The Shadow’s gun spoke from the curtains. This shot failed, for Sneaks had scurried past the edge of the protecting opening.
But that gun shot brought a wild reply from beyond the lifting barrier. Jake Dermott and his gun-toters were crouching there. They did not recognize Sneaks Rubin as he shot toward them. The little gangster went down with a dozen bullets in his heart.
Jake Dermott, keen of vision, saw a curl of smoke in the room beyond the passage. Without waiting to see whom his men had killed, he led a sudden charge.
As he dashed into the sanctum, he saw the smoke at the curtain. He raised his gun and fired, but even as his finger pressed the trigger, a bullet from The Shadow’s automatic rolled him on the floor, and his shot reached the wall above the curtain.
The men who followed him — three in all — had seen the direction of their leader’s aim. Two trained their guns upon the curtain; the other, spying the bound men, sprang forward to shoot them where they lay.
But The Shadow was too quick.
With him, impressions came in fractions of a second. He had swung through the doorway. His left hand pressed the wall switch. As the room was plunged in darkness, the two gunmen fired at that fleet black form. Even as their automatics spoke, a flash of flame burst from the other side of the room.
The man who was about to slay Harry and Cliff had hesitated a moment too long. He tumbled forward, wounded; as he writhed upon the floor, he rolled into the pit where Loy Rook had fallen. His last scream of terror and agony resounded above the roaring shots.
JAKE DERMOTT’S gorillas were firing low. They knew the ways of gangsters, who crouched in darkness. But there The Shadow had outguessed them. Instantly after firing the shots that had crippled the man destined for the pit, the black-hatted figure had leaped upon a heavy table in the corner of the room.
The bullets that swept the floor missed him entirely. His return fire was unerring, despite the darkness.