Shadow 001 - The Living Shadow

CHAPTER XXV A FRIEND IN NEED

HARRY stepped aside to let English Johnny pass.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Harry hoped he might escape recognition. The episode of the taxicab had occurred less than twenty-four hours before; but Harry was no longer wearing the cap and uniform in which the beefy-faced individual had seen him.

English Johnny’s attention was distracted for a moment by a cry of greeting that came from the men who were eating at the counter.

“H’lo, Johnny!” called one. “Heard you were coming out tonight.”

“Hello, boys,” was the reply from the doorway. “Yes, I expected to be out of town, but I sent word I’d come here instead to see how business was coming along.”

The big man entered the lunch wagon. As he stepped forward, Harry Vincent started to slip by. In his anxiety to get out, he accidentally jolted English Johnny.

“Hey, fellow!” shouted English Johnny gruffly. “What’s your hurry?”

He gripped Harry’s arm, and stared into his face.

“Just the fellow I’ve been looking for!” English Johnny exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t try to crawl out of it, now. You’re the fellow who was giving me the run-around last night.”

Harry forced a laugh.

“I don’t quite comprehend,” he said.

“You were driving a cab last night.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“Think so? Well, I don’t.”

There was a tone of finality in English Johnny’s voice.

Plainly, the man meant trouble. Harry started to shake himself loose, but the big man’s grip only tightened.

“You can’t get out of it that easy,” said English Johnny.

“Out of what?”

“Out of this - that’s what. You tried to pull a fast one on me last night. I’ll see to it that you don’t fool me again.”

The crowd at the back of the lunch wagon was moving forward. They were unanimously in accord with English Johnny.

Harry figured that a break for freedom was the only course. But to escape he must get the awkward door open and, at the same time, hold off English Johnny.

The big fellow evidently divined Harry’s intent, for English Johnny raised two huge fists in front of the young man’s eyes.

“What’s the idea?” asked Harry, keeping up his bluff.

“You’ll find out quick enough. I’m going to knock that mug of yours out of shape. It’ll look blame funny when I get through.”

“You’ll be letting yourself in for a lot of trouble if you do.”

“Hear that?” demanded English Johnny of the gang. “Hear him threaten me? I’ve got a right to sock him, ain’t I?”

There were seven men in the throng. Their words were all for English Johnny.

“We’ll stand with you. Hand him plenty!”

“I’ll take care of him when you’ve finished.”

Harry clenched his fists. He felt that he was the match of any one of the men, including the boastful English Johnny. But, against eight - his chances were hopeless.

The two men behind the counter, clad in white coats and aprons, were leaning on their elbows watching the show with anticipation. Fights were usually taboo in lunch wagons, but English Johnny was boss, and if he wanted a battle, it was all right.

Harry took a bold course. A fight was unavoidable. He might as well start it and get in a few blows for himself, before they ganged him - as seemed likely.

“Get out of my way,” he ordered.

He placed his hand against English Johnny’s chest and thrust the man back.

“Hit me, will you?” exclaimed the proprietor of the lunch wagon. “Now I’ve got a right to clean you up. You started it. You witnessed it, boys.”

He swung his massive fist at Harry’s face. Harry parried the blow with his right hand, and struck out with his left. His sweeping hook would have landed against the side of English Johnny’s face except that one of the bystanders, with an ugly laugh, reached out and blocked Harry’s blow.

The big man profited by this opportunity. He landed a short punch which sent Harry staggering against the window behind him. Seeing that he had jarred his opponent, English Johnny became suddenly confident.

“Leave him to me, boys,” he ordered.

Harry was slumped against the window, still gasping from the body blow against which he had had no opportunity to defend himself.

His huge antagonist was waiting, on the alert. As Harry began to straighten up, the big man poised his right fist for the finishing blow.

Then came an unexpected interruption.

One of the men behind the counter had left his place to join the crowd. Now he thrust his body between English Johnny and the big man’s victim.

The man who caused the interruption was of medium height; well built, and determined of expression. His face was swarthy; it almost seemed as though it might be covered with grease paint.

English Johnny surveyed the fellow in astonishment.

“What’s troubling you?” he demanded. “What are you butting in about?”

“Leave this guy alone,” the man replied, waving his hand toward Harry.

English Johnny turned to the other man behind the counter.

“Say, Bill,” he inquired. “Who is this fellow, anyway? I never saw him here before.”

“New man on tonight,” was the reply. “Pete was sick. This fellow happened to come in. Said he could do the work, so I put him on.”

“Well, he’s through tonight.”

English Johnny again accosted the man who had sided with Harry.

“I’m boss around here,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“You’re not my boss.”

“I own this lunch wagon.”

“You don’t own me.”

English Johnny pushed the man aside.

“Grab him, boys,” he said. “Grab him if he tries to start anything.”

English Johnny turned his attention again to Harry Vincent. Lashing out with his right -

But a long, white-clad arm flashed through the air. A terrific blow caught English Johnny on the side of his jaw to send him reeling against the counter.

“Get him, boys,” cried the big man, spluttering with rage.

English Johnny leaped forward himself, but another smash landed squarely in the midst of his beefy face. He dropped to the floor in front of the counter.

Then the mob closed in on the man who had taken Harry’s part. There was a swirl of fists, and among them two arms in white cloth swung heavily and well.

Harry had straightened up, and as one of the battlers was propelled in his direction, he grappled with the rowdy and hurled him against a stool.

The mob had broken; three men were groveling on the tile floor. The others, too, had been beaten back by a white-armed cyclone that struck with the speed and power of lightning.

The door was pulled back, and Harry was thrust through it.

“Get your car,” commanded his new friend. “We’ll have to run for it.”

English Johnny had arisen. Screaming a curse, he hurled his huge bulk at the man in white.

Harry ran for the car. As the door slid shut, he heard a terrific crash - English Johnny had been flung over the counter to come cascading down amid a chorus of falling plates.

It was but a few yards to the gasoline station. Harry reached the wheel of his car. He tossed a five-dollar bill to the astonished service man; spun the starter, and shot the coupe to the front of the lunch wagon. He could hear the sounds of fresh conflict within. He leaped to the ground and pulled back the door.

A lone fighter was engaged with two opponents. He flung them aside, then beyond him came the flash of a revolver, drawn by a man in the background.

But before the gunman could draw a bead with his weapon, the white-coated stranger galvanized into action. His long, remarkably strong fingers stabbed out like the beak of a vulture. In a flash he had wrested the revolver from the gunny - it all happened so quickly that the latter barely had time to marshal his amazement.

So, with a path clear to possible safety, and with Harry waiting for his unexpected savior, the astounding stranger darted through the doorway. Then Harry sent the door crashing shut.

Leaping for the wheel of his car, Harry got under way. The stranger vaulted into the seat beside him.

Harry stepped on the gas. As the motor’s drumming increased, the lunch wagon’s door opened. Three men barged forth, brandishing lead spillers in their hands.

Again The Shadow’s forces had scored.