Then the headlight's glare ended. The express was passing the local, its wheels on a level with the windows of the lower train.
The front thug shifted. The remaining man in back came in upon The Shadow. Guns spoke in that darkness. One thug slumped; the other wavered. He staggered toward the open door.
THAT was the sign for a rush. More gunmen came through. As they did, The Shadow gripped the side rail of the platform. He made a quick spring to the gate top, poised a half second and did an outward dive, his extended arms speeding upward. Guns beneath his cloak, The Shadow was not ready for the new surge. He had other plans.
Three crooks who jostled to the platform saw The Shadow's outward dive. They saw his hands make a quick clamp on a platform rail six feet above. That rail belonged to the last car of the speeding express.
As he hooked, The Shadow let his feet swing clear.
The crooks fired. Their gunshots jabbed blankness. The Shadow was whisked from view before they could snap their triggers. The whizzing express had whipped him with it; his powerful hands had retained their hold. A fading roar marked The Shadow's departure.
As the local halted at the next stop, thugs piled to the station platform to make a hurried flight. On the upper level, far ahead, they saw the twinkling rear lights of the dwindling express. Its clatter was lost; instead, those thwarted thugs heard the trailing echoes of a mocking laugh.
The Shadow had eluded all pursuit. In the clear, he could evade the cordons of underworld men who sought him.
Speedily, The Shadow would reach his sanctum. From that base, he intended to prepare a counter-thrust against crime. Always, in the past, the sanctum had proven the perfect stronghold in emergency.
Tonight, the case would be exactly the opposite. A supercriminal had expected thugs to fail when they sought The Shadow in the open. That mastercrook had planned a trap that lay ahead.
The Shadow's sanctum, hitherto so hidden and unknown, was the very spot where Marvin Bradthaw wanted The Shadow to be!
CHAPTER XII. TRAP OF DEATH
STREETS were desolate and dark near the sanctum. A long circuit had brought The Shadow past areas where camouflaged crooks were still on the move. It had been many blocks since he had seen any of those thuggish patrollers.
Reaching an alleyway beside an old office building, The Shadow went through that gloomy route.
He passed an obscure side door that led into the ground floor of the building. That offered one route by which The Shadow could reach the sanctum; tonight, he preferred another. Rounding the rear of the building, he entered a blind passage on the other side. The Shadow stopped at a blank, brick wall.
There, in total darkness, the cloaked being felt for two bricks that were set about four feet apart. Each projected slightly; they could be discerned by touch. The Shadow pressed these bricks. The double action produced an immediate result.
A section of cement slid inward from The Shadow's feet. It moved under the building wall leaving an invisible space. With a quick slide The Shadow was through the gap. The chunk of cement paving slid outward to cover him. It did not even click when it fitted into place.
A turn through a short passage. The Shadow pressed a secret spring; a steel barrier slid aside. Black drapes were beyond it. The Shadow spread the portion where the curtains joined. He was in the sable darkness of the sanctum.
Through that gloom he saw a dot of light that shone like a luminous pin point.
Burbank's signal. The contact man was trying to call the sanctum. Reaching for the earphones The Shadow lifted them. The dot of light went out as The Shadow spoke in whispered tone.
Across the wire came the even-voiced response: 'Burbank speaking.'
Those two words told new disaster. The voice was not Burbank's. Though it was the same imitation that had fooled Harry Vincent, it was detected by The Shadow. He pictured immediately what had happened.
Burbank had actually talked over the line when The Shadow had spoken from the Cobalt Club. Crooks had allowed that under the orders given by their master, Bradthaw. However, once The Shadow had been pushed to speed and strategy among Manhattan streets, the fact had gone to Bradthaw.
The master-crook had called for Burbank's capture.
The contact man's station had been occupied. An impostor had promptly put in a standing call to the sanctum. There could be only one reason for that move. Crooks wanted to know when The Shadow reached there. A trap was due to close.
IN the next two minutes The Shadow made a rapid calculation. He figured what Bradthaw's policy would be. Scores of mobsters would arrive here without delay to surround the building that contained the hidden sanctum. Beyond those shock troops would be other cordons.
Instead of a place of security the sanctum had become a snare. Men of evil had guessed the location of The Shadow's stronghold.
Without delay, The Shadow retraced his course out to the rear entrance. He slid the cement inward; raised his head above its level and listened. He was too late. Already he could hear the low growls of searchers in the darkness.
Bradthaw must have ordered dozens of thugs to be quartered in empty buildings hereabouts. The Shadow's response to the faked Burbank call had been the touch-off. Word had flashed instantly for all hands to converge upon the old office building.
In those tense moments The Shadow foresaw exactly what Bradthaw's course would be. Crooks would plant explosives throughout the ground floor of the building and dynamite the whole structure from its moorings. That would be a sure way to finish The Shadow.
If The Shadow attempted to make a break before the blast came, lights would glare everywhere in this district. The Shadow would be in the center of a crook-manned area faced by odds that even he could not overcome.
A break would be as bad as a wait. Either meant sure death. There was one other course that seemed even worse; nevertheless it carried the unexpected. That, to The Shadow, offered a possible advantage.
He made the move.
Rising from the pit beside the wall, The Shadow glimmered a flashlight upon the nearest crooks. From his lips came a strident challenge - a taunting laugh that none could mistake. As answering lights burned toward the wall, The Shadow started fire with an automatic.
A dozen gunmen saw their black clad foe. They opened a rapid barrage with their revolvers. The Shadow dropped through the opening as the first wild bullets zipped. The cement barrier slithered shut above him. A minute later mobsters were at the wall, setting a charge to blast the sidewalk.
Back in his sanctum, The Shadow heard the muffled boom. It had worked as he wanted. Vengeful crooks were coming through. They had found a route to the sanctum. They wanted to trap The Shadow there.
That meant that the big explosion would be delayed. Men of evil could not dynamite the entire building, while half of their horde was inside.
IN the sanctum, The Shadow glimmered a flashlight upon another corner. There stood a large metal filing cabinet - high, deep, with four strong drawers. The Shadow pulled out the drawers like steps.
Using the broad front edges, he ascended. He moved a portion of the ceiling above his head. A moment later, he was in a thickish passage, with a wall beyond. The Shadow slithered a steel barrier to one side.
He sprang through into a dimly lighted inside passage.
The Shadow had come out near the side door of the office building. His secret panel was located beneath the stairway. It was only a dozen feet to the door; but the way was blocked. Thugs shouted from the main corridor; others sprang in from the side alley. Another armed dozen stood on hand to block The Shadow.
Swinging his hand from right to left, The Shadow jabbed challenging shots; then bounded back through the opening beneath the stairs.
Gunmen fired. Their bullets clanged the barrier as it rode into place. A few moments later, they were hammering the steel panel with their guns, shouting for experts to come and 'soup' it.
