As the door opened, a shot came — not from the inner room — but from the entrance at the alley. One gangster fell at the door of the inner room.
Another turned angrily, and his light glared back toward the faces of those who still stood at the top of the steps.
Crash! A bullet shattered the glass of the flashlight. Another shot followed. Cries came from the men who had dashed to the inner room.
All they knew was that the shots were coming from the top of the steps. Were they trapped by other mobsmen? Was this a phony scheme perpetrated by double-crossers of the underworld?
Gangsters all, they did not wait to ask. Sharp barks responded, and the men at the top of the steps scattered away from the danger spot.
Those who had gone before were returning the fire. They had not seen that the first shots had come from behind the door — not from the open doorway.
There, The Shadow had swung, with the opening of the door. Hidden in the niche of the wall, he had dealt the initial stroke.
Now his automatics raked the cursing mobsters who were at the inner room. Quick, staccato shots came from behind the door.
Each bullet found a living target. Outside, wounded gangsters were being tended by their fellows. Others were waiting, away from the door of death.
They did not know what was happening within, they were waiting until some one tried to come out.