Springing from behind the table, Cleve leaped straight toward the door. His dash carried him no farther than five feet. The shots came from hidden Chinamen. A bullet winged Cleve in the shoulder, and he sprawled headlong on the floor.
The hidden friend was answering. Shots rang from his reloaded automatics. But now the task was superhuman. Cleve’s false move had placed his helpless body where it was a target for the aim of merciless snipers.
These Chinese would not be content to let that body lie. Dead or alive, the form of Cleve Branch was due to receive a full quota of revengeful lead.
Cleve’s eyes, upraised toward the door, were staring with both misery and amazement. For before him appeared a strange, unaccountable form. Sweeping in from the darkened hallway came a living shadow!
It was The Shadow!
No longer a mere fleeting phantom, The Shadow appeared as a man garbed in black — a flowing cloak upon his shoulders, a slouch hat pulled low over his inscrutable visage. Two black-gloved hands were clutching their automatics.
The Shadow was coming to the rescue!
His first move was a swift one. Like a living form of darkness, The Shadow swept forward, and his tall shape blotted out the form of Cleve Branch. Willfully, The Shadow had made himself the target for those hidden enemies.
His challenge was answered.
No longer was Cleve the victim that the murderers sought. Their fire turned toward this new menace — the man who had spoiled their schemes — the hidden marksman who had sent their comrades sprawling with his wondrous aim.