Macklin, his teeth clenched in triumph, leaned suddenly from the side of the car, his automatic in his right hand. He fired once — then again — and his bullets were flattened against the wall of the building. It was then that he saw The Shadow.
The headlights of the car illuminated the blackness of the wall. Revealed in the glare was a man in black — a silent, motionless figure, garbed in long cloak and broad-brimmed hat.
There was a sparkle beneath that hat-brim, as though the headlights were shining into two brilliant eyes.
By a strange twist of fate, Gunner Macklin had accomplished the unexpected. He had disclosed The Shadow, that dread phantom of the underworld. For the first time in the annals of gangdom, The Shadow had been unable to slip into some black crevice where the eye could not discern him.
The Shadow was on the spot!
Gunner Macklin, of unerring aim, had found his opportunity. His only mistake had been his first two shots. They had served as a warning.
Already, as Macklin was swinging his automatic directly at The Shadow, there was a motion of one of the black-clad arms. A flash of flame came from the wall. A second bullet. Then a third.
The first shot struck Gunner Macklin’s wrist just as his finger pressed the trigger of his automatic. The hand dropped as the bullet left the gun.
The second shot struck Macklin’s forearm. The third messenger from The Shadow’s pistol buried itself below Gunner’s shoulder. Then the car swung by the spot where The Shadow stood.
No longer was the sable-clad figure outlined against the wall. With the glare of the headlights gone, The Shadow had again become a portion of the darkness beside the street.