The Dark Death

CHAPTER V. THROUGH THE NIGHT

DRILLER cowered as The Shadow moved inward from the door. Tall, sinister, with blazing eyes fixed steadily, The Shadow’s very silence was terrifying.

Driller tried to frame pleading words. He failed.

Staring hopelessly, Driller looked for death. His career of crime had been a checkered one. Murder had gone along with safe-cracking. Driller was a rat who deserved to die. The Shadow knew that fact.

Coughed words came from Driller’s lips at last. In response, The Shadow uttered a whispered laugh.

Halted a few paces from his quarry, this master of vengeance was voicing contemptuous mirth, its uncanny tones confined within this room.

Still staring, Driller had a wild hope. Perhaps The Shadow would show undeserved mercy. There were others in the big room outside. If The Shadow opened fire, he would be trapped. Driller saw a chance to make a deal.

“I–I won’t squawk!” he gasped. “If you let me off — I–I’ll help you trap the others. I’m not with Gat — I mean about killing those fellows he grabbed here. You — you heard what he said. When you were Tonk Ringo. It was — it was Gat’s idea to rub them out—”

“And you agreed.” The Shadow’s tone was a sinister sneer. “All you wanted was a chance to leave before the slaughter commenced.”

“Honest—”

Driller stopped short. Pleas were useless. He had no possible alibi. The Shadow had heard his conversation with Gat. But as Driller cowered, his staring eyes saw something that The Shadow did not see.

The door was beyond the black-cloaked figure. The knob of the door was turning. Driller knew why. He had told Gat that the safe would be cracked in ten minutes. That time was up. Driller and Gat had worked together before. Gat knew that Driller never went beyond his estimated time. Gat was coming to learn the reason for the delay.

For an instant, Driller began to close his hands, tense with the thought of a sudden attack. Then he stopped. The door was swinging open. Better to let Gat take a shot at The Shadow; then Driller could spring.

“Honest—”

Driller blurted the word again, hoping that his voice would cover the sound of the opening door. It did.

But The Shadow did not need to hear Gat’s approach. Driller’s actions had told him that danger was at hand.

THE Shadow whirled.

He was just in time. Had he waited to deal with Driller, he would have been too late for Gat. Ever ready with a revolver, Gat was holding a leveled weapon as he stepped into the room. His gun flashed as he aimed to kill.

The Shadow’s whirl was a twisting one. As he spun about, he pressed the trigger of one automatic. His shot came simultaneously with the flash of Gat’s revolver. A bullet whistled through the waving folds of the black cloak and thudded into the opened door of the safe, a foot from Driller Borson.

But The Shadow’s shot was not wild. It found a living mark. Gat Lober wavered. He fired again, wondering why his arm was sagging. He had felt the force of The Shadow’s bullet; but in his fury, he did not realize that he had been clipped.

Gat’s second shot was three feet wide. Crazily, the mob leader crumpled. As Gat sprawled, Driller came springing forward, launching his lanky body in a terrific leap for The Shadow’s form.

Well had The Shadow figured. Others might be behind Gat Lober. He could not spare the time to turn upon Driller Borson. With that thought, The Shadow had also reasoned that Driller, no gun ready, would leap instead of firing.

The Shadow’s twist ended in a surprising fade-away. His body seemed to drop as Driller came hurtling upon his back. Surging with outstretched hands, Driller clawed vainly at the ducking slouch hat. Then shoulders came driving upward.

Overbalanced, Driller was hoisted into the air under the impetus of The Shadow’s sudden rise. For an instant, he balanced like a teeter. Then, with a powerful twist, The Shadow sent the lunging safe-cracker headlong to the floor.

Driller struck the edge of a table. He rolled over and lay half stunned. The Shadow, straightening, swept toward the door. His automatics volleyed.

Two mobsters — those guarding the servants — had arrived. Responding to the shots, they were leveling their revolvers. But they were not as swift as Gat Lober. The Shadow beat them to the shot. The gorillas went kicking to the floor. The Shadow reached the doorway.

Here came a swift exchange of shots. Mobsters from the far door had expected him. They fired as The Shadow appeared. But his step into the outer room had been a feint. A backward swing baffled the gorillas. They fired wide.

Then the muzzle of an automatic came through the space between the hinges of the opened door.

Through this unexpected loophole, The Shadow delivered his barrage.

Each belch of that automatic sent a gorilla sprawling. One — two — in quick succession. Then a third, just as the fellow aimed for the smoking muzzle of The Shadow’s gun. Only one remained: Skeeter.

The puny mobster had seen The Shadow. He had fired with the other mobsters. But as he saw his companions fall, Skeeter dropped his gun and made a wild dive through the doorway that led from the living room to outer safety.

The Shadow had already sighted his automatic to clip this fleeing foeman. But something occurred to save Skeeter from the doom that his companions had encountered. At the very instant of Skeeter’s dash, The Shadow heard a sound close beside him, in the study.

The Shadow’s left-hand automatic was the one thrust through the crack of the opened door. His right-hand gun was idle. Glancing quickly to the right, The Shadow saw Driller Borson rising. Recovered from his tumble, the safe-cracker had drawn a revolver. He was aiming the weapon point-blank for The Shadow.

It was Driller’s own anxiety to score a bullseye that brought his doom. The Shadow’s right hand snapped upward. The automatic spoke while Driller’s finger was still loose upon the trigger of the revolver. The Shadow’s shot echoed through the room.

Driller sprawled forward on the floor.

OUTSIDE, Skeeter had bolted through the jimmied window. His cries were wild to those gorillas who had remained as outer guards. They had heard the shots. Skeeter gave them the explanation.

“The Shadow!” he cried. “The Shadow! Spread out! We’ll get him when he comes!”

Mobsters leaped away from the wall. They were spreading to form an ambush.

But others had heard Skeeter’s cry. From off beyond the house, long-beamed flashlights sent sudden rays through the darkness. Gorillas wheeled in their tracks to open fire upon new foemen. Automatics barked while revolvers were swinging to aim.

From three points, The Shadow’s agents had gained the bead. Harry, Clint and Hawkeye — all expert marksmen, were on hand to thwart the scattering gorillas.

Mobsters went tumbling. Cliff called a command. Lights went out. As Cliff skirted over toward the rear of the house, Harry and Hawkeye followed. They were heading for the spot where the mobsters had left their cars.

One crook had dodged the scathing fire of The Shadow’s agents. Skeeter Wigan, gunless, had continued his flight after giving warning. Ducking into darkness, he arrived at the parked cars and gasped the news to the two gorillas stationed there.

“The Shadow! Coming from the house—”

One mobsman was seated at the wheel of Driller’s coupe. The other was standing beside the same car.

Both had ready guns. The man in the driver’s seat twisted a searchlight and clicked the button. It was a lucky guess.

The powerful glare made a huge spotlight on the wall of the house. Revealed by the electric blaze stood The Shadow. He was a dozen yards clear of the house. Behind him, on the wall, his figure formed a mammoth outline — the shadow of The Shadow!

MOBSTERS aimed. The gorilla by the car fired one quick shot for that weird form. Away from the coupe, he was where The Shadow could not spot him.

But others did. The Shadow’s agents, coming from an angle, saw the gorilla between them and the searchlight’s beam. Three guns spoke almost in unison. The mobster tumbled.

Prompt with that fire came the burst of The Shadow’s automatic. His shot was aimed for the searchlight.

It crashed the glass. The light went out. The gorilla in the seat opened vicious fire toward the spot where The Shadow had been. His bullets whistled through thin air.

The answer, when it came, was from a dozen paces to the left. Spotting the flashes of the mobster’s gun, The Shadow delivered two shots through the opened window of the coupe. The gangster groaned. His gun clattered upon the running board of the car.

Skeeter had dodged behind the coupe. He had not been seen. He had fired no revealing shots, being without a gun. Huddled, cringing, he expected the arrival of The Shadow. Then came a break.

A motorcycle roared suddenly from the lower driveway. It’s lone eye blazed a path that showed The Shadow’s agents clustered among the shrubbery. Cliff — Harry — Hawkeye — all knew the identity of the arrivals. The policemen who had been patrolling the lower road!

THE three ducked for cover as revolvers barked. Then, from the neighborhood of the parked cars, came the shots of automatics. The Shadow had sensed the situation. He was firing to draw the police.

The motorcycle swerved and sped in that direction.

A motor roared. Headlights blinked on. Out from the cluster of the mobster cars came Driller’s coupe.

The Shadow had reached that car. He had plucked the dead gorilla from the wheel. He had timed a quick and sudden departure.

Cycle and side car skidded into a ditch to avoid the path of the coupe. As the light car swept past the spot where The Shadow’s agents lurked, a weird laugh came from behind the wheel. That burst of mockery was a signal.

“Come on!” ordered Cliff.

He headed for Harry’s sedan. His companions followed. As they piled aboard, they saw the motorcycle come down the driveway. The Shadow had taken the route to the lower gate, leading the cops in a futile chase.

“They’ll never overtake him,” declared Harry, as he started the motor of his car. “We’ll head out by this other driveway.”

The course led upward, across the large Long Island estate. As they reached the brow of a hill, Hawkeye gave utterance. Harry stopped the car. Down the sloping hill a panorama spread beneath them in the moonlight.

They could see the road by which they had come. Speeding along it was a coupe — Driller’s — manned by The Shadow. A mile back was the gateway to the lower drive. The motorcycle was at that spot, turning about.

“They’ve given up the chase,” laughed Cliff. “They’ve just decided that they belong back at the house, to see what’s happened there.”

“That’s it,” agreed Harry. He shoved the car into gear. “And that’s why we’re going to make time toward Manhattan. We’ll just have time to reach a through highway before they telephone to have the roads watched.”

The sedan shot forward. It sped through an upper gateway and caught a paved road that followed the direction they wanted. Cliff and Hawkeye settled back as Harry opened the throttle and brought the speedometer up to seventy-five.

The safety of thronged thoroughfares lay ahead. To that same safety, The Shadow was driving alone. The master fighter and his agents had done their work. Mobs had met to commit robbery and murder. The law would find dead gorillas and their slain leaders.

And in that same mansion where The Shadow had blazed a trail of vengeance, the law would find two captured men unharmed. For The Shadow and his agents had saved helpless victims from doom.