Six Men of Evil

CHAPTER XIX THE SHADOW STRIKES AGAIN

CHARLES KISTELLE and Horace Fenwick were prisoners. Glaring maliciously at the two police who held them covered by their guns, they waited helplessly while Maurice Cotter tried to tell his story.

The junior member of the jewelry firm was half dazed by all that had happened. He poured out his accusation against the men whose very looks incriminated them. He could only explain that some mysterious stranger had intervened to aid him; but he could offer no further information.

Suddenly Cotter remembered The Shadow’s words. The paper on the desk! When Cotter spoke of that document James Sargon rushed out to get it. Back in the strong room, in the presence of Raymond Dagwood and three policemen, the elderly jeweler read forth the statements that The Shadow had left.

As Sargon named the other members of the evil band: Northrup, Thurber, Rodan and Montague, a fierce glare came upon the face of Charles Kistelle. He was hearing his own crimes exposed. That paper was an indictment for murder!

Sheer desperation drove Kistelle into action. With a fiendish cry, he leaped from the wall and struck down the policeman who was covering him with a revolver.

The other officer aimed directly at Kistelle; but as he pressed the trigger, his fire was diverted. Horace Fenwick, acting with quick precision, leaped forward just as he saw the policeman turn to shoot. He struck the officer’s wrist just in time to save Kistelle.

Confusion reigned. A pair of unarmed men had opened the attack; but they were wild with desperation. Kistelle seized the revolver from the man with whom he was grappling and shot the officer through the heart. Raising his arm, he struck down the third officer.

Then Kistelle and Fenwick were the center of a milling mob. Revolver shots flashed wildly. Men staggered away. Out of the brief, hectic battle came the master plotter unscathed. With a fierce grab he seized the boxes of diamonds and fled toward the outer door, Fenwick at his heels. Two revolver shots followed; but the policeman who aimed them missed.

Out into the street dashed Kistelle, squarely into Dagwood’s chauffeur, who was standing by the limousine. Kistelle swung with his free hand. The man went down.

Hurling the diamonds into the rear of the car, Kistelle leaped to the wheel. The motor had been left running. Jamming into low gear, Kistelle started the car forward with a lurch.

Fenwick, too, was present. He leaped into the back of the car as it pulled away. Climbing over the seat, he joined Kistelle and pointed out the road to safety.

THE mad escape did not forestall pursuit. A police car was resting near the corner. Its driver came quickly to life. Then two pursuing policemen dashed from the store and leaped into the car beside the driver.

Simultaneously, another car came into action. This was the coupe in which Kistelle had come to Sharport. The crook had left his vehicle some distance down the street.

Almost on the instant when Kistelle had felled the chauffeur, the motor of that car burst forth. It was sweeping onward now, passing by the police car. The officers shouted as they saw it, not knowing whether it was manned by friend or foe.

A low, sinister laugh swept from the man at the wheel. The Shadow was driving Kistelle’s car!

The big limousine was a block ahead. Sweeping past a traffic light, it was heading from the open road that led from Sharport. Behind it came the car driven by The Shadow. The police car was in the rear.

Three minutes after the chase had begun, the cars had gained the countryside. Whirling along a curving paved highway, Charles Kistelle and Horace Fenwick were hurtling toward freedom with three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewels.

The limousine was a powerful car. By all odds it should have left the pursuers far behind. The coupe in which The Shadow rode was an old car; the Sharport police car was by no means a swift one. Nevertheless, as miles sped by, Kistelle could still see the lights of the coupe not more than two hundred yards behind him.

The windings of the open road were maddening to Kistelle. They were holding back the limousine every time that the driver attempted to reach top speed.

The coupe, on the contrary, was driven by a man who knew no caution. Clipping turns, pushing the light car to its utmost, The Shadow was clinging to the margin that separated him from the car ahead.

As the limousine swept along a straight stretch, Fenwick suddenly gripped Kistelle’s arm. Directly ahead was a railway crossing, its red lights flickering a warning.

A grim oath came from Kistelle. He heeded neither lights nor clanging bell. He shot the limousine squarely over the crossing while Fenwick stared aghast at the brilliant headlight of a lumbering freight locomotive approaching from a distance of a hundred yards.

“Look back,” growled Kistelle. “Look back and see what happens. Watch that guy behind us take it!”

Fenwick stared back, expecting to see the lights of the coupe come to a swerving halt. Instead, he saw that the car was coming on!

Then the glare of the locomotive threw a mid-day light upon the crossing. Into that brilliance swept the coupe. It jounced upward on the crossing just as the pilot of the locomotive came black from the night.

Then, with a quick swerve, the coupe shot on, the locomotive bulking behind it. The cars of the long freight rattled in succession, no longer a barrier between the fleeing crooks and their pursuers. Fenwick gasped; then groaned.

“He got by!” he cried. “Got by with inches to spare!”

Kistelle’s response was an oath. He narrowly averted disaster as the limousine rounded a curve.

The pace was telling on the crook at the wheel. Sharper curves were coming and as the man instinctively ground the brakes, Fenwick’s tense voice warned him that the coupe was gaining rapidly.

A HALF mile more of winding road brought new evidence of The Shadow’s gain. A pistol shot burst forth from the rear. The bullet shattered the back window of the limousine. Kistelle’s nerve was sagging. Well did he know who was on his trail.

The Shadow! Only such a superman could have pushed a light car forward in such a chase. Only The Shadow would have dared that crossing!

Ahead lay a twisting down grade; a turn across a bridge lay halfway to the bottom of the hill. Kistelle gave his car the gas. The lights of the coupe dazzled him as they were reflected in the mirror above the wheel.

Brakes saved Kistelle from disaster as he took the turn on the bridge. The limousine sped along the straight stretch and reached the end of the bridge as Fenwick saw the coupe make the dangerous curve at top speed. Another shot came from the coupe, just as the limousine swerved to the left.

That shot was a masterpiece. Aimed by The Shadow’s unfaltering hand, it pierced a rear tire of the big car. The limousine jounced at an angle. It cut across the road. It crashed into a stout fence and shattered the wood as though it had been paper. The headlights pointed straight downward into a deep gorge, the bottom a hundred feet below.

Kistelle, the wheel wrenched from his hand, yanked at the handle of the door as the big car twisted onto its left side. The door broke open just as the limousine hung suspended on the sloping edge of the ravine.

Fenwick’s cry was a piercing shriek. The limousine plunged nose downward. It turned in its drop and struck bottom up when it reached the depths. The expensive automobile was shattered into a mass of wreckage.

A few seconds later, the coupe came to a stop beside the jagged section of the fence. Sharp eyes peered toward the edge of the gorge. A low, solemn laugh came from unseen lips. There was no elation in The Shadow’s tone. His laugh was one of retribution, formed by the knowledge that evil had been rewarded by stern doom.

The door of the coupe opened softly. The Shadow’s blackclad form moved through the night until it reached the fence which was dimly outlined by the light from the coupe. The scrubby, curving bank of the ravine was plain to The Shadow’s piercing eyes.

The rapid chugging of a motor could be heard. Two tiny lights appeared at the top of the hill where the mad death flight had begun its final stretch.

Swiftly, The Shadow regained his coupe. The little car shot away and sped down the road, its tail light disappearing before the police car had crossed the mid-hill bridge.

The driver of the police car saw the broken fence rail. He came to a stop. He and the others scrambled out and flashed their lights over the edge of the ravine. They saw the wrecked limousine. They knew that no one could have remained alive within that car.

A long, curving road led down into the ravine and the officers headed for it, so that they might make their inspection of the wreckage. They drove down the highway and turned off at the required point. Silence reigned over the spot where The Shadow had struck again.

Amid that silence, a huddled figure came to life. Out of the scrubby brush that edged the top of the ravine, a man crawled and walked unsteadily toward the road.

It was Charles Kistelle. Miraculously, the superplotter had escaped the doom that should have been his.

The opening door had dropped him while the limousine had made its momentary hesitation on the brink of death. Gripping the scrubby bushes, he had lain on the edge of the gorge. He had escaped the inspection made by The Shadow because the arrival of the police car had caused the blackclad avenger to depart.

Only Horace Fenwick had died. The master schemer still remained, and his one thought now was to offset the work that The Shadow had accomplished.

Charles Kistelle had escaped, but his perfect plan had been spoiled. He would have to seek elsewhere, now, to carry out his evil desires — elsewhere, where The Shadow would not find him!