A hand flashed from the sliding door that led to the wing. Orlinov's revolver answered. A bullet swished through the collar of The Shadow's cloak.
One of those automatics answered as the hand slipped away. The shot was perfect. Ivan Orlinov uttered a cry of rage. The revolver clattered to the floor, outside the door.
The Russian did not wait. He did not attempt to fasten the barrier. He fled along the corridor, The Shadow in pursuit. The man in black fired one shot that was too late. Orlinov was turning the corner as The Shadow aimed from the sliding door.
Then, from the other end of the corridor, appeared a wild, disheveled man with upraised automatic. The Shadow laughed and stretched his arms, to show his flowing cloak.
It was Cliff Marsland, coming from below, his smoking pistol telling of the work that he had done. The sound of The Shadow's cannonade had reached the torture chamber. Cliff had acted. Both Petri and the gangster had failed to stop him. He had taken the gunman first; then Petri. Sweeping forward, The Shadow pointed to the barrier through which he had come. Cliff understood. He was to guard below, while The Shadow followed Orlinov.
They passed at the center of the corridor, Cliff hastening to the door, The Shadow heading for the stairs. The man in black became suddenly alert as he reached the steps.
The stairs were gloomy, and The Shadow became a creature of the dark as he glided upward, step by step. Lost in a darkened corner, his gleaming eyes detected a crouching gangster — Orlinov's man who guarded the upstairs corridor.
The watcher saw a slight motion — the movement of a phantom shape. As he aimed his revolver in that direction, a burst of flame came from the spot. The gunman fell headlong down the steps, another victim of The Shadow. The roar of the automatic was terrific in that low-roofed space. The Shadow was moving upward now. He stepped across the gangster's body.
He paused by the corner, and peered along the corridor.
Ivan Orlinov, a revolver in his unscathed hand, was peering toward the stairs. He saw no human form; but across the floor of the corridor, he discerned a long, silhouetted patch of black.