new targets for his deadly aim.
A man came hurrying from a clump of bushes. The Shadow never moved. Like a shade of night, he stood beside a post, invisible to the other man until the fellow came full upon him.
The gangster's startled gasp died as The Shadow's right hand delivered a stunning blow. The force of the hand that swung the steel automatic was timed to perfection.
A second later, The Shadow was a moving shape upon the lawn, while the huddled form of his last opponent lay upon the porch.
A parked automobile stood in the obscurity of the driveway. One man was standing beside the car; another was at the wheel. The motor of the machine was throbbing softly.
'What about it?' growled the man at the wheel. 'Think we'd better go inside?'
'Stay here,' was the response. 'If Zipper's in a jam, he'll need us; he's got to make a get-away -'
The sentence was not completed. The man beside the car toppled forward as something crashed against his skull. Before his companion could do more than utter a surprised exclamation, a tall, dark figure sprang from the mist and gripped him by the throat. With waving arms, the gangster-chauffeur struggled wildly; then his body was hoisted from behind the wheel as though lifted by a derrick.
The Shadow, by a swift surprise attack, had stunned the first of the two who were waiting for Zipper Marsh; now he held the second of these mobsters within his grasp.
After he had pulled his victim from the car, The Shadow lost no further time. His tall form whirled, and the ex-chauffeur shot through the air as though propelled by a catapult. He struck the edge of the drive headforemost. His body somersaulted and lay still.
Again, The Shadow laughed; this time the sound of his sinister mockery seemed stifled by the fog. A being whose very existence seemed incredible, The Shadow might have been materialized from the fog itself. Silent, tall, and indomitable, he remained for a few brief seconds at the scene of his latest triumph over men of the underworld.
Inspired by new impulse, The Shadow turned directly toward the car. There, he took the place of the man whom he had just ejected. Behind the wheel, his very form became invisible. The automobile moved forward under the guidance of his unseen hands.
The lights of the car flashed on as the vehicle sped along the driveway toward the road beyond. A tone of shuddering mirth marked the departure of The Shadow!
CHAPTER VIII. INTO THE NIGHT
THE car which The Shadow had appropriated was a trim, four-passenger coupe, ideally suited for the purpose required by Zipper Marsh. It was not a speedy vehicle, and for that very reason it was adapted to an unsuspicious get-away. As it rolled from the driveway by Adolph Grayson's home, its lack of haste added to its innocent appearance.
But those who viewed the departure of the car were not deceived. A sedan filled with listening men had heard the muffled shots preceding The Shadow's quiet get-away. They had hoped to hear such shots, but they were puzzled by the silence which now existed.
It was Gats Hackett, watching from the sedan, who gave a quick order when he saw The Shadow's car pull out from the drive across the way. He knew that by all rights and all odds, Zipper Marsh was the occupant of the coupe; at the same time, he was anxious to make sure.
'Get after him,' he growled.
The chauffeur responded. The sedan took up the pursuit of the coupe. When they reached the drive, Gats saw that the man ahead had increased his speed. Then the chase began. From the beginning it favored the sedan. Though filled with passengers, the big car had the advantage because it was built for speed. Had the course been along an open road, Gats and his crew would have overhauled their quarry within a quarter of a mile.
But the man in the car ahead did not give them the advantage of the open road. He turned the coupe into a side road, then swung another corner, doubled back on his course, and followed these maneuvers with a new series of twists that thwarted all efforts to overtake him. Every time Gats' big car swung a corner, its occupants saw the coupe turning one ahead.
To Gats Hackett, this crafty flight was maddening. The longer it continued the angrier he became. He growled futile orders to the driver. He cursed violently as he leaned from the window of the sedan, both guns unlimbered for action.
Suddenly, as the driver of the sedan responded to a new turn that threw his passengers sidewise, Gates uttered a loud oath and exclaimed a thought that had sprung to his mind.
'That's not Zipper Marsh up ahead!' he cried. 'He wouldn't handle a car like that! He couldn't!'
A grunt of understanding came from Douglas Carleton. If Zipper was not at the wheel of the coupe, only one other man could be!
'I played the right hunch,' exclaimed Gats. 'Follow that car—get it— it's driven by a guy we want!'
THE driver growled his response, and shot the big car onward toward the turn where the coupe had just disappeared. The constant distance between the two cars, the unexpected twists—both sufficed to make gunfire useless. Gats Hackett wanted closer range. He wanted the open road.
'Zipper would run for it,' growled Gats. 'He wouldn't dodge. This guy, even if he is The Sha'—the gang leader caught himself—'no matter who he is, he can't keep it up all night! He's bound to strike a through road soon. Then we'll get him!'
'We'll get him, all right!' responded the chauffeur.
On and on, through silent, foggy streets and roadways, the persistent chase continued. At last, when they turned a sharp corner, Gats cried out his disgust when he saw that the coupe had gained a full block by its last maneuver. It was turning a corner far ahead.
'Hurry up!' shouted Gats. 'He'll get away from us.'
'Not now,' retorted the driver grimly. 'This is his finish. He hits a through road three blocks ahead. He can't miss it. We've got him now.'
The sedan whirled forward; as it turned the corner on its outer wheels, Gats Hackett uttered a new shout— this time one of exultation.
The sedan had gained!
Up ahead, the lights of the coupe reflected the stop sign of the through road! Here was opportunity at last!
What had delayed the coupe? It should have maintained its distance, yet it had perceptibly decreased its speed. That fact, to Gats Hackett's way of thinking, left no doubt as to the outcome.
In contrast to the muffled oaths and wild activity that dominated the interior of the sedan, there was no sound nor visible action within the coupe. The man at the wheel—so huddled and obscure that he seemed scarcely to be alive—was watching in the mirror above the windshield.
He was approaching the through highway; and now his mind was occupied with the car behind him as much as it was with the road ahead. A black-gloved hand stretched out to open the door beside the driver's seat. The knob of that door was toward the rear of the car.
While the left hand did this work, the right guided the coupe on its final turn—a leftward swing that clipped close to the fog-dampened bushes that overhung a battered curb. The coupe came almost to a stop as a car shot across its path, following the main road. The door opened wider; and burning eyes peered backward toward the onward speeding lights of the pursuing sedan.
The coupe slowly completed its turn. The gear shift moved into high. A low laugh, weirdly muffled in the closeness of the car, sounded vague and sinister. The door slammed shut; the coupe headed directly along a straight stretch of broad paved road, and shot forward with a burst of speed.
THE course lay down a little hill. The motor roared and the car whirled wildly away, as though impelled by a maddened hand. The sedan spun around the corner, a scant fifty yards behind!
Gats Hackett was leaning from the window on the right, urging his driver to greater speed. Faster, faster— the distance was narrowing! The speedometer on the sedan passed the mark of eighty miles an hour. The coupe was hurling itself ahead, but it could not outstrip the breakneck speed of the pursuers, now that the chase was on
