Macklin had intrusted the man with that information.
The other four were lost in the blackness of the narrow alley, commanding the only approach — unless some one should reveal himself in front of the house. Any one who might enter that alley would go into the jaws of death.
The four men had been told to comb the alleyway, to make sure no one was hidden there. In leaving, they were to come in pairs. Seligman, should he be forced to flee alone, was to swing the bag which held his tools — and which, Macklin hoped, would later contain the swag.
The gunmen had been surprised at Macklin’s insistence on these rules. They did not know that their chief intended to be on the scene, watching with hawklike eye from across the street. For they had been told nothing concerning The Shadow.
MACKLIN did not know how the men had stationed themselves. He tried to picture their positions, but failed in the attempt, even though he aided his imagination with another swallow of liquor.
He satisfied himself with the knowledge that there were four good guns all ready for any person who might creep down that alleyway. There could be only one who might enter. That was The Shadow. No other person could have business there.
The man in the car gripped the handle of his automatic. He realized that Doctor Palermo was a keen analyst. Macklin, obeying orders, was not here for any idle purpose. Something warned him that the crucial scene might take place outside that alleyway.
Well, his title of “Gunner” was one that he had earned. Day or night, drunk or sober, Macklin was a dead shot.
If The Shadow appeared tonight, he would have to enter the alley and leave it. Macklin laughed a hollow laugh. He could picture The Shadow entering, but not leaving!
While the man in the car waited patiently, knowing that Louie Seligman was taking his time on the job, a very ordinary occurrence was taking place at the Larchmore Hotel.