THE hapless gangsters were driven to action. One cried a warning; another, who had reached the wall, snapped the light switch. The sudden flood of illumination revealed half a dozen gangsters facing toward that corner where they believed The Shadow stood. Revolvers blazed as the lights came on.
The shots were useless. Amid the darkness The Shadow had noiselessly left that fatal spot. The first response of an automatic showed his new position. He had reached the door that led to the inner room. Stepping from behind its protection, The Shadow formed an unexpected apparition.
Above the bursting flashes of his pistols appeared the gleam of his cold, unyielding eyes. From his unexpected vantage point, the figure in black could have slaughtered the six gunmen who were before him. Yet he restrained his fire, coolly mocking the hopeless case of his defeated enemies.
One man sought to shoot The Shadow. The gangster staggered, clutching a limp and nerveless arm as The Shadow’s aim showed its unfailing accuracy. The others, fearing The Shadow more than a squad of men, broke for the door. They encountered uniformed invaders.
A swift fight followed. The police, warned by the sound of shots, were in readiness. The two forces locked at close range. The Shadow, now standing in the open doorway to the inner room, used his weapons to aid the law.
A brutal gangster was swinging his revolver toward a policeman who had seized another gunman. The Shadow clipped the would-be killer. Another gangster, stepping back to aim, went down from a second bullet that the black avenger fired.
Arms swung and revolvers flashed as the police threw back the remnants of the mob. Beside the open door, the black-clad figure waited, watching, as he saw the new attackers triumph over the brutal slayers.
Amid that excitement, only one man’s gaze was focused on The Shadow. Herbert Carpenter, flat upon the floor, had recovered from the blow which Gifford Morton had dealt him. Above him loomed the figure in black. He could see the shining eyes; he watched the steady, slowly moving muzzles of the automatics.
Then came a low, chilling laugh which brought a shudder to Herbert Carpenter. Those glaring eyes met his, and in the glittering optics, Carpenter saw triumph. He knew that he — like those overpowered gangsters — was fated to fall into the toils of the law, to meet a punishment which he deserved.
The door of the inner room closed. One of the surging policemen saw it. He dashed in that direction, motioning to the reserves.