entered the car. Snakes, however, had wisely refrained from mentioning it. He knew the reason why Gray Fist had ordered out the hordes of gangdom. It would take many to battle with this one—The Shadow.
Snakes had looked for the unexpected. He had not believed that The Shadow's strategy would come so soon. Indeed, Snakes had believed that The Shadow had come to yield to Gray Fist's ultimatum. Snakes had expected the trouble later—when The Shadow would find himself completely trapped.
The Shadow had done the unexpected. He had anticipated treachery on the part of Gray Fist. He had known that the pretended offer of safety had been a fake. Snakes realized this; at the same time Snakes was elated. For although The Shadow had met Gray Fist's subterfuge, Gray Fist, in return, had prepared for The Shadow's counterstroke.
Mobsmen, human wolves, fight in packs. Lone combatants would have feared The Shadow's wrath.
Gray Fist had foreseen the fact, and had not trusted to a mere handful of gorillas. He had turned loose the hordes of gangland. He had known that stark terror would change to fiendish rage once a host of mobsters realized that they had the opportunity to defeat their greatest enemy!
So had Gray Fist reckoned. So had Snakes Blakey known. But the first reaction of the surrounding mobsters was one of individual terror. Startled eyes that saw The Shadow produced the natural response. Despite their numbers, the gangsters who had uncovered The Shadow dropped away.
Skulking rats, they looked for cover as quickly as possible.
The Shadow acted. Amid the glare of the receding flashlights, his gloved hands swung. Huge automatics thundered the first shots in the battle. One straight-aimed bullet sped through the door of the sedan. A wild cry sounded. Woody, the gang leader, who had dropped back at sight of The Shadow, came tumbling rearward to the sidewalk through the door which he had first entered.
The mobster who had previously opened the front door of the sedan, was the recipient of The Shadow's other bullet. With a piercing shriek, this mobster crumpled, and his flashlight clattered uselessly to the paving of the street.
Flashlights clicked out. From the darkness blazed new bursts of flame. The Shadow, weaving his way across the street, was picking his enemies from amid the gloom. Snarling gangsters were firing wildly with revolvers, aiming at the spots where they could see The Shadow's automatics blaze. But The Shadow, moving weirdly, was merging with the darkness of the houses. Revolver shots were wild. The bullets from the automatics were shooting true.
RUFF SHEFFLIN cried an order. Out from the alley behind him piled four mobsters. From across the way, another four appeared. Dropping close to the sidewalk, they fired in vain at an unseen target. Ruff, commander of these forces, clung to the safety of the alley, with Snakes crouching beside him.
'Look!'
Snakes snarled the word to Ruff in exultation. From the doorway of the Black Ship, a squad of mobsters was spreading across the street. These men were dashing forward, forming a living wall which no one could penetrate.
'They'll get him!' growled Ruff.
Then came the bark of automatics. From the temporary shelter of a niche in an opposite wall, The Shadow had spied the advancing squad. The thundering cannonade of his automatics came in swift staccato. One mobster sprawled forward. Another paused, swayed, and collapsed. A third and fourth went down like nine-pins.
The squad broke for shelter. Leaping for alleys, for the steps of houses, they sought safety points from which they could resist the weird attack. Then came a cessation of The Shadow's fire. This lull was cleverly induced.
The mobsters, as they raised their guns, looked in vain for new bursts of flame. The Shadow had downed his adversaries when they were in the open. He foiled them now that they had taken to ambush.
The next episode in the fray was forced by consequences. Hardly had the lull begun before an automobile came whirling up the street from a point ahead. The sound of battle had reached Boney, the lieutenant who blocked the path. A rakish touring car was swinging into action to aid the mobsters who crouched along the narrow street.
A searchlight swept its beams along the wall on the right. As the nearing car approached an unexpected spot, a cry rose from a dozen lips.
Boldly, a tall form had appeared within that light. One hand—the left—was holding an automatic. The other had tossed a gun aside, and was drawing forth a new weapon from the folds of the black cloak.
This action, however, did not disturb the left.
The automatic spat its message. A perfectly driven bullet smashed the searchlight. The car came sweeping up with headlights glaring, but The Shadow was again in darkness!
From their spot of safety, Snakes and Ruff could see the glimmer of a machine gun. That would mean The Shadow's doom. They waited for the typewriter rattle that would spray the walls of houses with a deluge of lead. The sound never came.
Instead, two automatics roared, an instant before the machine-gunner was ready to unlimber. A terrific volley of The Shadow's making was hurled into the touring car. Cries, groans, and shrieks echoed with one accord. The driver whirled the touring car to the left. He lost control as a bullet clipped him at the wheel. Hurtling, the touring car smashed squarely into the parked sedan. It raised oddly on its outer wheels, and turned upon its side. Plunging forms of wounded mobsters shot from the wrecked car.
Amid a momentary lull, Ruff Shefflin cried out with all his might. His shout was a call for battle to the end.
Mobsters, filled with frenzy that banished fear, came leaping from everywhere, and opened charge upon the spot where they knew The Shadow must be.
ROARING automatics answered. Forward-dashing gangsters fired as they sprawled. Bullets smashed against house walls. Shots ricocheted from the sidewalk. The Shadow was dropping his attackers with uncanny precision, but the very size of the odds against him seemed sure to seal his doom.
At the crucial moment, The Shadow changed his tactics. His tall form was visible as it swept across the street toward the smashed automobiles. Mobsters shouted as they paused to change their aims. Ruff Shefflin, snarling as he leaped from his spot of observation, fired rapid shots after the flying figure.
One bullet clipped the edge of The Shadow's hat. Another must have dealt a minor wound, for the phantom figure swerved, changed course, and then kept on. Ruff paused and swung his hand deliberately. The Shadow passed behind the sedan just as the mob leader fired.
Against the wall on the nearer side of the street, The Shadow, catching a friendly place of darkness, paused to deliver a final volley. Firing gangsters dropped instinctively. Then they caught another glimpse of their enemy. The Shadow was making back up the street toward the entrance of an alley.
While wild shots echoed, two gangsters leaped suddenly into view. Their revolvers gleamed; they were blotted from sight as The Shadow, with a giant forward plunge, hurled himself squarely upon his pair of enemies. It was an amazing piece of strategy. The one mobster who fired, missed The Shadow by a scant inch. The other never pressed the trigger of his gun.
The Shadow's right hand descended with a swing. His heavy automatic laid the gangster flat. The one who had missed his shot swung to fire again. The Shadow caught him with a sideswipe, and sent him sprawling along the sidewalk.
From phantom lips came the sound of a bursting taunt of mockery. The black-garbed figure precipitated itself into darkness. Despite the bullets that had swept about him, despite the scratches that he had received in the fray, The Shadow was the victor in this combat.
One factor, only, had driven him from the fray. In the course of the running fight, he had exhausted the bullets in all four automatics. He had used his empty weapons to down a pair of well-armed men who blocked his path to safety.
The Shadow was in flight—but not as a vanquished fighter. His departure was a move of strategy—a lure to bring his enemies to a new battle-ground, where he could display further deeds of prowess.
The Shadow had met Gray Fist's challenge. He had kept his appointment. He had proven the perfidy of the fiend. He had let Gray Fist know that so long as he, The Shadow, remained alive, he would be a menace to the supercrook.
But in his seeking of a new battlefield, The Shadow had no easy task ahead. Wild shouts and roaring fire
