The gloved hand lifted the box by the handle. The motion was slow — deliberate — uncanny. Frenchy's eyes had leaped back to the road as he righted the car along a sloping curve.
"I won't stop, Chefano!" he cried. "He can't get away at this speed. We're going too fast. Grab him! It's The Shadow!"
Chefano thrust his hands toward the box, which was almost to the rear window. A black-clad arm swung the box swiftly to the right. It crashed against Chefano's face.
Frenchy's right arm was quick. With a swift glance he directed his motion and caught hold of the box with his hand. He still watched the road, steering the car rapidly around a bend with his left hand on the wheel.
"Help me!" he exclaimed to Chefano.
There was no response. The other man was groggy from the blow he had received.
Frenchy felt the box slipping from his clutch. He turned his head in desperation. He saw a black form at the back window of the car. He threw another glance at the road, then vainly tried to halt the momentum of the car.
Not twenty-five feet ahead was a red light of warning, mounted upon a white fence that marked a sharp turn in the road. It was too late for action then. The automobile smashed the heavy fence as though it had been built of match sticks. Over the edge plunged the car — a sheer drop into the river below.
The men in the car were trapped as the automobile sank beneath the water's surface. The river was deep beneath the cliff. The coupe turned completely over as it fell, tossing its occupants about inside the body.
But before the car reached the water, a long figure shot clear of it and was precipitated twenty feet beyond.