The Cobra

CHAPTER XI QUICK STROKES

EVEN as Commissioner Weston gasped, The Cobra took action. He had walked into a set-up. All that he needed was promptitude and nerve. His revolver spurted as he whipped it from his jersey.

The Cobra had picked Luke. His bullet found its mark in the gorilla’s body as Luke turned to learn the cause of the panel click.

The gangster who was guarding Tomkins swung also. He did not have a chance. Before he could aim, The Cobra had swung the revolver in his direction. Again the brown finger pressed the trigger. The second gangster fell.

Leaping up from the table where he was holding Old Growdy by the ankles. Heater Darkin turned to face this foe. His plight was worse than that of his henchmen. The Cobra had caught them unaware. He now had Heater Darkin unarmed. The big shot fumbled in his pocket, seeking his revolver.

“Ss-s-s-s-s-s-s-s!”

The Cobra had reserved his warning hiss for the one man whom he had come to get. He had shot the others only because they were armed.

The hiss ended while Heater was still striving to yank out his gun. Deliberately, The Cobra fired. Heater Darkin slumped to the floor.

For one long moment, The Cobra stood watching the body of his victim. Then, with a backward step, he went into the passage. The panel clicked shut.

The Cobra was gone.

“Look out, commissioner!”

Weston turned as he heard the cry from Joe Cardona. Luke, the big two-gun gorilla, was swinging a revolver. The Cobra’s shot had wounded his left arm; his right was still ready with its gat.

Cardona was leaping for Luke as he cried his warning. The detective delivered an upward swing that sent Luke’s shot toward the ceiling.

With a snarl, the big gunman dived for the passage. Cardona snatched up the gun that had dropped from Luke’s left hand. Weston seized the revolver that had been held by the gangster who had covered Tomkins. The secretary had rushed to aid Old Growdy, who was now slumped helplessly in his swivel chair.

Cardona fired down the passage. His aim was wide. Bullets ricocheted past Luke, who was fleeing to the other end. Cardona hurried after; Weston followed. They reached the door where the passage turned.

Cardona was first. The detective stopped short. As he clicked a flashlight toward the cellar stairs, he realized that he was trapped. Luke had turned; with the big man was a second mobster. For the first time. Cardona remembered what Heater Darkin had said about another gorilla stationed in the cellar.

SEEKING safety, Cardona dropped to the floor, firing wildly. He slipped as he tried to dive back along the passage. He heard snarls; and caught the gleam of turning revolvers.

Then came a roar from the cellar stairs. It was repeated with quick precision. Cardona’s flashlight, turning upward, showed the mobsters toppling. For a brief instant, it revealed a form in black; but Cardona did not catch that glimpse.

Weston was standing above Cardona. The commissioner was following Cardona’s wild shots with bullets of his own. His own flashlight gleamed as Cardona’s dropped. Weston ceased firing as he saw the two bodies of the dropped gangsters.

“Good work, Cardona,” he commended. “You bagged them.”

The commissioner’s words reached the darkened stairs. They brought a faint, whispered murmur of a laugh from a being who stood shrouded there. It was The Shadow.

The master fighter had reached the cellar stairs just as The Cobra was making his departure from the room below. Before The Shadow had gained the bottom of the steps, Luke had come dashing forth from the passage.

Waiting, The Shadow had seen the arrival of Joe Cardona. With timely precision, he had saved the life of the detective; and probably that of Commissioner Weston, for the latter had come blundering after Cardona.

As The Shadow lingered to make sure that all was well, the door swung open at the top of the cellar steps. The Shadow pressed against the wall. A flashlight glimmered past him. The voice of a detective came down the stairs.

“Hey! Cardona!”

It was Commissioner Weston who shouted in reply. His words were an order to the man above.

“Search the house!” he cried. “There may be more of these crooks. Let no one out! Close the cordon!”

The detective shouted the order to those on the ground floor. Then he began to descend the stairs. He twisted his flashlight as he came downward. Its rays flickered squarely on The Shadow. The detective let out a shout as he faced a pair of burning eyes. He raised his revolver.

The sleuth failed to fire the shot that he intended. Like a flash, The Shadow sprang forward and upward. His powerful hands caught the detective’s wrists. Flashlight and gun went bouncing down the steps as the startled sleuth sprawled in The Shadow’s grasp.

A twisting hold sent the detective sidewise. The man gripped the rail of the cellar steps to save himself. Dazed by the swift attack, he clung there, as The Shadow sprang upward to the door above.

Detectives were in the hallway as The Shadow appeared. They whipped out revolvers, in accordance with Weston’s instructions to let no one escape. The Shadow was quicker; an automatic showed in his right hand. He delivered two shots above the heads of the detectives.

The men jumped for shelter.

The Shadow made the stairs to the second floor. As he swept rapidly upward, the balked detectives fired. Their shots were too late. They took up the pursuit.

The Shadow reached the rear window on the second floor. As he raised the sash, a flashlight gleamed from the alleyway beneath. The shout of a detective came from behind the light. The Shadow hurried back to the hall.

THE inside detectives were at the top of the stairs. One shouted as he spied The Shadow. He fired — again too late. The Shadow was on his way, still moving upward; this time to the third floor of Old Growdy’s home.

The Shadow reached the top of those steps as the detectives neared the bottom. His flashlight glimmered. It showed an opening in the ceiling; a trapdoor that led to the roof.

Out went the flashlight. Turning deliberately to the steps, The Shadow fired two quick shots, aimed high. They served their purpose. The detectives dived away from the bottom of the stairs. They shouted below for a reinforcements. Their quarry was trapped. They wanted aid to take him.

A whispered laugh came from the dark. The Shadow’s cloak swished as its wearer swung himself upward upon the newel post at the top of the steps. Firm hands pressed against the trapdoor in the ceiling.

The barrier was locked. A rusted bolt shrieked as The Shadow forced it open. Pressing with amazing strength, The Shadow forced the trapdoor free from its catches. A puff of fresh air entered as the trap toppled on the roof.

Cries from below. Other detectives had arrived. The voice of Detective Sergeant Markham issued a command:

“Rush the steps! We’ll get him!”

Detectives surged upward. Their course was unwise. They would have been easy targets in the darkness.

But there were no shots to receive them. The Shadow had no quarrel with the law. As the detectives rushed, The Shadow’s strong arms gripped the edges of the opening in the ceiling. His body swung upward. An instant later he had gained the roof.

A flashlight from a detective’s hand picked out the opening just as The Shadow drove the trapdoor shut. The detective opened fire.

The Shadow was already on his way. By the time the detectives had raised the trap and had reached the roof, he had reached the rear roof of a house four doors away from Old Growdy’s home.

The passage between Old Growdy’s row and the string of houses in back was more than a dozen feet in width. The Shadow, however, did not need to bridge that chasm. His swiftly moving form leaped forward as it reached the rear of the roof. With a perfect broad jump over a space thirty feet deep. The Shadow reached the roof of another house. His course continued.

More than a block away from Old Growdy’s, The Shadow picked a wall that was to his liking. Its side, descending to a narrow street, was dark and obscure. A short wait; then came the squidge of rubber suction cups. With smooth precision, The Shadow descended the wall.

A police whistle sounded. The cordon was tightening. An officer, throwing his light along the street, caught a momentary glimpse of a shadowy form that was heading for a passage opposite. The policeman fired — too late to stop the progress of the moving figure.

THE SHADOW had passed the cordon. Like The Cobra, he had departed from Old Growdy’s. But where The Cobra had gone in triumph, recognized as one who had saved helpless victims of crime, The Shadow, trapped in a situation that could not be explained, had been forced to flee in order to avoid a battle with the law.

The Cobra — that night when he had slain Deek Hundell — had left The Shadow to bear the brunt of surging mobsters. Tonight, he had again left The Shadow in an embarrassing position.

Instead of regaining his lost prestige, The Shadow, tonight, had discredited himself with the police. First with the underworld; now with the law. For the second time, The Shadow had been belittled by the craft of The Cobra!