followed his swift escape. These vicious sounds were echoed from blocks around.
The Shadow was heading into the heart of the underworld. He was dashing into a gang land that had been aroused. Like wildfire, the news had traveled almost from the moment that the fray had begun.
Fierce lips everywhere in this dangerous district were fuming the one cry:
'Death to The Shadow!'
CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S STRONGHOLD
AMONG the enemies who had beset The Shadow, there was one whose craftiness was more dangerous than the abandon of those who had fought against the black-clad warrior. That single foeman was Snakes Blakey, the wily lookout who served Gray Fist.
To-night, Snakes had engineered the coup that had turned out hordes of gangdom to wage war with The Shadow. Through Ruff Shefflin and the lesser gang leaders, Snakes had created a stir that was increasing to a fever pitch.
From this focal point deep in the bad lands, the cry had gone forth. Gangsters and ruffians of all types had responded to a single urge. They were out to get The Shadow, to end the career of the intrepid battler who had so persistently defeated the schemes of supercrooks.
Snakes had foreseen The Shadow's move. From the edge of the alleyway, where he waited, the stoop- shouldered sneak had realized that The Shadow might break through the ring of mobsters that had surrounded him. Snakes could do nothing to augment the forces that were fighting in the street by the Black Ship, but he knew that his services might be required elsewhere.
When The Shadow crashed his way past the two mobsters who sought to stop him, Snakes Blakey was acting also. With frantic speed, Snakes hurried down his own alley, in a mad effort to beat The Shadow to the street beyond.
Ahead, Snakes saw men waiting. The glare of a flashlight shone into his eyes. Knowing that only mobsters could be hereabouts, Snakes shouted out an order which he knew would be heeded.
'The Shadow!' was his cry. 'Get him! In the next alley. He's coming through!'
The flashlight swung. Deep-throated voices passed along the cry. Scurrying mobsters were arriving. With one accord, they gave the signal to their fellows.
'The Shadow! Get him! Get The Shadow!'
A huge mobster leaped in the direction that Snakes had indicated. He was the first to reach the opening where The Shadow was expected. Holding a big revolver in his right hand, he used his left to turn the rays of a flashlight along the next alley.
The gleam of the torch was blackened in a trice. Like a living avalanche, a mass of darkness precipitated itself forward in solidified form. A long black arm swung downward.
The Shadow had arrived. With one swift stroke, he had met his adversary. The huge mobster was flattened by a terrific blow from an emptied automatic.
Mobsters saw their pal fall. They caught only a fleeting glimpse of the fighter who had struck down the gunman. The Shadow, with amazing agility, swung back into the darkness of the alleyway. Stooping, he plucked the mobster's .45 from the paving where it lay.
'Death to The Shadow!'
AS the cry resounded, hurried bullets were discharged toward the wall by the alley. Shots were plastered flat against the bricks. Mobsters were converging to a spot opposite, from which they could gauge the range.
Then came The Shadow's answer. His stern hand opened fire with the seized revolver. The borrowed weapon found its targets. Two gangsters fell. The rest dropped for cover.
The Shadow did not tarry. Already a horde was on his trail. Shots were coming from the back end of the alley, where thwarted gangsters were entering to take up the chase. The Shadow sprang from the spot which was no longer secure. With incredible speed, he hurtled along the street, choosing the direction where mobsters were the fewest.
Shots followed. They could not find that fleeting form, which appeared but momentarily when it entered patches of light. A gangster leaped from cover to block The Shadow's path. His finger was trembling on the trigger of his gun; it never managed to discharge the weapon.
A burst from the .45 settled the blocking mobster. As his body sprawled, The Shadow cleared it with a leap. His keen eyes spied approaching men ahead. With sudden intuition, The Shadow doubled on his trail, shot across the street, and sprang into an opening on the other side.
'Get him! Get The Shadow!'
Ruffians were leaping to the cry. They thought that they had trapped their daring foeman. The opening which The Shadow had chosen was a blind alley, with a high wall at the end. Fearless in their frenzy, men of the underworld piled on The Shadow's trail. The thought of death was forgotten in the individual urge to be the first to deliver a fatal shot to the common enemy.
Three gangsters reached their goal. One shot a light into the alleyway. All had guns pointed toward the wall at the end of the cul-de-sac. A cry came from the first mobster as he turned his lantern upward.
The Shadow, by a superhuman effort, had gained the top of the high wall. The gangsters were aiming toward a lower level. Before they could raise their weapons, The Shadow gave them the remaining contents of the gun that he had seized.
Roars from the .45 reechoed through the short area as zipping bullets found their marks in human flesh.
Two gangsters fell. The third pressed the trigger of his gun. His shot sizzled past The Shadow's shoulder just as the black-garbed master fired another shot. The mobster dropped prone as two more arrived to aid him.
Another shot—the last that The Shadow could deliver. Then, with all the force that a powerful arm could give it, the glistening .45 came whirling through the air, straight at the head of the final enemy. For that mobster stood alone; his companion had crumpled with The Shadow's final bullet in his heart.
Aiming, the last man ducked as he saw the empty revolver hurtling toward him. He was too late. The massive weapon thudded against his skull. The gangster sprawled and rolled over in the short alleyway.
From atop the high wall came the strident tone of The Shadow's laugh. A rising burst of merriment, it mocked those who had sought to slay him. Here, in the heart of gangdom, The Shadow flung forth his challenge to all who might seek to stay his wrath!
More men were coming to the scene. They were scattered shooters from the ranks which The Shadow had thinned in the neighborhood of the Black Ship. Lights glimmered into the alleyway of death. They showed one final glimpse of a fleeting, dropping form. The Shadow had gained the other side of the wall.
ONCE again a quick-thinking enemy was in the game. Snakes Blakey had taken nothing for granted. He had seen the power of The Shadow. Even while shots had resounded from the cul-de-sac, Snakes was screaming exhortations for the ears of skulking mobsters.
The Shadow was in the midst of the foe. Gangsters were sliding into every alleyway around the entire block where The Shadow had disappeared. One sight of the being in black would be the signal for a mass attack.
A car was coming down the street. From it came Ruff Shefflin's growl. Snakes Blakey leaped aboard.
He heard Ruff's sullen order to the driver.
'Cruise around!' The gang leader was fierce in speech. 'We'll get The Shadow! Spread the word!'
The car encircled the block. Ruff's order was repeated. Snakes Blakey, peering from within the car, was on the lookout for the phantom being whose death he had ordered for to-night.
There was no sign of The Shadow. Somewhere, amid the labyrinth of narrow streets and hidden alleys in this section the weird lone wolf had found a temporary refuge. Other cars were circling the district. From all came the same order:
'Get The Shadow!'
All sound of conflict had ceased. The original battle-ground had been abandoned, although watching eyes were back in the old buildings near the Black Ship. The police had been called to the scene; all that they would find were bodies of those who had failed in their conflict with The Shadow.
Seething turmoil lay suppressed throughout the underworld. Gang rivalries had been forgotten. One quest alone excited all. That was the desire to meet and defeat The Shadow. Death to a brave fighter whose shots had done mighty work, yet whose arsenal was now exhausted: such was the wish of gangdom.
