Shadow 001 - The Living Shadow

CHAPTER XXVI A RACE FOR LIFE

“SPEED up,” came a terse voice from Harry’s side. “They’ve got a car. They’re following us.”

As he pressed the accelerator, Harry marveled at the power of his companion. Virtually alone - for Harry’s help had been trivial - this man had handled eight opponents and had disposed of five of them.

While the brawl had lasted, not a man in the crowd had had an opportunity to draw his gun. But when the mob had been scattered about the floor, the danger of a revolver shot had made flight the only reasonable course.

The motor hummed as Harry gave it full power. The coupe was heavy, and held the road well. It was built for speed. They flashed through the countryside like a whirlwind. Vincent had not chosen the direction. He had taken the nearest highway that had appeared before him.

The other car was gaining. Harry could sense that from his companion’s actions. He could not see the other man, for his eyes were focused on the road ahead, where the bright lights of the car opened a brilliant path. Yet he knew that his companion was peering from the opened window, back along the highway.

The road seemed endless. Vincent knew nothing of the car that was behind. It must be a powerful automobile if it could overtake his speedy coupe. A turn from the highway might be advantageous, but he doubted if it would prove practical. He kept straight on, trusting to speed alone.

Yet still he knew that the other car was gaining. He knew it first by a glare reflected in the mirror in front of him. The light increased. Miles were flying by; and with every mile the pursuers were coming closer!

Then he could hear the roar of the automobile in the rear. He felt a great helplessness. He was at the wheel of a powerful, swift machine, forging ahead at rocket-like speed. Yet in back was another mighty engine of the highway - superior to his by just the smallest percentage; and in the final test he would be overtaken.

There was a further disadvantage. When they reached the end of this stretch of well-paved road, Harry would have to slow his pace. If the distance became short by then, the coupe would be overtaken, and its occupants would be at the mercy of the merciless gangsters.

But these thoughts were useless. Harry bit his lips in grim tension as he spurred the car to its limit.

He was at the center of the road. The highway was almost deserted. But occasionally he would see a car coming from the other direction, and would bear down into the glare of its lights without slackening his speed. Each time the oncoming automobile would swing to the side of the road and let him pass.

There was another sign that the race was closing up. The roar of the pursuing motor had become louder; and above it came sharp, quick reports. The gangsters were firing at the coupe. But the fast-moving target eluded their shots. But would their aim improve when the range became less?

It was a time for action. But what else could Harry do?

He listened for a sound from his companion. But there was none. Had the man been struck by a bullet? No; Harry would have heard the steel messenger crash through the back of the coupe. Perhaps - the thought was chilling - the man had been clipped by a revolver shot as his head had been thrust from the window.

Harry dropped his right hand from the wheel. He touched the body of his companion.

“Easy,” came a whisper. “Watch the wheel. I’m all right.”

The man had divined Harry’s thoughts. Somehow Harry felt that this wild ride might have a happy ending. His companion had shown amazing strength during the battle in the lunch wagon. Perhaps in the next emergency he would again display some unexpected power. That would be soon, Harry knew, for the pursuers had lost no ground.

The road began to wind. The course was slightly uphill. It was harder to control the car, but it was an unexpected advantage for the occupants of the fleeing coupe. As a target, their car was more elusive than before.

The highway now curved steadily to the left. The voice spoke beside Harry.

“Keep to the left of the road.”

This was strange advice. It would throw them into the path of any car that might be coming from the opposite direction. Yet Harry obeyed. The voice had carried a command. It was different from the voice of the man who had fought in the lunch wagon. It sounded like a voice that Vincent had heard before - where, he could not recall, for his mind was feverish from strain.

The voice spoke again - an instant later.

“Close to the left.”

The turn in the read was becoming sharper. Harry held tightly to the wheel. There was a hill at the left, and it was difficult to stay close. But the lights of the pursuing car were almost lost behind the bend.

Another command from Harry’s right.

“Use your brakes. A sharp turn to the left. Take it close. Slow down quickly.”

Harry could only obey. He jammed the brake and the speed of the car suddenly decreased. He was at the sharp turn; it curved almost at right angles. Here, at the left of the road, Harry could not have controlled the car but for the slackened speed. At that, the momentum seemed to draw to the right, where the broad highway was banked, and he pushed the brakes on again - almost stopping the car.

Then the roar was upon them. Swerving around the curve, the pursuing car came whirling at terrific speed. It was high on the banked-up road, its position at the right giving it the advantage which Harry had neglected.

The gangsters could not have sighted the coupe until they were almost beside it; for as their huge sedan came up, Harry could hear cries of exultation. Instinctively, he looked to his right and saw the big machine beside him - on the other side of the road, close to the white rail fence. Then his companion leaned between him and the window. Harry saw the glint of steel; and a sharp shot came from the gun that had been wrested from the gangster in the lunch wagon.

There was another report from the sedan - a louder explosion. The big machine swayed; then crashed through the rail amid the clatter of breaking glass and shouts of terror. It hung there, precariously poised upon an embankment.

The realization of what had happened came to Harry as he pressed his foot upon the accelerator, and felt the coupe leap in response. With one well-timed stroke, his companion had disposed of the pursuing car, through strategy and skill. His single pistol shot had found its resting place in the left front tire of the big sedan! The tire had blown, and the driver had been helpless to save his speeding car from the crash that brought destruction!

He looked to his right. His companion was lost in the darkness. Some time during the flight, the man, without Harry’s knowledge, had removed his white coat and apron.

The road straightened suddenly; then curved to the right. Harry was on the proper side, and as he took the turn he automatically gave the car full speed. Then he gasped in sudden terror. Directly before him was a railroad crossing; across his pathway stood a freight train, scarcely fifty feet ahead.

He brought his foot to the brake pedal, but he knew that the operation was hopeless. A big box car seemed to grow before his eyes, and he bent his head for the certain crash. Then a hand appeared before him; the wheel was jerked violently to the right, and the car careened on two wheels as it was guided to a narrow road beside the freight train.

Harry’s head struck the post beside the window. He heard the click of the emergency brake, and he sank behind the wheel, exhausted and half stunned as the car came to a stop.

He felt himself being helped from the coupe. Then he was half lying on a wooden bench. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his forehead, as he breathed the cold night air and sought to steady his trembling nerves.

Harry opened his eyes and looked about him. He was sitting on the bench of a little station. The end of the freight train was rolling by; he could see lights in the caboose.

He stood up and saw the road down which the car had come, but the coupe was gone. The man who had thrice rescued him within the past hour had ridden away in Harry Vincent’s automobile!

Harry reached in his pocket and found the pad upon which he had inscribed the numbers of the code in Bingham’s safe. He scanned the top page by the light on the station platform.

The page that bore the code was gone!

In its place were carefully inscribed words, printed in pencil. The message was brief but clear:

“Train for New York in twenty minutes. Take it.”

Harry studied these words, his groggy mind pondering over their significance.

Harry realized that his copy of Bingham’s code had reached its proper destination. Instead of being called for at the Metrolite Hotel, it had been picked up on the way.

For the battler who had fought in the lunch wagon, who had sent the pursuing gangsters through the rail, who had snatched the coupe from what had seemed sure destruction, was none other - could have been none other - than The Shadow!