MOVING from the curtain, The Shadow reached the stairs by the time Arlene and Lawsham appeared in the hallway. He saw the girl turning toward the front door; behind her, Lawsham was showing another of those shrewd gazes that The Shadow had recently glimpsed.
Some scheme was hatching in the professor's giant brain. What it promised; how it linked with the past -
The Shadow had no time to analyze. He sped silently for the room with the covered furniture. Once outside the window, he swung the shutter tight and heard the clamp fall in place.
The Shadow was dropping from the connecting wall when he saw Arlene signal a cab that did not stop.
She started for the corner. When The Shadow reached the sidewalk, he saw the same cab arrive again.
It was his own private taxi, driven by one of his secret agents; it had gone around the block. The Shadow's low hiss halted the cab. He jumped in.
They picked up Arlene's trail at the corner, followed in the wake of another cab. For once, The Shadow indulged in a whispered laugh at his own expense. That lurking cab that he had thought contained a spying crook, had held no one but Arlene Delton. The girl had merely been waiting until Lawsham's callers had left.
Arlene's cab reached a street of modest, neat-appearing houses. From his stopped cab, The Shadow saw her enter an old residence that had been changed to a tiny apartment house. Stepping from the cab, he reached the gloomy lobby, saw Arlene Delton's name listed under the number '2B.'
Pressing another button, The Shadow waited until the door latch began to buzz. He opened the door, entered the apartment house. He could hear footsteps on the third floor, where some apartment dweller thought he was about to receive a late caller. Stealthily, The Shadow ascended the stairs, stopping at the second floor.
A door slammed from the floor above. The Shadow stopped at 2B. From within the apartment, he could hear Arlene's sobs. Placing his hand upon the doorknob, The Shadow felt it give. Arlene hadn't waited to lock the door after she had entered. Long weeks of worry had been too much, even for her bravery.
The Shadow entered a darkened living room. To his right lay a doorway that led to a little kitchenette; to his left a light revealed Arlene's bedroom. He couldn't see the girl, for she was past the corner. Her sobs had ended with surprising suddenness. All that The Shadow could hear was the sound of a bureau drawer sliding open.
The Shadow decided to meet Arlene; to talk with her. He, too, was interested in matters that concerned Dick Remingwood. Arlene might be startled when she met The Shadow, but her surprise would soon turn to confidence.
Silently, The Shadow moved toward the open doorway, to stop just short of it. The door was partly closed; The Shadow heard Arlene approach, so he remained where darkness sheltered him. An instant afterward, the door whipped open. The girl, herself, was in the doorway.
No longer were Arlene's eyes moist. They were firm; cold in their stare. Her chin was thrust out in hard determination. Below that chin was an upraised fist that gripped a .22 automatic.
The muzzle of that weapon was pointed into the living room, trained straight toward the darkness where The Shadow stood!
CHAPTER XI. THRUSTS THROUGH THE DARK
THE same sheer instinct that spurred The Shadow to amazing action could serve him otherwise. It did on this occasion. Despite the surprise that Arlene had provided, The Shadow remained motionless, still covered by the aimed pistol.
The Shadow was in darkness, so he clung to it. He had a chameleon ability at concealing himself in gloom. That blackened living room was a veritable shroud that blanketed the cloaked figure who had entered.
Arlene did not budge. Her face kept its determination. One telltale sound, the girl would fire. Recognizing that fact, The Shadow avoided any clue to his whereabouts. Then, as reason replaced instinct, he coolly sought the cause for his dilemma.
Certainly, Arlene could not have heard him enter. There hadn't been the slightest click from the doorknob when he opened it. She could not have spied light from the hallway. The Shadow had not only blocked it when he edged through the door; Arlene, at that moment, had been in the lighted bedroom.
Had Arlene noted that her cab was followed? Had she expected an intruder?
Those questions produced a negative answer. Had Arlene been keyed to action, she would not have indulged in those sobs. They had been genuine. Though Arlene showed complete determination, her face was streaked with tears.
Then, as he nullified those possibilities, The Shadow caught the true answer in one quick flash.
Arlene had heard something, just as The Shadow had begun to open the door. But it had not been a sound from his direction. He was covered, at present, by the girl's gun; but his own position explained it.
Behind The Shadow lay the kitchenette. Arlene had caught some warning from that quarter.
TENSELY, The Shadow listened. He heard a stir, so slight that Arlene failed to sense it. It was a creeping motion behind The Shadow's back. He knew that sort of sound - as deadly as the rattle of a snake.
Whoever was there did not see The Shadow. The lurker was slightly away from the angle of Arlene's aim. Close to the wall of the kitchenette, the hidden man could certainly observe the girl. Framed in the lighted doorway, she was a perfect target for a killer.
The Shadow could sense a gunner aiming from darkness. He could pick the fellow's exact position, for there was only one angle from which the would-be killer could see Arlene, without spotting The Shadow.
That murderous lurker was taking his time because he had the girl covered.
Quickly, The Shadow's tactics changed. From immobility, he switched to speed. His action came as silent as it was swift. Thrusting one hand beneath his cloak, he whipped out an automatic; with the swing of his arm, he made a quick half-whirl, fading to the floor.
Three guns spoke; their shots formed a quick procession, spaced half-seconds apart. The Shadow's .45
knifed first, straight toward the corner of the kitchenette. A revolver tongued from that very spot, but its spurt went upward, half-toward the ceiling. The third burst, puny in comparison, was from Arlene's .22, as the girl delivered a spontaneous shot into the darkness where The Shadow had been.
There was a thud from the kitchenette. Jolted by the impact of The Shadow's bullet, the hidden gunner had missed Arlene. That enemy was finished; The Shadow's next problem was to halt Arlene before she fired other shots at random.
Arlene, herself, solved that problem, and with it, produced another. Realizing that the lighted doorway was a bad place to be, she sprang into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Almost instantly, there was a muffled crash from the bedroom window.
The Shadow reached the door, swung it inward. Arlene had turned, to meet a masked thug who was springing in to grab her. She was belated in her aim; so was the man who sought to slay her, for he had landed on hands and knees inside the sill.
Coming up, the new foeman made a grab for Arlene's gun hand and caught it. As he wrested her .22
away, he started a slugging blow for the girl's head. The long arm of The Shadow thrust in between, halted the murderous slash. As Arlene broke away, she stared in amazement at the quick grapple that followed.
She saw a cloaked being in black who had come seemingly from nowhere, to pick that quarrel with a sweatered thug. Cloaked arms were locked with those of the thwarted killer. The thug's face was venomous as he pulled his gun hand high and clear, ready for a downward blow.
Arlene shrieked an unneeded warning. Before the slugging fist could descend, a muffled gunshot sounded. Arlene saw the thug sag from The Shadow's grasp. She spied a gloved fist that gripped a smoking automatic.
Then, as Arlene sprang to join her rescuer, The Shadow met her with an arm sweep that sent her staggering through the doorway to the living room. With a twist, he dropped to the floor inside the bedroom window, just as the rattle of a machine gun spoke from the low roof of a garage.
RAKING bullets whined above The Shadow's head, to spatter the wall of the bedroom. Those slugs ripped away the single floor lamp that illuminated the room. Darkness came; the machine gunners no longer had hope of picking a target. They halted their useless fire.
They were to regret their move. A gibing laugh came from the window; with it, the quick flashes of an automatic. Uncannily, The Shadow was picking out human targets against the dim background of the garage roof.
Huddled figures sprawled; others dragged them away, beneath the shelter of a low parapet. That gun crew was clearing out; the luckier crooks were hauling the machine gun along with their wounded pals.
