Upward went the heavy body of Big Tom, lifted by the strength of a superman. The huge gambler pitched forward, hands outstretched. His body somersaulted, and he struck upon his back, knocked senseless by the force of the blow.
The attacking gangsters were crashing through. The lights came on, and armed men scattered though the rooms, seeking traces of their prey. Barred windows and stupefied attendants were all they saw, until they discovered the prostrate form of Big Tom Bagshawe. Beyond the gambling king was the closed office door.
“Smash it!”
The weighted base of a heavy metal ash stand crashed a jagged hole in the office door. Again its wielder drove it with the terrific stroke of a battle-ax.
A hand caught the inner latch and opened the door. Men with revolvers piled into the small room.
The office was empty. Not a sign of a living being could be seen. Gangsters raced from the little room, and scattered everywhere in a wild, mad search. Back to the stairs — around through the rooms — rushing everywhere, they made their hunt.
Amid this confusion came the strident sound of a police siren. Men of the law had been summoned to this place. Puzzled mobsmen, enmeshed in their own trap, faced each other in consternation.
A score in number, these underlings of Big Tom Bagshawe had sought to slay one lone opponent. He had not only thwarted them, he had left them amazed.
Lamont Cranston — otherwise The Shadow — had completely disappeared!