the open road.
The fleeing car was wavering; it was bearing toward the right as the sedan came up to it.
The light coupe could not hold the road with the firmness of the sedan. Gats Hackett realized that fact as he came close enough to fire. The coupe's own speed menaced it as much as did those threatening guns which the gang leader wielded.
Now was the time for action! The odds were with Gats, shooting from behind. He wanted to anticipate a broadside encounter. His big revolvers spat flame.
Gats grinned as he heard the roar of his pet smoke wagons. One shot - two —four—six—they were riddling the skewing coupe.
Then the pace did its work. The fleeing car swerved, skidded crazily across the road, and launched itself toward a fence beyond a narrow ditch.
It never reached the fence. The front wheels caught the ditch; the light car buried its nose in the turf, and the rear end leaped upward as though propelled by a blast of dynamite.
Gats delivered his final shots as the sedan sped by. He cried to the driver to stop. The sedan skidded and came to a halt. Gats leaped from the car, his smoking revolvers grasped in his tough hands. His action was a signal to the others.
It seemed impossible that any man could be alive in the shattered wreckage of the overturned coupe; but to Gats Hackett, that was immaterial. He wanted to see his victim; to learn that his surmise was true; to know that he—now greatest of all gangdom—had brought doom to The Shadow!
They were at the coupe now—the entire mob—with Douglas Carleton as eager as any gangster. Gats Hackett pounced upon the upper door of the coupe— for the smashed car had plunged upon its side. He wrestled with the door; it broke from its hinges.
With a cry of elation, Gats flashed a torch into the wrecked coupe. The wheel was broken; seats were crushed; the interior was a mass of shattered glass.
Yet that scene of destruction brought no joy to Gats Hackett. His shout died away. Douglas Carleton, rising beside him, demanded the explanation.
In reply, Gats could only motion with the gun that he held in his right hand, while he waved the torch that occupied his left. Carleton started unbelieving.
The coupe was empty!
Where was the man who had driven the fleeing car? Where was The Shadow?
With a wild oath, Gats leaped to the ground. Hurrying here and there, he made a fruitless search, in the vague belief that the driver of the coupe had been thrown out when the crash had occurred.
Then, when this frantic task had ended, Gats, inspired with new understanding, led a mad dash back to the sedan.
He knew the truth now, basing it on the strange behavior of the coupe when it had slowed for the final turn.
The Shadow had slipped from the coupe at the top of the hill. He had shifted to high, and pulled the throttle open as he had dropped to safety. He had turned the car straight down the hill, and it had maintained its course almost to the bottom of the firm, flat stretch of road!
Gats ordered the driver to turn back up the hill. His henchmen had piled into the sedan along with Carleton. They were going back, but Gats knew, in his evil heart, that it would be no use.
Precious minutes had been lost. The Shadow would be gone. He had foiled his crew of wild pursuers, and had vanished into the night!
CHAPTER IX. THE CONFERENCE
THE strange escape of The Shadow was not the only aftermath of the affray at Adolph Grayson's home.
In fact, the pursuit of the coupe was the one feature of the night's excitement that never reached the newspapers. The finding of an overturned car on the side of a Long Island road attracted very little attention.
The Grayson robbery, however, made a front-page story. The fusillade of shots that had rung out during the night had brought alarm to those who lived in the vicinity. They had summoned the police. The result had been the capture of the gangsters wounded by The Shadow.
These men had little to say. In fact, they knew little. The only one who had recognized The Shadow had been Zipper Marsh, and he had not lived to reveal what he had learned. The previous death of Dobie Wentz—former crony of Zipper Marsh—seemed to prove the theory that the battle had been started by rival gangsters who had sought to thwart Zipper Marsh's plans.
As a startling sequel to the robbery came the recovery of the stolen jewels and documents which had been taken from the safe in Grayson's home. Through prompt action, Detective Joe Cardona had regained every item that had been stolen.
The newspapers gave the sleuth credit for this; and Joe maintained a discreet silence so far as details were concerned. The ace detective knew the value of keeping silent at crucial times, and this was an occasion which demanded it. For Joe Cardona was totally in the dark regarding the recovery of the pilfered wealth.
He had received a mysterious telephone call the morning after the burglary. That call had led him to a hotel frequented by gangsters. There he had entered a room that had evidently been occupied by Zipper Marsh. In the dead gangster's hideout, Joe had discovered the property that belonged to Adolph Marsh.
Cardona had arrested no one. None of the frequenters of the hotel appeared to be connected with the case. None of them could offer information. Some were gangsters whom Cardona recognized, others were characters who might have been regarded as suspicious; yet none could be linked with Zipper Marsh.
Why had the stolen goods been left at Zipper's hideout, of all places? That was something Cardona could not answer. But in the back of his head, the shrewd sleuth had a theory. In all New York, there was one man only who never did the obvious. That man was The Shadow.
To mention The Shadow's name would have been folly. Cardona had been reprimanded by the police commissioner for such action in the past. Officially, The Shadow did not exist.
There were many competent police officers who did not share the official verdict. Cardona was one of these. He knew the power of The Shadow. More than once had The Shadow saved him from disgrace as well as destruction. The Shadow was one person in New York who never craved publicity. So Joe Cardona took it when it came his way. He accepted it as part of the game.
THE Grayson affair made good news copy for reporters; it also afforded interesting reading for Douglas Carleton. He perused the evening newspaper when he reached Stanford Devaux's home after dinner.
Learning that Virginia was indisposed, he spent his time in Devaux's living room, reading, while his future father-in-law was engaged with Shelton Milbrook in the upstairs study.
Between the lines, Carleton saw the name of The Shadow. What Cardona suspected—namely, that The Shadow had played a part last night—was something that Carleton definitely knew. They had missed a prize last night— he and Gats Hackett—when they had failed to capture the occupant of the coupe.
The spoils of Adolph Grayson's safe would have been a worthwhile acquisition. But the real loss had been the failure to slay The Shadow.
The Grayson property was trivial, compared to the stakes for which Carleton was playing. Across the path of his newly chosen career still loomed the formidable shape of that unknown antagonist.
Carleton threw the newspaper aside, and sat moodily staring at the blank wall. His meditation was interrupted by the arrival of Devaux and Milbrook. Virginia's father greeted Carleton affably. Milbrook, too, seemed friendly.
'Sorry Virginia is not feeling well to-night,' observed Devaux. 'The doctor says that she will have to stay in bed for several days.'
Carleton nodded gloomily.
'I did not intend to stay here long to-night,' he remarked. 'So, under the circumstances, I think I shall go downtown now.'
'Why not ride down with me?' questioned Milbrook.
'All right,' agreed Carleton.
The two men left in a taxi. They said very little during the ride. Carleton was sullen and morose. Milbrook was affable, but taciturn.
