The Eyes of the Shadow

CHAPTER XXIV. A HORDE ATTACKS

Red Mike restored order. There were fully three dozen angry men in his outer room — would-be killers who uttered mad threats as they saw their comrades stagger from the inner room. These fighters of the underworld had become suddenly silent when they had heard The Shadow's mocking laugh. Then their shouts had recommenced — to stop when the proprietor of the Black Ship held up a commanding hand.

"Quiet!" he howled.

The babel ceased. At Red Mike's summons, several men came to the aid of the wounded crooks who had been in the fight. Not one of the ten had escaped uninjured. Three of them were badly hurt; they were carried to the street.

The bullets from the automatics had been well aimed; most of them had struck the arms and shoulders of the attackers. The Shadow had been swift to cripple his foemen.

Only two of the tribe were capable of further battle. One of them was Pedro. The big Mexican had not been hurt until the chair had struck him during his rush to safety. He was again ready for action, recovered from the blow that had sprawled him.

He still gripped his huge machete. He flourished the weapon and leered venomously as he shouted to Red Mike.

"He is hurt!" cried Pedro. "He is hurt, I tell you! He is in there; where we can get him!"

"Wait a minute," commanded Red Mike.

He turned toward the door that led to the street. Two men were standing there.

"Look outside, boys," ordered Red Mike. "We don't want more gun play until we know that things are quiet."

The men left the Black Ship. The proprietor listened at the door to the inner room.

"We've got him, all right," he said quietly. "He was lucky, that's all. He can't get out of there. We can take our time. Who is he?"

The question was put to Spotter.

"A stool," said the crafty-faced man. "I seen de guy once before. He's a bad egg."

A chorus of snarls followed these words.

"Spotter knows 'em all," affirmed a thug. "He can pick 'em out when he sees 'em. Let's get busy."

Spotter smiled. He had made the right statement. He was glad that he had not mentioned the name of The Shadow. It was known to comparatively few in the underworld; those who had heard the name held it in awe.

"Easy now, boys," commanded Red Mike. "Wait till we know that everything is quiet."

One of the two men who had left now reappeared at the entrance.

"All right outside," he reported. "Geek is watchin'. Youse can go ahead."

Red Mike produced a hammer and chisel. He began to pry one of the iron plates from the door.

"Watch out, Mike," warned Spotter. "He may pot you t'rough de door."

"Not with them little toy guns."

The iron sheet had been nailed fast to the top portion of the door. It yielded as the proprietor worked upon it. With great effort, Red Mike forced it free at the bottom and bent it upward. The crooks watched in silence.

At last there was a space more than a foot in extent, just above the middle of the door. Red Mike turned from his work and marshaled his forces of the underworld. He placed three men on each side of the door. They stood with big revolvers. He moved the others to the corners and stationed two by the only door that led to the street. Pedro insisted on being close by. He held the machete as though he hoped to strike the first blow.

"Here you, Turkey," ordered Red Mike. "There's two bull's-eye lanterns over behind the bar. Take one and give the other to another guy. Stand by the door."

While the men were following instructions, Red Mike produced a fire ax and a long piece of strong wire.

He used a pair of pliers to fashion a loop in the end of the wire.

"Come here, Spotter," he said. "You stand on the right side of the door. I'm going to smash a hole. You know where the bolt lies. Shove the wire in and hook the bolt after I make the hole."

"I ain't sure I can do it," said Spotter cautiously.

Pedro took the wire from his hand.

"I will do it," he said with a grin. He took his position beside the door and made a few practice thrusts with the wire. "Go ahead. I am ready."

Red Mike lifted the ax.

"Work smooth, boys," he said. "First I crash the door. The Mex here pulls the bolt. The guy won't be by the door; he'll be off in a corner. When you hear the bolt click, come in low, so you'll be in back of that bottom sheet of iron.

"Then we rush the room. Guns and lights. Don't give him a chance. If he does duck through — I don't see how he can, though — I'll get him with the ax."

Pedro grinned.

"Let him come," he said, brandishing the machete.

The men were alert. Thirty hardened fighters of the underworld were in readiness. Even those in the corners were prepared, although they believed the man in the inner room would never reach the doorway.

Red Mike swung the ax against the door. Once, then again, and again. As the heavy strokes resounded, Spotter sidled across the room and reached the door to the street.

"I'm goin' out," he told the men there. "I ain't got no rod; I ain't no use here."

He peered through the crack of the outer door, watching the wood splinter under the powerful strokes of Red Mike's ax. A small hole appeared in the door of the inner room.

The proprietor of the Black Ship stepped well back from the door. The den was tense and silent as he surveyed the work that he had done. He swung the ax; then waited. Another blow; then another pause.

Spotter perceived the plan. The intermittent strokes of the ax would keep the prisoner away from the door. Spotter grinned.

One more stroke of the ax. The hole was larger now. As Red Mike stepped away, he pointed toward the hole. Pedro leered as he thrust the wire through the gap and hooked the bolt.

Then the unexpected happened. A hand came through the hole in the door and flung a tubelike object into the outer room. Before the astounded crooks realized what had happened, they were choking and coughing, gasping and covering their eyes.

A tear bomb had been projected from the inner room. It had taken Red Mike and his companions unaware. They were helpless — blinded — gasping as they tried to scream.

The two outer guards staggered into the street, pushing Spotter aside. Then the battered door swung open and a figure stepped into the outer room of the Black Ship. His rough clothes were gone; he no longer wore the khaki trousers and the coarse sweater. Instead, he was attired in a dark suit. Over his face he wore a gogglelike mask that completely obscured his features.

He walked unsteadily through the gas-filled room, pushing aside the choking men who staggered against him, stepping over those who lay helplessly weeping upon the floor.

He stumbled as he reached the door to the street, but he caught himself and came up the steps from the underground den. He gained the door ahead of those who were blindly seeking to find it.

Spotter slipped away and crouched by the wall of the building. The Shadow came out, pulled the mask from his face, and hurried down the alley.

"Stop him," screamed Spotter. "He's getting away!"

The two outer guards who had escaped after suffering from the first effects of the gas had now recovered. Their guns spoke as they fired after the speeding figure. It seemed to stagger. They ran after their quarry as he reached the street at the end of the alley.

Some one stepped in the path of the escaping figure. It was "Geek," the gangster who had gone out to see that all was clear. "Stop him!" screamed Spotter as he joined in the chase.

Geek fell sprawling as a hard blow reached his chin. The dark-clad figure disappeared from view.

Spotter and his pals reached the street. They stared in both directions. The street was not well-lighted; it was filled with black shadows.

The crooks separated, one running in each direction. Spotter remained at the entrance to the alley, beside the stunned form of Geek. He smiled wickedly as he saw Geek's revolver lying on the ground. He picked up the .38 and looked closely at the sidewalk.

There his sharp eyes detected a small, dark splotch. Blood!

"He's hurt!" muttered Spotter. "I thought de Mex stabbed him in de fight. One of de boys must 'a' plugged him, too. Well, here's where Spotter finishes him."

He saw another splotch a few feet farther on. Edging his way in the shadow of the houses, he moved along the street until he came to a pair of steps. He stopped and listened. Something — some one — was breathing heavily in the shadowy darkness.

By the steps Spotter felt a human form. He set his automatic against the huddled body and placed his finger on the trigger.

A firm hand caught his wrist. The gun dropped from Spotter's grasp. Fingers clutched his throat, and he gasped as consciousness was wrested from him.

A black form emerged from the steps and moved unsteadily down the street, pausing every now and then as it leaned against the wall of a house. It reached the corner and turned into another street, moving always the same — barely visible, then half hidden. Its actions seemed weak and uncertain, as though its power had been spent.

It appeared for one brief second and leaned against a lamp-post. Then it tottered and disappeared into the blackness beyond.

But the spot where it had stood was marked — marked with a large splotch of blood that showed deep crimson on the sidewalk.