red Mike forced it free at the bottom and bent it upward. The crooks watched in silence.
