Homer Briggs, revolver in hand, was standing at the end of the room. He saw the flashes of flame come from the lower border of the black cloak.
He aimed in that direction, but before he could fire, a bullet caught him in the hand. The gun he was holding clattered from his grasp and lay on the floor.
The black form swayed at the door, then gained substance as The Shadow rose within it. Through the door stepped the dread man in black, his two automatics covering the surprised gangsters.
He turned toward the cringing, moaning form of Homer Briggs.
Before The Shadow could move another pace, a startling sound was heard from without. The muffled gunfire had reached the ears of the waiting gangsters.
They did not know that The Shadow had arrived, yet they had realized that something was amiss within the stonewalled den.
They were storming the heavy door that The Shadow had barred behind him. Soon it would give beneath their blows.
The Shadow turned. There was no time to question Homer now. The sounds of the shots had carried farther than he had anticipated.
The Shadow was trapped, doomed. He was virtually at the mercy of the attacking enemy. In a few minutes, he would be fighting a hopeless battle for life.
He moved stealthily toward the breaking door — where a losing cause awaited.