The Five Chameleons

Chapter IV — The Man of the Night

The moments that followed the fall of Harry Vincent were thrilling ones. Ferret, Daniel Antrim, and Solly Bricker were the principal actors in an exciting scene. The supernumeraries were a quartet of hoodlums who had followed Solly into the apartment.

Daniel Antrim heard the scuffle at the door. His revolver was in his hand as Harry Vincent fell. Instinctively, the stout lawyer swung to meet the new menace. His bloated face was blue with excitement.

Antrim was between two enemies: Ferret, unarmed, and Solly, a formidable foeman.

Seeing the surge of men in the doorway, he sensed that a third real danger lay there.

Ferret, shrewd in spite of his predicament, began to move cunningly the moment that Antrim turned away. He was swift, yet cautious, as he sank to the floor and extended a furtive hand toward his gun. It was not only fear of attracting Antrim's attention that withheld Ferret; it was also uncertainty regarding Solly Bricker. Ferret knew that the notorious gang leader might shoot first and inquire afterward. Solly, himself, had need of prompt action. His arm was down, following the blow that he had delivered to Harry Vincent. His men were in back of him, blocked from action by their leader's body. Solly, coming up with his gun, intended to cover Antrim until he knew how matters stood. But with the lawyer wildly springing to an attack, Solly was forced to act quickly. Antrim was about to fire. Solly, his body turned, could not beat him to the shot. The gangster dropped away, and his men, inspired by their leader's action, scrambled back into the hallway. Had Antrim been capable of pressing his advantage, he might have broken the attack, for the cards were momentarily in his favor. But the lawyer, a poor handler of a revolver, did exactly what Solly had expected him to do. He fired at the spot where the gang leader had been; not where the enemy was now located.

The lawyer's first bullet crashed into the wall a full foot above Solly's shoulder. His second shot was even wider of its mark.

Now came Solly's reply from the rising automatic. The gangster's shot was close; it whizzed by Antrim's body, just as the lawyer, realizing his former mistake, was lowering his gun toward Solly. Had the duel remained in the hands of these two men, the next second of action would have decided the outcome. Daniel Antrim had his finger on the trigger. Solly Bricker was ready with his next shot. Each had gained a sure aim. Their shots were about to be discharged simultaneously. But neither had reckoned with Ferret. Sliding toward his revolver, the stoop-shouldered man with the crafty eyes was watching the participants in the exciting affray.

Even before they fired their first shots, he saw that neither would be concerned with him.

Ferret's cunning glide had turned to a quick movement.

He was up with his gun at the crucial moment, his finger tightening on the trigger. A loud report, and Daniel Antrim toppled sidewise, just as he was about to fire.

So short was the time between Ferret's shot and the imminent outcome of the duel between Antrim and Solly, that the latter had no time to alter his aim. His shot followed, zimming just above the head of the crumpling lawyer.

Ferret waited no longer. With a wicked chuckle he dived for the door that led to the rear of the apartment. He had decided this conflict just as he had threatened to do. He had wounded Antrim, and left the rest for Solly. With the echoes of the gunfire resounding through the apartment, it was time for him to be on his way.

Solly did not notice Ferret's departure. This man — he did not know Ferret's identity — had saved his life. Antrim, crumpled on the floor, was trying his best to raise himself to a firing position. Solly Bricker showed him no mercy.

Thrice the gang leader's automatic pumped leaden carriers of death into the writhing form. Daniel Antrim, the double-crosser, lay dead and motionless when Solly lowered his pistol and strode to the desk. He snatched up the documents that lay there. His quick scrutiny revealed that they referred to him. They betrayed Antrim's plans to have Bricker brought to justice — because Solly had refused to enter into a compact with the crooked lawyer!

Antrim had never threatened; but from the moment that Solly had received Ferret's phone call, he had been suspicious. That fact had accounted for his prompt arrival with his mob.

Cursing, Solly spat at the dead man on the floor. Then, recalling the beginning of the conflict, he turned to the door through which his four gorillas were appearing.

"Get that guy!" exclaimed Solly. "The one I knocked cold. Drag him in here!" The gang leader thrust the incriminating papers in his pocket, and watched as the hoodlums lugged Harry Vincent to the center of the room. Their victim was still senseless.

"Prop him up, two of you!" ordered Solly. "The others stand guard. One at the front door. One at the back. We're going to scram."

Harry, his body twisted crazily, was spread-eagled by his outstretched arm. His form was held upright between two sullen-faced mobsters. His head was leaning face downward. The side of his face and neck showed the mark of the blow that Solly had delivered.

Stalking forward, Solly clenched his left fist and brought it upward brutally. He struck Harry forcibly on the chin, and the helpless man's head flopped back. Solly leered at the pale, expressionless face.

"He's out," declared the mob leader. "Out cold. That's because I hit him. I knock 'em cold. We've got to scram. No time to waste. Hold him — I'll do the rest."

He stepped back and calmly leveled his automatic at Harry Vincent's heart. With cool indifference, Solly placed his finger on the trigger, and prepared to viciously end the life of The Shadow's operative. It seemed certain doom for Harry Vincent. Two gangsters were clutching him. An armed man was at each entrance. Solly Bricker was about to fire.

No one moved as Solly took deliberate aim. The man at the rear exit was peering through the doorway. The man on guard at the front door, interested in the craftsmanship of his leader, had turned his head to watch Solly.

Five mobsmen — all armed and unscathed. Harry Vincent, weaponless and unconscious.

These were odds that Solly Bricker liked! A million to one in his favor, so he thought. But Solly was wrong. Neither he nor any of the watching men saw the long black shadow that projected itself upon the floor. It started from the hallway, and above it loomed the man himself — a tall, silent figure, clad in black cloak and slouch hat.

The Shadow was present!

Had the mysterious arrival relied upon a single gun; had he acted in haste or had he yielded a sound to tell of his presence, he could not have saved the life of Harry Vincent. But The Shadow never erred!

Each of his black-gloved hands clutched an automatic. With smooth, certain motion, he nudged the pistol in his left hand against the body of the man at the door, and pointed the right-hand gun directly at Solly Bricker. Both pistols spoke together, so that the two shots sounded like one of terrific volume. The first shot eliminated the man at the door. He dropped forward, a wound in his side. The other shot struck Solly's forearm just above the wrist, and plowed on into the gang leader's body. The Shadow's right arm was extended, his left held close to his body. His left hand moved forward from the recoil of the .45. The gun barrel now rested squarely on the crook of his right elbow.

The left-hand gun spoke again with perfect aim. Its bullet clipped the man at the opposite door before the startled gunman could recover from his surprise. The watching gangster went down. As the left hand drew back, the right whirled, and the two automatics were covering the men who held Harry Vincent!

One against five — yet The Shadow had turned the tables in one quick second. A perfect marksman, every one of his timed actions led to another. Three shots, each calculated, had disposed of three enemies. The other two were in The Shadow's power!

Here entered the element of uncertainty. Solly's last two retainers were neither cowardly nor brave. They were toughened gang fighters, who liked to shoot down helpless victims; at the same time, they were men who believed in fighting as the best means of self-preservation.

They realized nothing of The Shadow's strategy. They only knew that they were in a tough spot. As men who had never given mercy, they expected none. Each with the same thought — knowing that they were two against one — let go his hold on Harry Vincent, and swung his revolver toward the menacing form in black.

The Shadow had two bullets for them. His left-hand pistol spouted flame as a quick shot flattened the nearer gunman. But the attacker on the right was a graver menace. He dropped to the floor as Harry's body fell. He was behind the crumpling form, and his revolver was coming up. The Shadow fired. His bullet grazed the gangster's left shoulder as he hunched away from danger. An inch lower, and the shot would have told; but an inch lower would have made Harry's form the target. The gangster's right hand swung up in front of Harry's body. The man pressed the trigger, once— twice— But the hasty shots went wide. The Shadow, too, was moving. He was coming forward swiftly, just as the hand appeared. Forward and to the right — missing the area covered by the revolver. The Shadow's left arm, stretching far and low, delivered a shot that prevented a third bullet from the gangster. It clicked the top of the revolver barrel, and ricocheted to the wall beyond. Instinctively, the gangster drew away, and in that action, he displayed his neck and shoulders above Harry's body. The Shadow's right hand acted.

That finished the conflict. A single shot from close range was delivered by the hand that never failed. The bullet paralyzed the mobster as it took him in the neck, along the spine. The last of The Shadow's enemies sprawled face downward on the floor.

The Shadow's automatics went beneath his cloak. A long stride, and he was plucking Harry Vincent from the floor. Distant shouts were coming from the hall. The Shadow, employing amazing strength, lifted Harry, and carried him through the rear door of the apartment.

When two policemen dashed into the apartment, a moment later, they found Solly Bricker and his crew, sprawled out, with the body of Daniel Antrim.

Solly, like the lawyer, was dead. The Shadow's timely shot had reached his heart, after clipping his extended forearm.

From the fire tower, which opened on a small courtyard behind the apartment, a body appeared as though suspended in space. It was Harry Vincent's form, supported by the invisible figure of The Shadow. Then the carrying figure showed in the filtering light, like a black phantom of the night. He was bearing his companion away to safety. Suddenly The Shadow stopped. He set Harry's form against the wall. His figure loomed over the unconscious man, like a protecting guardian. His black cloak masked Harry's presence as completely as if it had been blotted out by night. The light of an electric torch appeared. A policeman, attracted by the shots, was entering the alley. He neared the fire tower. Uncertain of his surroundings, he turned, and his flashlight gleamed directly upon the figure of The Shadow.

The policeman was dumfounded. His revolver in his left hand, his torch in his right, he might have killed The Shadow. But he never gained the advantage.

The Shadow dropped forward, catching the policeman's wrists. Twisting powerfully, he whirled the officer's body in a circle.

The revolver and the flashlight shot through the air in opposite directions. The policeman landed on his back, and rolled over twice. Stooping, The Shadow raised Harry's body and carried it swiftly toward the street.

The policeman, momentarily dazed, saw his flashlight shining on the ground. He leaped for it, and flashed it back and forth. It located his revolver. He hurried toward the street — with many seconds lost. The patrolman looked up and down. Forty feet away, he saw a man halfway in the door of a parked automobile. The policeman raised his revolver and ran shouting in that direction. The man emerged from the car and stood awaiting him. The policeman stopped short.

He was facing a tall man, immaculately clad in evening clothes. The man blocked the door of the car; the officer's flashlight, shining beyond, showed thick darkness within the vehicle.

"What is the trouble, officer?"

The gentleman spoke in a quiet voice. The policeman was immediately impressed by his importance. The contrast between the swift activity of the shrouded figure in the alley, and the quiet bearing of this individual, was obvious.

Not for one moment did the officer suspect any connection between them, but he figured that this man might serve as a witness.

"A man got away from me back there," declared the policeman, waving his gun toward the entrance of the alley. "Did you see him? Which way did he go?"

"I saw no one," was the quiet response.

The policeman stared down the street toward the corner. He decided that his attacker must have dashed in the opposite direction. Pursuit, now, would be useless.

The officer felt that his duty was up in the apartment building, not knowing that others of the police had already entered by the front door.

"All right," he said gruffly. "Sorry to have bothered you, chief. If you're driving away, and see any one that looks suspicious, better get to the nearest policeman."

"That is exactly what I shall do."

The officer turned and hurried off toward the apartment house. The tall, quiet-faced man watched until he had disappeared from view. Then, with deliberation, he reached into the car and lifted a black garment that lay there, revealing the helpless form of Harry Vincent.

The black cloak swished. A slouch hat settled on the tall personage's forehead. With a soft, uncanny laugh, he stepped into the car. The motor purred rhythmically. The car rolled along the street. The automobile turned the corner, and headed toward Broadway. The driver was silent, and almost invisible — little more than a mass of blackness.

The Shadow was taking away his rescued underling. The whispered laugh reechoed through the car. For The Shadow had conquered the fiends of the underworld.

But Harry Vincent, still senseless, had not yet told the story of the conflict. The Shadow had not learned that the lone instigator of the wild affray had escaped.

Ferret had gone. The Shadow, unable to tarry in Daniel Antrim's apartment, had gained no inkling of the man's departure.