The motor of the coupe snorted. Above its thrum came the defiant shouts of thwarted gangsters. A deluge of fire burst from the parked car. Spurts of flame appeared from trees and bushes near the house, where Jake Bosch and other men were stationed.
All were firing blindly. The coupe, gaining speed, was whirling down the narrow street, a fleeing, elusive target that defied the marksmanship of gangland's gunners.
Angrily, Biff Towley hurled his car into gear. His powerful machine leaped forward.
Gangsters, scrambling from the lawn, leaped upon its steps. Others came running, to join the mad pursuit in the wake of Biff's sedan.
Gangsters were leaning from open windows, blasting away at the zigzagging coupe.
Shots were wild. Oaths were futile. The coupe had gained a precious start.
Biff Towley, leaning over the wheel, leered grimly. Ordinarily, he would have told his men to stay their fire until the range was closer. But now this torrent of leaden hail was working in accordance with a well-planned idea.
The headlights of the sedan showed the fleeing car half a block ahead. Then beyond, Biff saw the sight for which he hoped.
From a side lane came a long, low touring car. It shot to the middle of the narrow street and stopped there. From its dark sides came new shots — a barrage directed toward the approaching coupe. The Shadow was trapped between two fires! Anticipating some such situation as this, Biff Towley had stationed his carload of reserves with instructions to block the path of any escaping enemy. Had the coupe continued on its mad dash, it would have run into certain doom. Had it stopped in its course, Biff and his shooters would have found it easy prey.
As the first shots came from the men huddled in the blocking car, The Shadow was momentarily out of range from both directions.