of punks? Tryin’ to hand us boloney like that? Listen to him, gang. Then listen to me.
“I was goin’ great until this bozo began to chisel. He’s the guy that let The Shadow get wise to what I was doin’. Some of you fellows worked for me when Wellerton was takin’ my orders. Was The Shadow mixin’ in it then?”
As Wolf turned his head from side to side, he momentarily forgot Graham Wellerton. With a savage cry, the young man precipitated himself upon the leering gang leader. He gripped Wolf’s gun wrist; the two men locked themselves in a furious struggle.
“Get him!” gurgled Wolf, as Graham’s hand gripped his throat. “Get the double-crosser!”
Garry, the man who had come with Wolf, was the one who ended the indecision. Mingled with Graham Wellerton’s mobsmen, he echoed Wolf’s cry. “Get the double-crosser!”
Two mobsmen responded. They leaped upon Graham Wellerton and dragged their denounced leader away from Wolf Daggert. Had Graham used discretion, he might have saved his cause; instead, he furiously swung against the men who had seized him. That brought the entire mob.
In the fray, Graham’s overcoat was ripped from his body. He went down under force of numbers.
Wolf Daggert was snarling imprecations. He had won over the entire squad of mobsters. Two men had pinioned Graham Wellerton’s arms behind him. They were dragging the young man into the back seat of the first sedan.
“We’re goin’ ahead with the Grand Rapids job,” Wolf decided. “But this bird’s goin’ to be out of it - the dirty double-crosser. Come on - move along an’ we’ll put him on the spot.”
“How about finishin’ him right here?” growled a mobsman.
“Farther along,” rejoined Wolf. “Too near the main road here. We’ll cut over through the country. Leave it to me - I’ll give him the bump.”
Men leaped back into the cars. The caravan started. Graham Wellerton, pinned by two men, was huddled in the back seat of the first sedan. Wolf Daggert, his revolver threatening, crouched on the floor directly in front of the prisoner.
As the cars rolled along, Graham began to realize his predicament. He knew that his only hope for life lay in turning the men against Wolf Daggert. With an opportunity to talk, he might be able to swing the tide the other way. But Wolf’s revolver made him wary. If Graham began to argue, Wolf would shoot. That was obvious.
“Keep lookin’ for a good spot,” growled Wolf, to the man at the wheel. “Somewhere that’ll do to dump this double-crosser after I plug him.”
“Here’s the place,” rejoined the driver. “Right ahead.”
A snarling laugh came from Wolf Daggert’s lips as the gang leader peered over the front seat. The lights of the sedan showed a twisting, slanting road, an embankment on the left; a ravine on the right.
“Ease up,” ordered Wolf. “Here’s where he goes out.”
As the driver applied the brakes, Graham Wellerton did the unexpected. The mobsmen on his right was opening the side door of the sedan. With a sudden leap, Graham broke free from his captors and dived in that direction.
Hands clutched furiously as Graham hurled himself against the door. The car was traveling at less than thirty miles an hour when the barrier burst open and Graham Wellerton paused momentarily upon the brink, while the man closest to him made a wild grab to stop his escape.
Turning his body, Graham delivered a swift punch squarely in his captor’s face. At the same instant, Wolf Daggert swung to aim his revolver at the maddened prisoner. Momentarily freed, Graham lost his balance. With a startled shout, he launched from the car, just as Wolf fired two rapid shots.
IT was impossible for Wolf to tell whether or not his bullets had gone home. Graham’s hurtling form had struck the turf at the top of the embankment. From the car, stopped within a dozen yards, Wolf could see the flying form traveling in long bounds down the side of the rough ravine. The other cars had halted.
Mobster eyes were watching the body of Graham Wellerton as swift momentum carried it to the bottom of the gulch. The form of the ex-gang leader crashed into a thick clump of brush. As it disappeared, saplings wavered in the moonlight, indicative of the force with which the body had struck.
“Looks like you got him, Wolf,” laughed a mobster.
“Yeah,” agreed the gang leader. “I fired close enough, but he was on his way. Maybe one of you guys had better go down there an’ make sure.”
There were no volunteers. At spots, the sides of the sloping ravine were precipitous. Both descent and return would be difficult. Graham’s body had ended its wild trip more than one hundred feet away.
“Car comin’ this way,” informed the mobster at the wheel. “See the lights?”
Wolf observed a tiny gleam from a turn in the road a quarter of a mile ahead. The approaching car went out of sight as it took another bend. Its arrival here would occur within another minute.
“Get goin’,” growled Wolf.
The sedan started. The other cars followed promptly. The three automobiles passed the approaching machine. Apparently, Wolf’s car was merely a vehicle that was hogging the narrow road and slowing up two cars behind it.
“Keep on,” ordered Wolf. “We don’t want no trouble. That guy that we just passed won’t suspect nothin’. It’s a sure bet that Wellerton got the works.”
“That trip he took didn’t do him no good,” laughed one of the mobsters. “It don’t matter whether you gave him any lead or not.”
“I plugged him,” decided Wolf, beginning to resent any doubts regarding his marksmanship. “Give him two bullets. One’s enough when I use the gat.”
THE cars were speeding onward. The leading driver was talking about the best way to reach a main road. Graham Wellerton was a matter of the past. Wolf Daggert was the leader now.
“We’re in no hurry,” declared the gang leader. “We’ll go ahead with the job Wellerton planned. That bank in Grand Rapids will be our gravy - and you can bet nobody’s going to interfere. Wellerton saw to that.”
This was the only intimation which Wolf Daggert delivered regarding the menace of The Shadow. There was a positiveness in the gang leader’s tone. He knew that The Shadow had been in New York; that King Furzman - the only man who had known Graham Wellerton’s plans - was dead.
The Shadow!
Wolf chuckled in the assurance that the black-clad phantom would not be on hand to spoil the robbery that lay ahead. He, Wolf Daggert, had profited by Graham Wellerton’s schemes. Not for an instant did Wolf suspect the truth.
Graham Wellerton’s foray was already doomed to failure. This mob of New York bank robbers was traveling directly into a trap which would be well set when they arrived.
The Shadow was already in Grand Rapids, awaiting Graham Wellerton’s mob. He would receive the enemy tomorrow night. The change of leadership would make no difference.
Wolf Daggert, by usurping the power which Graham Wellerton had possessed, was directing a crew of hardened mobsters into The Shadow’s snare!
In plunging from the moving sedan, Graham Wellerton had merely chosen a present danger in lieu of one which he would have unwittingly encountered had he traveled on with a mob at his command.
The trip into the depths of the obscure ravine was a much more desirable experience than the foray on the Grand Rapids bank - although Graham Wellerton had no cognizance of the fact.
Wolf Daggert, triumphant, was in a much less desirable position than Graham Wellerton, vanquished. Wolf was gloating over his victory. His evil joy would cease tomorrow night.
The Shadow would be responsible for that! Mobsmen had chosen a new leadership. The result would be the same - a futile surge against the hidden might of The Shadow!
CHAPTER IX
A MAN FROM THE PAST
GRAHAM WELLERTON opened his eyes. He found himself staring straight upward into moonlight. He was lying on a matting of thick grass, fringed by clusters of scrubby bushes and light saplings. The gurgle of a brook was
