THE men in the Pink Rat were toughened fighters. Even those who were not with Volovick recognized
an enemy in the scar-faced gangster.
They saw him as he shot the lights. They threw themselves into the fray. Six of them leaped to the same
objective.
The man in the sweater no longer depended upon his automatic. Seizing one of the light benches, he used
it as a mighty cudgel, striking out amid the gloom.
He handled his strange weapon as easily as if it had been a cane. He struck down one attacker at the
side. Turning, he met the others head-on, and Harry could hear the thud of falling bodies.
Revolver shots flashed through the semidarkness. Men screamed as the bullets found their mark. But
through it all, the solitary fighter seemed gifted with a charmed existence.
With a mighty effort, he flung the bench across the room, where it struck a man and deflected the aim of
the fellow's automatic. Then the lone fighter was gone.
Curses and groans pervaded the room. Volovick's flashlight appeared, directed toward the spot where
the scar-faced gangster had waged his terrific fight. But it revealed only the forms of wounded gangsters
who had fallen in the attack.
A hand plucked Harry Vincent by the arm. It was the man who had rescued him. The sweater-clad
gangster had slipped between the tables, and had reached the door.
Together, he and Harry reached the stairs and hurried downward. Their flight was just in time. Shots
came from behind them, and they could hear the cries of the thwarted gangsters.
The battle had been short and rapid. The sound of the shots had not yet attracted people from the street.
Harry's companion uttered a shrill whistle; a taxicab rolled up from a short distance away.
'Get in. Hurry!' commanded the gangster, in a low, weird voice. Harry obeyed.
The driver slammed the door.
Astonished. Harry looked for his companion. The man had disappeared.
But at that instant, Volovick arrived. The man staggered from the entrance to the Pink Rat, his eyes wild
with vengeance. He saw Harry's face behind the open window of the cab.
With a cry of triumph, Volovick leveled an automatic. The driver was in his seat; but the cab had not yet
started. Harry was staring into the muzzle of the revolver. He had no chance to drop behind the door of
the cab.
But Volovick's finger never pressed the trigger. A strange, tall black figure emerged from the shadows
beside the entrance to the building. A long arm swept downward, and struck the gun from Volovick's
hand.
The cab shot forward. Harry looked back through the rear window. Volovick lay helpless upon the
sidewalk. A policeman was running up the street from the corner.
The black-clad figure had disappeared in the night.
The true facts of his amazing rescue were now plain to Harry Vincent. The sweater-clad gangster had
enveloped himself in a black cloak as Harry had entered the cab. It was he who had overpowered
Volovick, when the latter had sought to fire the fatal shot.
Only one man could have performed these amazing deeds. Once again, Harry Vincent had been saved
by The Shadow!
CHAPTER X. BRUCE DUNCAN'S FRIEND
THE telephone bell awoke Harry Vincent in the morning. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. He had
slept late; for the grueling adventure of the preceding night had exhausted him.
As he reached for the phone, he felt a twinge in his left arm—a reminder of the bullet that had wounded
him.
The voice on the wire was deliberate.
'Mr. Vincent?'
'Yes.'
'Shall we send the shirts you ordered? We received your letter this morning. Hello! Can you hear me?'
'Yes,' replied Harry.
There was a click from the other end. The speaker had apparently been cut off. Harry listened for a
moment; then smiled as he hung up the receiver. The interrupted call had given him the full message.
'Send letter here.'
That had been the meaning of the three emphasized words. It was a short, cryptic message.
Harry was used to such calls. He had heard them by phone; he had listened to them over the radio. A
few words, stressed at intervals, could carry complete instructions.
It was obvious that the call had come from Claude Fellows. The insurance broker was the man through
whom Harry communicated with The Shadow.
So he was to send the letter to Claude Fellows. What letter?
Harry called the hotel desk.
'Any messages for me?' he asked.
'A letter here, sir.'
'Send it up.'
When the letter arrived, Harry merely noted that it was addressed to him. He placed it in a long
envelope, and addressed it to Claude Fellows.
It was after nine o'clock, so Harry dressed and went to the Grandville Building. There he left the letter
with Fellows' stenographer. After that he went out for breakfast.
Evidently there were to be no immediate duties for him. Last night, Harry had congratulated himself upon
his skill in trailing Volovick, the man who had been following Stanley Berger. But that had ended in a
fiasco.
Harry had fallen into a simple snare; The Shadow had been forced to rescue him.
Last night had furnished plenty of excitement. But now it appeared that he had been dropped from the
task of watching Stanley Berger. Harry felt somewhat piqued.
He went back to the hotel and read a newspaper. In the journal he saw the account of Stanley Berger's
suicide.
Harry whistled softly. So that was why he had been relieved from duty!
He could not believe that Berger was dead. It was a strange, unexplainable sequel to the events of last
night.
A MAN entered the lobby while Harry was still pondering over the demise of Stanley Berger. Spying
Harry, the newcomer approached and slapped him on the back.
Harry was startled by the suddenness of the greeting.
'Bruce Duncan!' he exclaimed.
'None other,' was the reply. 'How's everything, Harry?'
'All right. Come on up to the room. We can talk a while.'
When they reached Harry's room, the two men began a long conversation.
They had not seen each other for some time. Bruce Duncan had been abroad. He had just recently
returned to America.
When Harry had last seen him, Duncan had been worried, and his appearance had shown it. Now he
was the picture of health; a fine, clean-cut chap of powerful physique.
At first the talk was of Bruce Duncan's trip abroad. Finally Harry lowered his voice, and referred to
