Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER XXIII THE SHADOW’S FIGHT

THE SHADOW entered the room where Perry Wallace was standing in alarm. In one hand, the black-cloaked man held a revolver. He had taken the weapon from beside the dead body of Lopez. He thrust the gun into Perry’s hand and beckoned.

In the hallway, The Shadow pointed to a stairway that led up to the small third floor. The Shadow spoke in an ominous whisper.

“Watch up there!”

Perry ascended the stairs. He could not understand The Shadow’s action. Perry knew the house was probably surrounded, yet he would have favored a break for safety before the new attack. He did not know The Shadow’s purpose. Coolly, the amazing man in black was baiting the foe, to hold them here as quarry for Cardona.

A cry sounded from the front street. It passed along and was echoed everywhere. It was the signal for the attack from all directions.

Men dashed up the front stairs. They turned at the landing. The Shadow was awaiting them. The first gangster fell; the two who were following him dropped back for cover.

Outside the house, men were bursting the windows of the second floor. It was then that shots came from an unexpected quarter — the house across the alley.

Burbank, alert and ready, had a chance to prove his aim. He succeeded. The invaders toppled from their perches and fell.

Burbank had purposely delayed his fire, knowing that he must not reveal his presence until men were actually entering the house. There were some whom he could not cover; they were entering from the back.

As The Shadow waited by the stairs, door burst open and Silk Dowdy leaped into view. He had listened before he opened the door. He sprang at The Shadow like a madman. His pointed revolver was not a foot away.

The Shadow’s left hand swung and Dowdy’s wrist received the blow. The gangster crashed against the wall at the top of the stairs, losing his gun as he fell.

There were two behind him. The Shadow fired twice with his right-hand automatic. His long, black arm rose and fell from the recoil. Each of his bullets stopped a gangster. His other hand was not idle. Its automatic was pointing down the stairs. As he fired his second deadly shot, The Shadow turned his eyes in that direction. His steely glare saw the head and shoulders of a gangster, leveling to fire.

The Shadow’s form swung away. The gangster’s shot seared the left brim of the slouch hat. The man did not fire again. It was The Shadow’s turn. Before the grimy finger of the mobster could press the trigger a second time, The Shadow’s automatic blazed and another rat of the underworld went to his miserable doom.

While Silk Dowdy was still scrambling for his revolver, The Shadow leaped up the stairs toward the third floor. Out of range, he encountered Perry Wallace.

White-faced, but ready for action, Perry was pointing to a trapdoor that led to the roof. The wooden barrier was moving.

GRIMLY, The Shadow waited. The trap slid aside. A hand and arm showed. The Shadow fired. There was a cry from above as the wounded man staggered away.

Silk Dowdy heard the startled cry. He knew that men were coming from above. He summoned the forces from below. The Shadow and Perry Wallace were between two fires.

The Shadow did not hesitate. With an upward spring, he leaped to the trap. He thrust his head and shoulders through with amazing speed.

Had the men on the roof suspected this bold action, they would have held The Shadow at their mercy. The Shadow, however, had cunningly outguessed them. They had drawn back from the trapdoor, fearing further shots. They were crouching low, well away from the danger zone. Against the rear edge of the roof, their forms were visible, whereas the rising head of The Shadow was obscure. The Shadow saw them first.

His right hand, over the edge, blazed straight toward the nearest gangster. The man fell with a groan. The others, realizing that they were targets, scrambled for safety over the edge of the wall.

Rising openly, The Shadow flung the trapdoor aside. With calm indifference toward the men whom he had so easily routed, he stared into the hallway below.

Perry Wallace, crouching behind the edge of the wall at the top of the stairway, was preparing to resist the men who were creeping up the stairs. As The Shadow watched, Perry leaned from his place of protection and fired at an approaching gunman. That was the signal for a mass attack. Five men, headed by Silk Dowdy, drove upward in a group.

They thought that Perry was their sole assailant. When he jumped for cover, they came on. They saw no sign of The Shadow. The dark form, dropping suddenly to the mouth of the trap, was as black as the night. The first token of its presence was a burst of flame that spat from the very ceiling above the hall.

Down went Silk Dowdy, staggering back into the arms of his henchmen The Shadow’s automatics broke loose. The surge of gangsters tottered and fell back. Silk and another gangster rolled down the steps. The others fled, safe only because The Shadow had ceased his fire.

Perry Wallace heard The Shadow’s hiss. In answer to that call, he sprang upward and gripped the edge of the trap. He clung there and managed to draw himself up to his elbows. His hold was weakening; but strong arms came to his rescue. The Shadow brought the rescued man to the roof.

By unexpected action, The Shadow had split the double forces of the attackers. He had struck where least awaited — against those on the roof. The horde below had advanced with the surety that their comrades were ready to attack from above.

THE SHADOW replaced the trapdoor. Pushing Perry flat against the roof, he waited. There was no sign from the edge where the men had gone. There had been four originally. Two were wounded and helpless. A third had gone down the waiting ladder.

There was still a fourth — Pete Ballou — but he was no longer over the edge. The crafty leader of the defeated horde had come back. Yet he had been afraid to shoot from long range — afraid of that vicious automatic which The Shadow wielded. He was lying prone, now, behind a chimney, awaiting The Shadow’s approach.

Both men were coming toward Pete Ballou — The Shadow and Perry Wallace. They were on the other side of the chimney. Pete was watching the side toward the rear edge of the roof, his gun in readiness.

It was not until the men stood close beside him that he realized The Shadow was headed for the side and not the rear of the house. The folds of a cloak swished by his ear. Pete sprung up to fire at the black figure that he saw beside him.

The Shadow sensed the ambush. As Pete’s hand came up, The Shadow dropped. His arms shot forward and the metal of his automatic struck the wrist of his foe. Pete Ballou’s bullet whistled through the folds of the cloak beneath The Shadow’s arm.

Realizing that he had missed, Pete grappled with the man before him.

Perry Wallace was unable to come to the assistance of The Shadow. All that he could see was two rolling forms, writhing by the chimney. As ever, luck was with Pete Ballou. His arm was momentarily free. He managed to deal a sideswiping blow.

The Shadow’s arm, caught in the folds of the cloak, failed to stop it. Only the brim of the slouch hat dulled the force of the powerful stroke.

The Shadow clung to Pete’s right wrist; but his efforts were weakened by the stunning crash. Strong as a bull, Ballou swung The Shadow’s struggling form sidewise. The two rolled over twice.

Then Perry saw the purpose. Swinging from beneath, Pete Ballou hurled The Shadow’s form to the very edge of the roof. Breaking free and rising to his knees, Ballou caught The Shadow’s body to lunge it from the parapet!

Leaping forward, Perry fired twice. In his excitement, his aim was wild. His third shot failed. The hammer of his revolver clicked upon an empty chamber.

Pete Ballou, forgetful of all but his terrible revenge, was gripping The Shadow’s shoulders. Perry, stumbling forward in the dark, tripped and fell flat.

THEN, twelve feet away, unable to effect a rescue of the man who saved him, he saw an amazing sight. Against the dull glow of the sky, two black arms shot upward and gripped the form of Pete Ballou.

The Shadow, reserving his strength, had met his adversary. The arms twisted and turned. By a firm jujutsu hold, The Shadow broke the grasp of Pete Ballou.

The crook’s form was precipitated upward, feet first. His body turned a somersault in a long, sweeping arc. Ballou’s body straightened and his back landed squarely upon the roof, his feet extending over the edge.

With feet kicking wildly in the air, with arms beating in a vain, furious effort to save himself, Pete Ballou slid feet foremost over the edge of the roof!

A long, hideous scream seemed to follow him downward, dying away into space below. There was a dull crash beneath. Pete Ballou had gone to the fate which he had planned for another.

Slowly, The Shadow arose. As he reached his feet, he stopped at the sound of a police whistle from behind the house. Revolver shots resounded from below. Cardona and his men had arrived.

Quickly, The Shadow reached over the edge of the roof and drew up the short ladder which the gangsters had hoisted from a small bay window on the second floor. Moving to the side of the house, he set the ladder over to the roof of the building next door.

While Perry Wallace crawled to safety, The Shadow’s tiny flashlight beamed as he found the automatics which he had dropped in his struggle with Pete Ballou. Then The Shadow followed. Perry heard him drop the ladder into the space between the houses.

A TERRIBLE conflict had broken out between Cardona’s men and the remnants of the gangster horde. The pandemonium became dim as The Shadow urged Perry through a trapdoor in the roof of the house next door to Legira’s. They reached a small, dimly lighted room on the second floor. Here, Perry slumped into a large chair.

“Wait here!” Perry barely heard The Shadow’s warning. “You will be told when you can leave in safety. My man is here.”

Perry nodded, his eyes half closed. It seemed to him that no more than a second had passed before he looked about him. Yet The Shadow was gone!

The sounds of the fight diminished. Soon the battle was over. The police had conquered and rounded up the disorganized mobsters. The Shadow had routed the enemy for them.

The Shadow had struck. The Shadow had vanished. Unnoticed, he had passed from this house and found his way from the vicinity. While Perry Wallace still wondered how The Shadow had disappeared so quickly, the man in black was on his way to a new activity.

A speedy coupe whirling eastward on Long Island. At the wheel was The Shadow, seeking to regain the time that he had been delayed.

The car shot across a bridge, swerved swiftly around a corner and sped with bulletlike power along the highroad.

As the roar of the heavy motor burst through the night air, another sound was manifested. The man at the wheel was laughing. Peals of taunting mirth came from his shrouded lips.

The triumph laugh of The Shadow!

The laugh of the man who had won!