Shadowed Millions

CHAPTER XXIV A TRAITOR’S TRIUMPH

AN old touring car was parked off the side of a secluded road. Its lights were dim. The two men who occupied the vehicle were waiting and watching, their eyes peering through the darkness toward a covelike portion of the Long Island beach.

One man was Alvarez Legira, consul from Santander; the other was his servant, Francisco. They were awaiting the arrival of the boat from the yacht Cordova.

The rippling breeze swished whisperingly about the car. Both men listened intently, fancying that they heard vague sounds in the night. Then, Francisco pressed Legira’s arm and uttered low words in Spanish. A light was bobbing in the cove. It blinked four times — two long blinks and two short.

Legira extinguished the dim lights. He turned them on again and repeated the action. Another signal came from the cove. The consul uttered a cry of elation.

This was the boat from the Cordova.

Until now, pitch-blackness had ruled the cloudy night. But while Legira was speaking to Francisco, the rays of the moon emerged through a rift in the breaking clouds. The feeble light gained in its intensity. The ghostly illumination revealed two men moving slowly along the beach, carrying a box between them.

Legira and Francisco were heading for the little boat, which was now clearly visible. Drawn to the edge of the cove, the boat showed the huddled figures of the men who manned it.

There were whispers near the car which Legira had left. A low voice spoke. The tones were those of Harry Vincent, trusted operative of The Shadow. He and his comrades, Cliff Marsland and Clyde Burke, had followed Legira in another car.

“Running on schedule,” was Harry’s comment. “That’s the boat from the Cordova, right enough.”

The three watched. They saw men reach from the boat and carry in the box. They saw Legira follow. Francisco remained on the beach. The boat appeared to be pushing off. Francisco was turning to come back to the waiting car.

It was evident that the servant was to remain ashore, to take away the car and probably to attend to work for his master. There could be no need of Francisco now. Legira was with his friends.

“Look!”

Cliff Marsland’s excited gasp caused his companions to stare intently at the boat. A sudden flood of moonlight revealed Legira standing in the bow, watching the departing form of Francisco and as he watched his faithful servant, two men rose suddenly behind the consul. They fell upon him with coordinated skill!

The watchers could hear Legira call out as he fell. Francisco turned. A burst of flame came from the boat. The trusty servant faltered, then realizing that he was about to be shot down, he fled away from the beach. Shots followed him. Francisco staggered.

Acting with one accord, The Shadow’s men leaped from the spot where they were crouching and charged across the open toward the cove. Their automatics spat flame toward the moving boat. They had two aims: to save Francisco; to overpower the men from the Cordova.

The attack met with an abrupt ending. Gunfire broke forth on all sides. Men, stationed in hiding along the beach, were springing into action. The Shadow’s three had run into an ambush!

Francisco fell riddled by a hail of bullets. Wild shots dug up the sand about the men who served The Shadow. Even in spite of odds, they would have kept gamely on, but for a shot that clipped Clyde Burke. As the man staggered and clapped his right hand to his wounded left arm, Harry Vincent gave a sharp cry.

“Scramble for cover!” he exclaimed. “Back to the car!”

It was the only possible move. These three were outnumbered. Their enemies were in hiding. Only death could await them ahead.

As they turned and headed toward the road, the figures of their foemen came into view. Outnumbered five to one by a host of rumrunning mobsters, the one salvation lay in flight.

Harry leaped to the wheel of a black sedan as Cliff shoved Clyde Burke into the rear of the car. The motor throbbed; the car shot away. It was none too soon. Hasty shots and vengeful cries were sounding through the night air.

Grimly, Harry sped along the road. Cliff, staring back, saw the lights of another car in pursuit; beyond them the headlamps of a second chaser. Three men — two able and one wounded — were fleeing from an overpowering host.

Harry guided the sedan with the utmost skill, but he realized that unless he could reach a highroad and run into the protection of a town, there could be little chance of escape. Cliff’s voice was telling him that the pursuers were gradually closing the distance.

The sedan swept around a curve, driving toward the old house where Legira had laid in hiding. Harry lost ground on an incline.

The nearer of the pursuing cars was now very close. Shots sounded as the chasers sought to stop the flight. They were aiming recklessly at the car ahead.

Cliff leaned cautiously through the window. He fired in return, but to no avail. Harry, grimly holding to the wheel, turned the long curve that went directly past the entrance to the old house.

A new menace rose with such startling rapidity that Harry could only utter a gasp of horror. The road was scarcely wider than a single car. As they rounded the curve at sixty miles an hour, Harry saw another car speeding from the opposite direction!

A head-on crash loomed as the immediate end to this mad flight. Almost petrified, Harry was unable to swing his foot from the accelerator.

The danger from the car behind was uppermost in his mind. The smash was imminent — it was only a question of yards before the cars would meet. Then came salvation.

The other car swung from the road. Its driver had spotted the entrance to the driveway of the old house. Careening, the coming automobile rose on two wheels, then swerved parallel to the road and dropped back on all fours.

Harry kept straight on. His wild eyes saw the outline of a trim coupe as he passed the car whose driver had used such able judgment. Harry’s ears heard an outburst of shots from behind.

An exclamation of amazement came from Cliff Marsland. The man in the back seat shouted in mad exultation.

“He’s got them!”

“Who?” demanded Harry.

A resounding crash came to Harry’s ears. Cliff’s explanation followed as they sped along the straightening road.

“The man in the coupe!” shouted Cliff. “Shot the tires as they came by. I saw the flash of his gun. Clear off the road — smashing into the trees — that’s where they are now!”

CLIFF’S words were true. Back at the driveway, the man in the coupe had polished off the first of the pursuing cars. With sure, quick aim, directly in the path of the approaching automobile, he had shot the front tires.

Only one man could have performed that deed with such precision. It was The Shadow who had arrived to save the lives of his men — both by quick work at the wheel and by ready action with the automatic.

But Cliff had not seen all. The escaping sedan was out of sight when the second car swung up and began a terrific pursuit.

The men in it had witnessed the catastrophe. They were bearing down upon the stopped coupe. From the sides of a rakish touring car, gun hands opened fire. The driver, confident in the ability of his forewarned men, did not slacken speed as he hurtled onward. That was his great mistake. Before the shots of the gangsters could take effect, The Shadow had fired. This time he did not aim at the tires. He knew that the man at the wheel might be quick enough with the brake to avoid a smash-up. Instead, The Shadow, with unerring aim, placed a bullet past the edge of the windshield. The Shadow’s target was the driver. The Shadow’s aim was true.

The man at the wheel collapsed. The car, uncontrolled, kept straight ahead instead of taking the last portion of the curve. It sideswiped an old gate in front of the driveway, tilted to one side and turned turtle.

Swinging his coupe, The Shadow calmly drove from the drive and turned toward Manhattan. Men were crawling from the wrecked cars — men who seemed dazed and bewildered. Others lay unmoving. Not a shot was fired by the defeated gangsters as The Shadow’s car rolled along the road.

The coupe headed westward. Its speed increased. It left the scene of havoc far behind. Single-handed, The Shadow had outwitted and defeated the mobsters who had ambushed and pursued his men. Those evildoers had paid the penalty for their cowardly attack.

The coupe swept on to Manhattan. It crossed a big suspension bridge and threaded its way rapidly through the streets. It stopped before a large apartment house. From the car stepped The Shadow, garbed in black. He melted into the darkness of the side street, a part of the night itself.

When next the sinister form appeared, it was standing before the door of an apartment. A key worked noiselessly in the lock. The door opened. The sound of a low-pitched voice reached the hall.

Frank Desmond was talking over the telephone. His words were uttered in a tone of enthusiasm.

“Great… I understand… You will be here for me… I have my luggage… Not more than fifty pounds…”

The Shadow was edging into the room. He stood in plain view, now, but Desmond did not see him. The man’s back was toward the door.

Desmond hung up the receiver. He turned toward the end of the room. He viewed his face in a mirror. His lips wore a smile. Desmond laughed. He was experiencing an elation which he liked. He was enjoying a traitor’s triumph.

Legira had been thwarted. Zelva had borne out his promise. Plans were prepared for Desmond — plans which could not fail.

A traitor’s triumph!

Desmond’s laugh was raucous. The sight of his own leering face pleased him. His mouth was opened wide in a victorious grin.

Then came a sudden change. The man’s smile froze. His pudgy face turned white. He stood whimpering at what he saw in the mirror. There, reflected weirdly, was a form towering above his shoulder.

Desmond gasped as he saw the black-cloaked shoulders, the brim of the slouch hat, the glittering eyes that marked The Shadow. Beneath the brim of the hat were features that Desmond could not distinguish. Upon them rested a greenish glow, which formed a ghostly sight.

Desmond trembled as he heard the tones of a sinister, taunting laugh. It came from unseen lips and its echoes cast a weird, uncanny spell that filled the room.

To Desmond, that laugh brought terror. It was the laugh of The Shadow. Tonight, it marked the end of a traitor’s triumph.