Coolly, he fired at the men who were surging inward. His well-directed shots stopped those who were about to fire.
Then, seeing that the way was hopeless, the hawk-faced master took good advantage of a lull in the midst of the fray. He dropped his automatics in his coat pockets. His left hand turned the knob of the inner door.
One gangster, buried beneath two who had fallen, saw this action. He raised his hand to fire. But Cranston beat him to the shot. The right hand which had dropped the useless automatic drew forth Big Tom Bagshawe’s revolver. The finger pressed the trigger as the gun shone. The aiming gangster groaned.
The door closed behind Lamont Cranston as he entered the gambling rooms. There, alert as before, the millionaire faced a throng of grim-faced attendants. They had drawn up to await the arrival of the attackers. The sound of gunfire had convinced them that Cranston must be dead.
Now, his appearance among them brought consternation. Armed though they were, these men were caught unawares. Two started to fire, and Cranston stopped them short with well-directed bullets. The others scattered for cover.
One gun hand appeared from the doorway of an adjoining room. Cranston placed a deliberate shot that shattered the visible wrist. Another of his bullets clipped a man who was trying to snipe him from behind a table. The frightened attendants fled to the farthest room. After them came a final shot; then the weird sound of a triumphant laugh. That mockery, uttered by firm lips, was the token of The Shadow!
The door was breaking from an onslaught in the anteroom. This inner barrier was stouter than the first. It had locked automatically when Cranston had closed it; now it was yielding. With a quick action, Cranston pressed the light switches and plunged the rooms into darkness.
In that gloom, he moved with the swift stealth of The Shadow. The dim shafts of light that trickled from the breaking door did not reveal the tall figure that stood before the door of Big Tom Bagshawe’s office.
The door opened. Out of the dark stepped the form of Lamont Cranston, to encounter the huge bulk of Big Tom. The gambler was waiting. He had seen the turning of the knob. Now, with a roaring shout, he flung himself upon his enemy.
He was a perfect target for Cranston’s revolver, but no shot was fired. The gun was empty. Big Tom cried in triumph as he saw the weapon drop to the floor. He lunged forward, and his face became distorted as he felt himself caught in a powerful, twisting grasp.