The Crime Master

CHAPTER XIII THE FLIGHT

WHILE The Shadow had been waging battle in the offices of the Associated Importing Company, strife had broken loose upon the street below. The gunfire from above; the explosion which had followed it — these had served as signals for other action.

Prompt with the beginning of the upper fray, men had issued from buildings across the street. Half a dozen in number, they represented detectives who had been smuggled in to watch.

These men had sent the alarm before they appeared in view. The distant police who surrounded the district were notified that crime had struck. The half dozen detailed to watch were then ready to force their way into the Fergis Building.

But where Weston had relied upon a slim vanguard, The Crime Master had placed full crews of fighters. Hardly had the detectives appeared before the doors of parked taxis opened. Armed gunmen tumbled into view; they opened fire on the plain-clothes men.

Thus, while The Shadow had fought furiously above, shots had been ricocheting along the street below. Weston’s men, hopelessly outnumbered, retreated to the buildings from which they had come. Of the six detectives, four were wounded.

During the last phases of The Shadow’s upstairs battle, taxis were swinging along the street. These cabs were moving fortresses in The Crime Master’s scheme. Each contained its quota of mobsters.

Three cabs shot ahead; the gangsters who had fired at the detectives were on the running boards. Three made sharp, quick turnabouts in the center of the street and rolled toward the opposite end of the block.

One at each corner; second cabs in reserve behind them; third cabs further back — such was The Crime Master’s blockade. Mobsmen — some in cabs, some on the street — were ready with their guns to ward off any police attack.

The Crime Master had designed the front street as one possible outlet for a getaway. Weston, in opposition, had picked that block as the converging point for the police. As The Shadow, backed against the window in the office, was poising for his wild plunge, heavy gunfire broke from both ends of the beleaguered block.

LOUIE HARGER, after emptying his revolver through the hole in the marquee, stared savagely out into the street. For the first time, the gangleader realized that a furious fight was under way below. Glancing hastily to left and right, he could see the flashes of guns from the ends of the street. He spied revolver bursts from the sides of the cabs. He saw gangsters retreating toward the center of the block.

Wildly, Louie leaped back into the office. He snatched up a fallen mobster’s gat. Springing to the window, he leaned forth and fired three quick shots above the heads of two retreating mobsmen. The gangsters looked up, swinging savagely to meet what they took for an enemy’s fire.

Louie waved his arms. The men stopped. They recognized an ally. In the lull that hung in the center of the block, Louie’s voice barked its message, as the gangleader motioned straight downward with his gun.

“Get him!” ordered Louie. “The Shadow! Get him by the door! I plugged him—”

The mobsters were across the street. They looked toward the door of the building. One clutched the other’s arm and pointed. His companion nodded.

The front of the Fergis Building formed an alcove. Set on each side of the entrance were pillar bases; above them, fluted, ornamental columns. Further away, on each side, were inset basement windows, fronted with heavy bars.

The columns showed white; their bases formed ledges upon which a person could recline. The first mobster, looking toward these conspicuous spots, had spied the object that he wanted. A huddled, pitiful form — black cloak with topping hat — formed a grotesque splotch at the base of the right column.

Viciously, the mobster fired. His shot cracked against the fluted pillar. His companion leveled his gun and loosed a bullet. The figure did not move. Snarling their triumph, the two hoodlums dashed straight for the blackened form.

One stopped short. Taking no chance, he fired three quick shots at a range of a dozen feet. The other man, seeing the gun lower, sprang forward and seized the folds of the black cloak. He yanked it away.

The slouch hat rolled to the sidewalk. Beneath was the whiteness of the bullet-cracked column. The mobsters had spent their fire to no avail. Crawling to this spot, The Shadow had managed to cast off his black garments. In the precious seconds that had followed, he had moved to some other spot.

The savage mobster flung the cloak to the sidewalk. He kicked the slouch hat toward the gutter. He stared at his companion; then pointed to the right. The inset window — black — could be a hiding place. Together, the two men sprang toward that spot to search.

They found no one. One mobster kicked against the grated bars. Snarling an oath, he turned to his companion.

“He’s somewhere near,” growled the gunman. “Maybe he ducked the other way. The window on the other side is—”

Before the second gangster could respond, both were forced to heed an interruption. Amid the sounds of gunfire came wild shouts. Mobsters at the wheels of taxicabs were calling to their scattered fellows. The police attack was increasing. A drive for freedom was the order.

There was no time for this pair to resume their hunt. Sensing that they would be trapped, they dashed madly away from the front of the building. They reached the last cab and leaped on the running board. The cab did not move.

Slumped behind the wheel was the mobster driver, dead. The cab ahead was moving. Abandoning the motionless car, the two gangsters dashed for the one ahead. They gained the running board just as the car shot forward, shots bursting from its interior to run the police cordon.

LOUIE HARGER, standing by the window, saw the dash. He grinned. He was sure that the men whom he had summoned had clinched The Shadow’s death. He had heard their shots from beneath the marquee.

Leaning from the window, he saw the onslaught of the cabs. Two were hurtling forward at one end of the block. Looking the other way, Louie saw a trio of cabs speeding in formation. Then came a fury of fire. Police, dropping to cover, were giving the cabs a gantlet of bullets. The mobsmen in the cabs were firing in return. The cabs sped along the street, careening as their drivers swerved.

Whistles sounded. Pursuing shots came to Louie’s ears. Then the gangleader heard the whine of sirens as the gunfire faded. The police cars were taking up the chase.

Louie turned. He found silence. Dimly, the excited gangleader recalled a muffled blast while he had been standing at the window. He went to the door of the strongroom. He flashed his torch through heavy smoke.

The door of the vault was blown. The raiders had left by the hole in the wall. Mobsters lay motionless upon the floor of the office and in the strongroom. Louie realized that his small crew of sharpshooters had been practically eliminated in the battle with The Shadow. The few who remained had followed through the hole in the strongroom wall. Such had been Louie’s order.

DOWN on the sidewalk, something moved from blackness. A figure crawled out of the inset window on the left side of the building entrance. Like a mammoth beetle, this shape reached the spot where the cloak and hat were lying. Half rising, The Shadow slipped cloak upon shoulders and planted the hat at an angle on his head.

Wisely, The Shadow had crawled to the window on the side away from the pillar where he had doffed his garb. The two mobsters had searched at the right — a natural procedure — while The Shadow was at the left.

Again, precious seconds had served The Shadow well. The mobsters had fled when he was almost in their grasp. It was The Shadow’s turn to look for new safety.

Gloved hands clawed at the base of the nearer pillar. The crudely cloaked form rose upward. Stooped, The Shadow staggered across the sidewalk. He nearly fell as he stepped from the curb. Then, with hands clasped to his bent body, he wavered onward.

LOUIE HARGER had returned to the window. The gangleader wanted one last look at the deserted street. He noted the cab standing in the thoroughfare. Beyond it, he saw policemen edging in from the corner. Louie glanced again at the cab.

For a moment, the gangleader was astounded. The door of the taxi had opened. He saw a mass of black lurch forward; then rise and slump. In an instant, Louie Harger knew the truth.

The Shadow had reached the cab! With a final effort, he had thrust the dead driver from the wheel. As Louie stared, he heard the grind of gears. The cab lurched forward.

Cursing, Louie aimed. He fired at the moving target. The range was too great. Going into high, the cab was zigzagging toward the corner, straight into the zone where police were ready to advance.

Like the mobsters who had fled ahead of him, The Shadow was running the gantlet. Revolvers barked; the cab swept on at a dizzy, swerving speed. Louie saw it careen almost to the opposite curb; then it was jerked to the center of the street. It was past the corner — shots were coming from behind.

The Shadow had passed the bluecoats.

Louie could linger no longer. He heard police whistles; a dozen officers were dashing from the opposite direction, bent on reaching the Fergis Building now that the coast was clear. Louie headed for the strongroom. He dashed through the broken wall and reached a stairway.

Below, Louie found a rakish touring car on the garage floor. Four mobsters were in the machine. The driver called to the gangleader to hurry.

“Waitin’ for you,” were his words. “The others made their getaway. The swag went first. Anybody else comin’?”

Louie delivered a negative response as he leaped into the car. A gangster yanked a lever near the garage door. The barrier swung open; the man jumped aboard the touring car as it passed. The escaping mobsters were leaving by the rear, through a door that led to the street in back of the block where the Fergis Building was located.

A whistle sounded. Police had arrived in this block. Too late to flag the previous cars, the officers were determined to stop this machine. They fell back, however, as shots came from the guns which bristled at the sides of the touring car. The swift machine sped along the street.

Mobsters were benefiting by The Crime Master’s strategy. In forming his game, the cunning supercrook had counted on the flight of the taxis to draw police away from this rear exit. The gangster-manned cabs had experienced much trouble; the touring car, however, was in the clear.

Swinging along the nearest avenue, Louie Harger and his companions gloated on the fact that their own escape must be proof that the men with the swag had made a clear getaway. Such was the case; Louie’s crew, however, was due for trouble.

As the car reached a corner four blocks from the scene of crime, a siren sounded up ahead. Commissioner Weston was maneuvering his forces like fire engines after the third alarm. For each police car that had headed into the danger zone, other cars were coming in reserve.

The driver cursed as he swung the touring car down a side street. The rakish machine roared through a canyon of silent buildings. It crossed another avenue. As it reached the next broad thoroughfare, the driver gave the wheel a sudden twist.

The right wheels took a low curb. Louie Harger, staring from the rear seat, saw the reason for the unexpected maneuver. A taxicab, coming at a breakneck, rolling speed, was skidding past the crossing. The driver of the touring car had swerved to avoid it.

“Smash him!” shouted Louie, as the touring car bounded from the curb toward the center of the avenue. “Smash him — it’s a guy we’ve got to get—”

The order was too late. The taxi had careened past. As the touring car finished the crossing and came to a jolting stop with its nose down the side street, Louie was spending futile shots after the fleeing cab.

“Get him—”

Louie’s startled companion joined in the fire. They, like the driver, had taken the taxi for a vehicle that contained escaping mobsters. Louie’s blazing shots, however, seemed to indicate a purpose. The surprise of the sudden meeting rendered bullets futile. The Shadow’s lurching cab had reached a point more than half a block away.

“After him!” rasped Louie. “We’ve got to get him! It’s The Shadow!”

An oath came from the driver. The man shot the touring car into reverse. The machine swept backward into the avenue. The taxi was two blocks away; but this swift car could overtake it.

THE chase never began. Just as the driver was shifting to low gear, a siren whined. From a corner one square below, a police car appeared upon the avenue. It was in chase of The Shadow’s taxi.

The driver of the gang car sensed the menace. To pursue the taxi would mean a course squarely in front of the police car. He yanked the wheel and headed toward the direction from which he had backed — along the side street.

Anxious gangsters fired from Louie’s side. Bullets whistled toward the police car. At sight of this new foe, the officers slackened speed. As the touring car sped down the side street, they forgot the cab that they were chasing and took up the pursuit of the car which contained Louie Harger.

Block after block — a twisting, tortuous chase. The swift touring car outdistanced its pursuer. Louie and his companions were safe; but they had made a damaging error.

Not only had they failed to stop The Shadow; they had also diverted the police chase from the cab which the wounded warrior had commandeered. Far up the avenue, the taxi was whirling along, unmolested. Then, as it passed a crossing, its speed began to slacken.

Coasting crazily, the taxi continued for another block. Behind the wheel lay a limp, helpless form. The Shadow had weakened. His foot no longer pressed the accelerator nor did his hands control the steering wheel.

The cab climbed a curb. Pedestrians scattered as the vehicle jounced tilting toward the corner. A black glove gripped the steering wheel and gave it a twist. The cab rolled caticornered into a side street, bounced down from the near curb, climbed the sidewalk opposite and came to a crashing stop against a high stone steps.

A door wrenched open. The Shadow sprawled against the steps. Contact with the stone seemed to bring him to a revived state. Spontaneously, the black-cloaked form arose and went tottering, with a flash of its accustomed stride, along through the darkness away from the wrecked cab.

Pedestrians who had fled from the path of the taxi came rushing over to give rescue. They came from the direction of the avenue. They found the cab empty. During their approach from the near side of the smashed vehicle, The Shadow had limped a dozen yards.

Then he faltered. His form collapsed beside a pair of steps further down the street. The shouts of the persons by the wrecked cab seemed faint at the spot where The Shadow lay.

Feebly, the cloaked fighter pressed his left hand to his side. Dripping blood smeared the black glove. From beneath the black cloak, fumbling fingers drew forth a tiny vial. The hand rose to the lips beneath the hat brim.

The vial was corked. The Shadow bit the stopper free with his teeth. A pungent odor came from the vial. With an effort, The Shadow swallowed the contents. The bottle made a tiny tinkle is it fell and broke upon the cement beside the steps.

Clutching the stone beside him, The Shadow arose. The elixir had given him a new taste of life. Though he limped and staggered, while his right side drooped, the game warrior began to cover the remaining distance of the block.

The next crossing marked a quiet uptown avenue, for The Shadow had arrived far north of Times Square. The black-clad figure wavered as it reached the far side of the crossing. Then came two dozen steps away from the corner. After that, The Shadow paused; he swayed and crashed upon the sidewalk.

A minute passed. No one chanced to come along the sidewalk while The Shadow lay there motionless. The figure moved again, with pitiful weakness. The power of the elixir had ended; its passing had brought an opposite reaction.

Crawling foot by foot; dragging himself by the sheer strength of his left arm, for his legs were weakening, The Shadow reached the white wall of a low apartment building. The entrance showed ahead. The Shadow, however, stopped at a nearer door.

The left hand crept upward. Fingers, moving spiderlike, gained the knob. The hand drew the form below close against the door. Then the left arm drooped; once again, fingers fumbled. The hand came up, carrying the metal pick.

Faltering fingers probed the lock. One click failed — another had a like fate. The Shadow’s hand persisted. The lock yielded. The pick dropped; the hand clutched the knob. A final twist; the door opened inward and The Shadow’s form went sprawling forward.

Barely across the threshold, The Shadow made a last motion of his arm. This action closed the door — not quite tight. The hand sought to finish the work. It failed. A sigh came from The Shadow’s lips; his form dropped flat. The slouch hat rolled from the head that wore it.

Stretched prone upon the floor, The Shadow lay motionless. Slow, labored breathing such was the only sound that came from the spot where he had lost all consciousness. The folds of the blood-soaked cloak lay like a shroud upon the crippled shape.

Ten minutes — fifteen — twenty. All was silence where The Shadow lay. Occasionally, the rumble of a passing car sounded from the street outside; at other intervals, clicking footsteps of pedestrians came from the sidewalk.

Then came a different noise from without. A cab had pulled up in front of the door through which The Shadow had entered. A serious-faced young man alighted. He paid the driver; the cab rolled away.

The man turned to the door in the building. He pressed a key in the lock. He was surprised as the door yielded. He entered and stopped short to keep from stumbling over the form that lay on the floor.

This arrival had found The Shadow. Stooping in the gloom, he bent over the black-garbed figure. A surprised gasp came from his lips as his hand felt the bloody wrinkles of the cloak.

The Shadow had escaped The Crime Master’s trap; yet his flight had left him on the verge of death. Upon one man, whose timely return had now occurred, rested the fate of The Shadow!