the hoodlum who had taken The Shadow's bullet.
That pal wasn't worth carrying away. Mobsters at the window reached through to help the rising pair. The leader snarled, gave a look about. He saw a figure crawling toward him on hands and knees. Shaking free from his helpers,
he pounced upon the Masked Playboy.
Again, crime's tool was in the hands of his persecutors; and with their prisoner, crooks were carrying away the battered camera that contained their precious photographs.
Sounds of the scramble through the window roused The Shadow. Though in the
next office, he was aware what had occurred. He still had time to overtake the mobsters and their dupe. On his feet, he started for the connecting door.
Three men swept in from the hallway. They roared for surrender as they fell upon The Shadow. In the smoky darkness, they thought they had bagged the Masked Playboy. These new invaders were the first members of the police headquarters squad that had come here on advice from stool pigeons.
In the next dozen seconds, The Shadow added to the false reputation that the Masked Playboy had acquired.
Three against one, the detectives were overconfident, each anxious to claim credit for the capture of a badly wanted criminal. Their lack of concerted action gave The Shadow a split-second opportunity to handle them.
He flung the first attacker aside; tripping over the unhinged safe door, the dick took a long tumble. The second man made a grapple and The Shadow closed with him, for it enabled him to sidestep the third.
A moment later, two bodies were lunging, bowling the third man ahead of them. When the pair spilled, they floored the free detective beneath them, letting him take the full weight of the fall. The Shadow broke the hold of his grappling opponent, landed a hard punch that sent him rolling.
Neither of the other two detectives were on their feet when The Shadow dashed away to take the route across the roof.
THOUGH he hadn't much time to spare, The Shadow detoured when he reached the roof. He sprang to the back edge, where he hissed a quick call to the alleyway below. Men heard it; they were agents of The Shadow. In a trice, they understood.
Dashing to the rear of the next building, they were there when mobsters came out bringing The Masked Playboy. Though The Shadow's agents didn't know the innocent part that the Playboy had acted, they recognized that he was the man The Shadow wanted.
Falling upon the startled crooks, they wrested the tuxedoed man from them and lurched him toward a waiting cab.
It was timely work, aided by the fact that the crooks were still disorganized. Before guns could bark, the taxi was starting for the corner, while The Shadow's agents dived for cover, from which to wage combat.
Wild shots didn't halt the cab. It was gone, with its passenger slumped upon the floor where he had been none too gently placed.
Maddened crooks hoped to massacre The Shadow's two agents. Guns were speaking from doorways and alleys, with the odds much in favor of the criminal crew. But The Shadow's agents held their ground, knowing that aid was due.
It came. The Shadow had come down through the building. His big guns began
to boom; crooks recognized the marksman. They scattered, their flight spurred by
the tone of a gibing laugh that seemed to echo from every wall about them.
The Shadow headed for the corner, to see how the cab had made out. There was a chance that the police might have blocked its flight.
Such was actually the case. Around another corner, the cab was halted, while its driver argued with a pair of officers. He had just about convinced them that the cab was empty, when a stir occurred within the taxi itself.
A cop yanked open the door, to see the Masked Playboy rising from the floor. His bandanna handkerchief was still across his eyes; sensing that he was
wanted, he was keeping it there. But numbed wits hadn't calculated further.
Blindly, he was shoving himself into the hands of the law.
The taxi driver was one of The Shadow's agents. He recognized his passenger's plight; knew that he could handle the groggy fellow later. He decided to make a spurt, but by the time he pressed the accelerator the Playboy
was rolling to the sidewalk, wrestling with the policemen.
THE cab was away without its passenger. Shots suddenly began to whistle about the driver's head. Where they came from, he couldn't guess; but it was his cue to keep on going and come back around the block.
The officers heard the shots, and saw their origin. Guns were spurting from a passage between two old houses; with the cab in flight, the crooks aimed
for the police.
Forgetting their prisoner, the officers dived for cover of their own. By the time they had reached it, crooks were piling the Masked Playboy into an old
sedan.
As luck had it, the taxi episode had taken place within fifty feet of the spot where mobsters had left their car parked for the get-away.
This time, the officers supplied the shots that followed a fleeing vehicle; but they opened fire from cover, and their aim was bad. From back at the next corner came the only intervention that could have halted the sedan's escape. The Shadow had arrived there; he was beginning long-range fire for the sedan's gas tank.
The officers saw the new marksman vaguely. Deciding that he was an enemy, they returned his fire. This time, the cops were close. The Shadow was forced to wheel for cover, his chance to halt the sedan ended.
The end of The Shadow's fire brought an exultant shout from the policemen.
They dashed toward the corner, expecting to find a sprawled victim. As they came, they saw the same taxi that had eluded them a short while before.
Blackness detached itself from a wall. A living shape, it reached the slowing cab, to spring aboard. Stopping their run, the officers fired; but their bullets peppered nothing but the corner of the building. The taxi was away again, this time with a different passenger.
Riding from the scene, The Shadow delivered a grim mirthless laugh. In triple battle, the issue could only have been decided by luck; and the breaks had gone against him. Crooks had won the point they wanted: escape, with the Masked Playboy still in their clutches.
The dupe was safe, however, for he was useful to their game. It was the game itself that concerned The Shadow, more than the helpless man who had participated in it.
Some hand of crime lay hidden behind tonight's events. That schemer was the master-foe whose plans The Shadow intended to learn, and, later, frustrate!
CHAPTER IV
CROOKS TALK TERMS
THE next morning, two men entered a huge office building near Wall Street.
They rode to the fifty-fifth floor, which was entirely occupied by the offices of Eastern Refineries, Incorporated. When they stopped at the anteroom desk, one of the men inquired for Mr. Martin Meriden.
The girl at the desk looked doubtful. As treasurer of Eastern Refineries, Martin Meriden seldom had visitors that the girl had never seen. Eastern Refinery, it happened, was one of several subsidiary concerns all controlled by
World Oil interests.
These men certainly weren't from World Oil. Nor did their appearance assure the girl that Mr. Meriden would want to see them.
One man was short and barely the average weight for his height. He looked wiry, though, and pugnacious. His face was sallow, his lower lip, had a thrust that the girl didn't like. His eyes, too, were ugly; they had a way of fixing themselves, then opening wider, in a glare.
The other man was tall, almost lanky; his long face had a wise, close-mouthed expression. His eyes didn't glare; they just set themselves half shut and stayed that way, as though hiding what lay behind them.
