Thus began a series of complications.
It happened that The Shadow was aiming after the ghost cab. By rights, Phil should have continued the chase of the cab that had gyrated and then continued along the driveway, whether it still contained Ames or not.
As a matter of fact, it didn’t contain Ames, because it wasn’t his cab at all. Ames was in the cab that had disappeared across the terrace, namely the ghost cab. The other was a substitute cab that had purposely scooted from some lurking spot to replace the original and carry on a blank trail.
But Phil didn’t believe in ghosts, particularly when they took the shape of cabs. He presumed that Shrevvy had run him off the road just so he couldn’t keep after Ames. Thus, as Phil’s cab halted at a clump of trees right beside The Shadow’s, Phil was not only ready, but literally aching for action.
Not knowing that Shrevvy’s cab contained a passenger, Phil sprang out to grab the only person that he saw, the driver. Even Shrevvy, a quick, darty chap by nature, wasn’t able to get clear of Phil’s clutching hands. With the expert precision of his army training, Phil hauled Shrevvy out from behind the wheel and would have started choking information from him if something hadn’t intervened.
The something was solid blackness that came with the speed of a whirlwind, the impact of a battering-ram. Phil Harley had met The Shadow.
When Phil rubbed his head, his own cabby was propping him and speaking across his shoulder.
“You must’ve run into a tree or something,” the fellow said. “You just kinda bounced right back.”
Looking around, Phil saw that the other cab had pulled back to the drive and was starting away. Phil’s own cabby decided to do the same and invited Phil to get inside. Phil would have, if the cabby hadn’t dropped a remark.
“This place reminds me of that banshee talk,” the cabby said. “Only when a taxicab does banshee stuff, I’m not the guy to believe it.”