It spurred on the advancing men; for it indicated that there was no menace there — no hidden form about to fire from the dark.
“Come in! Come in! We’ve got him!”
That was the burden of the shout. It brought an eager throng.
Flashlights showed the scene. The dead and wounded were lying about. At the far door, one man was resting on his knees, clutching an injured arm. But in the foreground, face downward, lay a form covered by a black cloak.
Half upon the head was a slouch hat. Stooping beside the victim was a man garbed in a thin, dark sweater.
This man was capless; in his hand he held a gleaming revolver.
Five gunmen scrambled in, uttering shouts in unison. The Shadow had fallen in the fray!
The man in the dark sweater drew aside and hunched himself backward up the steps, to make room for the eager throng. Flashlights shown in the hands of those who crouched around the black-clad form.
The body was heaved over. Rays of light revealed its face. Then came a cry of rage from one of the peering mobsters.
This was not The Shadow! It was a gangster known as “Jigger” Jarvis. He had been one of the first to rush into the entry when the door had yielded.