Gypsy Vengeance

CHAPTER IV. CROOK AND SHADOW

THE blast of The Shadow’s automatic had brought an instant response from the crooks in Brandley Croman’s library. Marty Lunk, drilling at the safe, turned to his companions as he heard the muffled report.

“What was that?”

“Sounded like it was out back,” growled a mobsman. “Maybe Jerry, or Beef—”

“Get out there!” snarled Lunk. “All of you. See what Hokey’s doing at the front door. I’ll take care of this job.”

The mobsters sprang to obey. Marty Lunk, his face a study in evil, remained beside the safe.

Thick-lipped, rough of countenance, with glaring eyes beneath puffy brows, Marty Lunk bore the physiognomy of a vicious killer.

Three henchmen had gone to investigate. The first, flashlight in hand, stopped as he neared the door of the rear room. His revolver was in readiness as he hissed a call to the men whom he thought were still on guard.

“Ps-s-t!” The gorilla waited. “Beef! Jerry!”

No answer. Once again, The Shadow was delaying. A lull had followed the shot which he had fired. He had no wish to end it.

The mobster sprang forward. His skimming light spread through the room. Like Rusty’s torch, it showed the forms of two men on the floor. Suddenly it stopped and flickered out.

The mobster had not seen The Shadow. But he had observed a light switch upon the wall, close by where he stood. Backing toward the dim hallway, he motioned the others to be ready. Thrusting his left hand through the door, he pressed the light switch, while his eyes and gun turned toward the center of the room.

Click!

The pressure of the switch illuminated the room with the open window. The staring mobster saw more than the figures on the floor. Straight across the room, half way between door and window was The Shadow.

THIS mobsman was quicker than Rusty had been. There was no hesitation in his pressure when his finger worked the trigger of his gun. But he lacked one important advantage that Rusty had possessed. He had to aim toward The Shadow as he fired.

The shot was too hasty. A whistling bullet sped wide by inches as the revolver blazed its challenge. In answer — its report a thundering echo of the mobster’s shot — came the boom of The Shadow’s automatic.

Aiming squarely toward the door, the black-garbed warrior did not miss. The mobster sprawled. His gun fell useless.

The pair behind had glimpsed The Shadow. Dropping low, they opened fire. Partly covered by the doorway, they were thinking of their own skins in this fray. Quick shots, fired from an angle, were their effort to cover a retreat.

The Shadow delayed no longer. Weaving, thrusting long arms to deliver a cross fire, he answered the gangster bullets. A searing pellet of lead splintered the edge of a door frame. Whizzing onward, it found its mark in one mobsman’s shoulder. The crook staggered, snarling.

Marty Lunk had reached the hallway. He saw the second mobster, unharmed yet retreating. Marty roared a command; he followed it by thrusting the gorilla forward.

“Get him!” was Marty’s order. “Get him!”

Wildly, the gorilla took the only course. Diving through the doorway, he aimed and fired high. His lowering hand came ready for the second shot; the automatic thundered its reply. The gorilla sprawled as Marty Lunk reached the door.

The gangleader was face to face with The Shadow. He had thought that his men were encountering ordinary foemen. He had not expected to meet the scourge of the underworld. Marty Lunk, dumbfounded, had placed himself an easy target for The Shadow. He was caught flat-footed before he could scramble back to safety.

Luck intervened. The Shadow, instead of firing, whirled back toward an inner corner of the room, swinging away from Marty’s range. The reason for the quick maneuver came from the window. The Shadow had sensed danger there. A mobster, arrived from outside, had leveled his gun upon the window ledge, aiming for a standing target.

The bang of the revolver came as The Shadow whirled. A bullet whistled through the folds of the floating cloak. A swinging hand of black loosed a spurt of flame from an automatic. The revolver barrel clattered from the ledge. The thud of a falling body came from the paving. The Shadow’s laugh resounded with a peal of mockery.

Marty Lunk was scrambling for cover. Heading toward the front, his only thought was that of safety. He was counting on Hokey, the big gorilla at the front door. He did not know that his minion was lying groggy on the floor.

Luck again came to Marty’s aid. The Shadow, swinging to pursue the fleeing gangleader, stopped short as he heard sounds from without. Barking revolvers were spelling the beginning of a fray. The police had arrived.

SWIFTLY, The Shadow reached the window. This spot would be the center point of the fray. The minions of Marty Lunk — a horde of mobsmen stationed on both streets — would use this passage as their citadel. Peering from the window, The Shadow saw spurts of guns. Two groups of gorillas were coming back to back, determined to resist the law.

The automatics roared. Backing gangsters turned. They realized they were trapped. Some crouched to fire toward the window. Their shots were futile. The angle rendered it almost impossible for them to reach The Shadow.

Toward one street; then toward the other — The Shadow alternated his shots with swiftness and precision. His bullets, aimed low, ricocheted upon the paving. He was dropping mobsters in the passage between the buildings; at the same time making sure that no shots would reach the attacking police.

The gorillas broke. They could not stand this fire. Dashing toward the streets, they ran into waiting policemen and detectives. The Shadow’s shots sprawled fleeing crooks before they could fire at the officers.

These events were matters of seconds — not of minutes. The Shadow had been waiting for the opportunity. He made good use of it. Fleeing mobsters either fell or ran squarely into the arms of waiting policemen. Joe Cardona had come with half a hundred men.

Marty Lunk was standing in the front hall. To the wild-eyed gangster came the shots of a furious fray.

Spats of revolvers — wielded by crooks and officers alike — formed a drilling melody. Through it all, close at hand, thundered the basso of The Shadow’s automatics.

The Shadow had forgotten Marty Lunk, so far as a fight was concerned. He knew that the mob leader was trapped; he also knew that Lunk would not return single-handed. Bold though Marty might be when backed by gorillas, he was yellow when forced to fight alone.

Marty, himself, was proving this fact. He was dragging Hokey to his feet, hoping to gain the big gorilla’s aid. Groggily, Hokey responded. He nodded as he saw Marty. The barking of revolvers brought him to final consciousness. Hokey pressed the side of his neck and gulped. He yanked a gat from his pocket.

Marty Lunk snarled. He shot a glance toward the room in back. For a moment, he was on the point of sending Hokey back there, to fight The Shadow. Then the front door offered more attraction.

“Come on!” snarled Marty.

He reached for the bolts of the inner door. He found them loosened. Angrily, the mob leader, yanked open the inner door and shoved Hokey into the vestibule. At that instant, the outer door swung inward.

Two policemen came surging through.

HOKEY swung. His gun hand struck one cop a glancing blow. The policeman staggered. The second man locked with the gorilla. Hokey, surging forward, sent him to the outer steps.

Other officers piled on them. A detective yanked away the gorilla’s gun while a policeman slugged him with the butt end of a revolver. The big gorilla was stretched upon the sidewalk.

The action was Marty Lunk’s opportunity. Springing across the form of the stunned officer who lay in the vestibule, Marty gained the steps. He leaped to the sidewalk, away from the crowd that had fallen upon Hokey.

“Get him!” A detective uttered the cry as he sprang forward with leveled gun. A shot; the bullet whizzed by Marty’s ear.

Viciously, the gangleader swung and delivered a return shot. The detective fell wounded. A uniformed officer blocked Marty’s path, ready to fire. The gangleader sprang upon the policeman. Staggering, the man delivered a wide shot. Marty Lunk dashed onward. One lone policeman sprang out to stop his flight.

Marty fired a pot shot; the bullet reached the officer’s arm. As the wounded man faltered, Marty sped onward.

Shots from behind. Half a dozen guns were loosed. Bullets ricocheted by Marty’s heels.

The gangleader was in luck tonight. A skimming bullet singed his shoulder; another grazed his hip.

Outside of these flesh wounds, the mob leader was unscathed as he turned the corner and dashed across an avenue toward a waiting car.

BACK in the house, a strange lull had fallen in the room where The Shadow stood. The black-garbed fighter had loosed the contents of four automatics. Emptied weapons alone remained in his hands. The last burst of gunfire had sounded from the front sidewalk, marking the futile police chase of Marty Lunk.

A few sporadic shots barked elsewhere. The Shadow laughed as he turned from the window.

Three steps forward; The Shadow stopped. His gaze went toward the wall. Jerry, propped against the baseboard, had pulled a revolver. Propped on one elbow, the mobster was taking aim.

The Shadow sprang forward. His automatic clattered from his right hand as his arm swept like a whip. A gloved hand snatched the revolver barrel, plucking the weapon from Jerry’s fumbling grasp. Continuing, The Shadow’s hand flung the gun through the window. With a weird, taunting laugh, The Shadow regained his emptied automatic.

Footsteps pounded in the front hall. The police were entering. Sweeping forward, The Shadow reached the back stairs. His tall form disappeared from view. Jerry, rising, staggered across the floor to snatch Beef’s gun from the unconscious man’s pocket.

Two policemen burst into the room. Jerry, dragging out the gun, tried to fire. He was too late. Revolvers delivered simultaneous shots. Jerry, the last who had seen The Shadow, dropped dead upon the floor.

Joe Cardona was in Brandley Croman’s library. With members of his squad beside him, the detective pointed to the drilled, but unopened safe. A grim smile showed upon Cardona’s lips. Then, with a sudden thought, Joe swung to his men.

“Upstairs!” he ordered. “Maybe some of the mob headed that way.”

Detectives responded to the order. But when they reached the second floor, they found vacancy. The Shadow had gone one story higher. A window on the third floor was closing. Rubber suction cups squidged as a figure merged with the darkness beneath the overhanging roof.

Detectives, peering upward, did not see the form of The Shadow against the clouded sky. Negotiating the edge of the roof, the cloaked warrior reached the top. The Shadow had played his part. The law had gained the credit. His work was finished for the night.

From roof to roof — The Shadow vanished half a block from the house where he had waged battle. From then on, his course was untraceable. Searching police were on the lookout for scattered gangsters; but they failed to glimpse The Shadow.

HALF an hour later, a light clicked in a darkened room. Hands appeared beneath a blue-rayed lamp — hands with long, white fingers. The Shadow was in his sanctum. Victory had been his lot. Mobsters — wounded, dead and prisoners — were all that remained of Marty Lunk’s band of burglars.

Yet in his masterful fight, The Shadow had allowed a single loop-hole. He had neglected the king-pin of the lot. Marty Lunk, The Shadow’s contribution to the hands of the law, had run into what should have been certain death or capture. That was why The Shadow had not followed him.

Luck had favored Marty Lunk. Luck, plus one bit of foresight. His escape had been purely good fortune; the waiting car, chauffeured by a mobster, had been good judgment. Though his band was shattered, Marty Lunk was still at large.

Quartered in a dilapidated hideout, his one lone mobsman listening and nodding, Marty Lunk was vowing vengeance. His lips framed oaths; his clenched fists made pugnacious gestures as Marty voiced his plans for future crime.

“I’m laying low,” he snarled. “Laying low — for a while. But after that, the racket starts again. Bigger and better. There’s nobody that can stop Marty Lunk. Nobody. Get me?”

The mobster nodded as Marty spat new oaths. Yet in his braggadocio, in his contempt for the law, in his bold defiance of all enemies, Marty Lunk was covering a secret fear.

For Marty Lunk had seen The Shadow. He knew the mettle of the foeman whom he again must face.

Crook and Shadow! Their courses, apparently, were due to cross again.

Marty Lunk was determined to persist in crime. To do so, he must face The Shadow. For The Shadow, like the law, never forgot a crook who reaped from his toils. Marty Lunk knew that fact.

He should have considered one fact more. The Shadow, unlike the law, never failed when he took up the trail of those who had eluded him.