Joe Cardona believed that Fondelac was really wounded, because he had noticed how the man was clutching his hands tight against his side. Joe didn't guess that the count was really hanging on to a bundle of stolen securities that he had pilfered from Lamont Cranston.
Once in the car, Fondelac relaxed and sat back with a long sigh. Cardona told the driver to get them to the nearest hospital in a hurry. He didn't hear the shouts that came from back at the Cobalt Club, where the inrushing squad had met Cranston and Weston coming out.
The squad car was around the corner, halfway along the block, when Fondelac pointed to a cab parked in front of a small hotel. He gestured for Cardona to stop the squad car.
'I am better now, inspector,' informed Fondelac. 'I can go to my apartment
in the taxicab. The commissioner wants you to return. He said that you are to wait for M'sieu' Melbrun.'
'Forget Melbrun,' snapped Cardona. 'You've got to get to a hospital, Count, because of that bullet.'
'Bullet?' Fondelac looked puzzled; then he laughed lightly. 'Non, inspector. The ruffian did not have a gun. He used his fist, this way' - he clenched his hand - 'and gave me one big punch.'
The car had stopped. Count Fondelac stepped to the street; Cardona saw him
wince and tighten his hands, as though the punch still hurt him. Cardona was still staring, when Fondelac entered the cab and rode away.
Joe turned to the driver of the squad car.
'A punch in the belly!' growled Cardona. 'I ought to have handed that sissy another on the jaw! Say, if Fondelac didn't get hit, I wonder what all the shooting was about.'
Abruptly, Cardona quit speculating about the past. He had the present to think about. More shooting was in evidence, from the direction of the Cobalt Club.
Remembering that the commissioner had ordered him to cover Melbrun's arrival, Cardona promptly forgot Fondelac, except to congratulate himself that he had sent the softy from harm's way. Joe ordered the driver to speed around the block and get back to the Cobalt Club.
THINGS were happening very rapidly outside the club. Two groups had witnessed Fondelac's departure with Cardona and had been puzzled because of it.
One group consisted of the lieutenants who served Five-face. They were afraid to take pot shots at Cardona, because of Fondelac. The fact that Five-face had not called upon them to open fire was sufficient to keep them quiet.
The other watchers were The Shadow's agents. Farther away, they supposed that Cardona had taken Fondelac into custody. Thus, everything had remained latent, until a surge of men appeared on the sidewalk. Commissioner Weston was with Cardona's squad, yelling for cars in which to begin pursuit.
Guns talked promptly from across the street. The commissioner dived for shelter and the detectives scattered. They were saved only by the intervention of a friend who had followed them from the club: Lamont Cranston.
From the doorway, which offered satisfactory cover, The Shadow picked out the source of the first wild shots and responded with a prompt fire.
Though The Shadow's bullets took effect, he was unable to get the result he wanted; namely, a prompt pursuit of Five-face. Grease, Banker, and Clip were
at least giving their chief the support that he needed for a getaway.
Moreover, the lieutenants were unusually bold tonight. They and their henchmen were ready to dare the shots offered by the lone marksman in the doorway of the club.
Piling in from many angles, they made for Weston and the diving detectives. The attackers were too many, too widespread, even for The Shadow to
stop them, particularly as snipers had begun a fire toward the doorway, to hold
back the lone sharpshooter.
Perhaps The Shadow's laugh would have diverted the surge, but he preferred
to count on other assistance, while he adhered to the part of Cranston.
In came the aid The Shadow wanted, provided in prompt and efficient style.
Harry Vincent and Clyde Burke popped out from doorways and opened a flanking fire on the charging crooks. Around the corner came Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye,
finished with the thugs back in the kitchen. They added telling shots.
All the while, The Shadow was shooting from the doorway. The lighted space
in front of the Cobalt Club might well have been marked with a gigantic X, for it indicated a spot where bodies would be found if any crooks came that far.
The few who reached the fringes of the light were staggered by The Shadow's direct fire, while his agents were working the flanks.
Leaders of the scattering mob were shouting for reserves. A car came roaring up the street, but it never reached the Cobalt Club. Moe's cab whipped in from a corner and diverted the car across the street.
A batch of thugs leaped out, intent upon many things; primarily, they wanted to obliterate the cabby who had stopped their course.
That was just the time for Jericho. He was pacing in front of the apartment house, just beyond the corner. With a gleaming grin that matched the glitter of his goldbraided uniform, the giant African reached the batch of crooks and went to work with bare hands.
Jericho cracked two heads together like a pair of eggshells. He grabbed a third mobbie, used him to bludgeon a fourth. There was a fifth man among the reserves, but he didn't wait around. He scudded for an alleyway, leaving Jericho in full possession of a sedan equipped with a pair of machine guns.
Other cars were starting away. Cardona met them with the squad car, around
the next corner. Brakes shrieked as the squad car drove one automobile into a wall. The Shadow and his agents riddled another car with bullets.
But the third car managed a getaway, for the squad car offered a barrier between it and the marksmen, who now included the intrenched detectives who had
come out from the Cobalt Club.
In the fleeing car were the three lieutenants who served Five-face.
Banker
was at the wheel, Clip on the seat beside him. Grease was lucky enough to reach
the running board just as the car sped away.
RETURNING to the club, Commissioner Weston found Cranston standing idly in
the doorway. The commissioner knew that his friend had joined in the fire, but had no idea that Cranston had been the mainspring of the whole affray.
While Weston was offering congratulations for what he considered a rather trifling service, a coupe pulled up in front of the Cobalt Club.
Arnold Melbrun was in the car; he was amazed when he learned the full details of the battle. He wanted to know who had returned: Smarley, Tygert, or Barney Kelm.
When Melbrun learned that a new king of crime had taken over the scene, he
stood bewildered. Like nearly everyone else, he had heard of Count Raoul Fondelac, and the fact that such a celebrity had gone crooked merely added to Melbrun's daze.
The size of the robbery was also something to talk about. At least, Lamont
Cranston could congratulate himself upon having kept Fondelac's bonds, in place
of his own, although their value totaled less. But when Melbrun saw the French bonds, he shook his head. In his opinion, they were fraudulent.
It was curious how lightly Cranston took the news. He turned the bonds over to Weston, requesting the commissioner to look into the matter. Then, tired by the evening's excitement, Cranston decided to go home.
Riding away in his limousine. Cranston gave a regretful laugh. It wasn't the sort of laugh that one would expect from a man who had lost half a million dollars. Neither the bonds nor their cash value was the cause of Cranston's regret.
The Shadow simply regretted that he hadn't stopped Five-face before the master crook had tricked Joe Cardona and led the ace inspector to banish crime's trail.
