The revolver was gone, and at the same instant Steve Cronin realized that he, too, was freed from the ominous threat behind him. Yet neither man dared to move, and while they trembled, they heard the sound of a sinister, mocking voice — a voice that laughed amid the blackness of the car that had failed in its mission of destruction.
Brodie, still fearful, brought the car to a dead stop. Then his courage returned. He twisted his body, and flung himself over the back of the front seat, drawing an automatic.
Steve Cronin, reassured by Brodie’s action, pulled a flashlight from his pocket, and illuminated the interior of the car.
There was nothing there but a pile of robes. The men flung them aside, hurling them upon the inert form of Machine-gun McGinnis. Yet they revealed nothing.
Silently, invisibly, the mysterious man of the night had slipped from the car, and was gone.
Brodie leaped to the street. He fancied that he saw some one moving behind the car, and he leveled his automatic.Then he realized that the fancied form was nothing but a moving shadow, beneath a swinging sign.
He lowered his gun; then realized that the shadow was a living being — a tall, thin shape, that suddenly showed itself in view.
He fired then, but he was too late. The man was gone, and from the distance came a long, ringing laugh.
BRODIE and Cronin lifted up McGinnis. The machine-gun operator opened his eyes and glowered at them beneath the glare of Cronin’s flashlight.
“Did you get him?” he demanded.