Had Orlinov attempted to beat The Shadow to the shot, he might have succeeded. But the Russian played a quicker, more instinctive game. He dropped away from the open panel. The little barrier slid down to receive The Shadow's shot.
Tremont and Savette were acting ere the automatic roared. So sure were they that Orlinov would not fail that they saw only one menace before them — Harold Sharrock.
Savette dropped the syringe as he and Tremont sprang forward. All odds were with Sharrock. He had only to draw away and pump his enemies with bullets. But he acted too late.
He did not shoot until the men were upon him.
His gun sounded a muffled report as the three tumbled. Then The Shadow's automatic spoke to rescue him. Savette, the upper of the three, received a bullet, and fell away from the struggling forms. Muffled shots were repeated as Savette dropped. Sharrock rolled over, and Tremont staggered away from him, holding the pistol in readiness for another shot. The Shadow's well-timed aim was again effective. His automatic roared. Glade Tremont fell.
Now, The Shadow was sweeping toward the door. Just as he reached it, the barrier was hurled inward. Revolvers gleamed as Biff Towley and three mobsmen dashed into the room.
They had heard the shots. They had come at Orlinov's bidding. They were making a mass attack to trap The Shadow before he could escape.
Here he was upon them, his automatics pumping lead, his tall form swinging away behind the door. A few wild shots responded. They were all. The mobsmen had been too sure of themselves. They had walked into a close-range attack from two powerful guns. The Shadow had lost no time. He had not saved a single bullet. In this emergency, he discharged every cartridge.
His enemies were on the floor. The Shadow was unscathed. Laughing, loud and fiercely, he flung away his pistols and drew two new weapons from beneath his cloak. He had come here prepared, a human arsenal. Into the hall strode The Shadow. Three gunners were entering the front door. The Shadow's automatics jerked back and forth as he struck down his new group of enemies.
Two shots from each gun. Four bullets — one more than needed. Three gangsters lay within the door, their bodies crumpled in death.