One was pouncing with a blackjack; the other held a revolver. Cranston’s automatic — to this moment hidden from the waiting thugs — now spoke. Its shot clipped the first man’s wrist. He screamed and staggered away, dropping the blackjack as he clutched his wounded wrist.
Two guns roared simultaneously. The man with the revolver fired at the precise moment that Cranston delivered his second shot. Cranston succeeded where the other failed.
The crouching millionaire offered a difficult target. The gunman’s bullet missed. But the leaping gangster formed a perfect mark for Cranston’s aim. He plunged head foremost, and sprawled upon the floor.
Cranston headed toward the stairs. Opening the door, he stopped as he viewed the carpeted steps. Half a dozen new assailants, attracted by the shots, were dashing upward to the fray. A wild shot followed Cranston’s appearance. Bullets spattered the sides of the half-opened door.
Cranston’s reply was a defiant laugh. While its mocking tones resounded, spats of flame emerged from the automatic in his hand. The first of his assailants toppled. Another went down and twisted sidewise as he fell back into the arms of his hastening companions.
A third shot and a fourth — the men on the stairs were no longer attackers. With one accord, they scrambled down to safety, one of them plunging grotesquely as a bullet clipped his shoulder.
Angry faces appeared below; then men ducked for cover as another shot reechoed. Lamont Cranston was on the top step, an automatic in each hand, his eagle eye watching for any foemen who might be unwise enough to come from shelter.
TREMENDOUS confusion sounded from below. The patrons of the Club Catalina were in a panic. Big Tom had gone the limit in ordering this drastic action. He had always kept a squad of Tuxedo-garbed mobsters in the downstairs club, but had never used them before.
Tonight, however, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars were at stake! Lamont Cranston must be stopped. Those were the orders, and Big Tom’s mobsmen were ready to obey.
Yet as the lone, intrepid figure advanced down the stairs, the way was open. Not a gangster was willing to fling himself into a new attack. Four forms upon the floor showed the toll of those fearful automatics.