"Be quick!"
The Shadow's command was terse and low as Hawk paused to lick his thick lips and stare in terror toward the slowly yielding door.
"Dan Antrim" — Forster was gasping what he knew — "Dan Antrim, the lawyer. He's crooked. Mixed up with the racket. He's a double-crosser! That's why he's goin' to get his. It's comin' from a guy that he thinks is—"
The words became a terrified squeal as the cowardly gangster saw the door bulge inward under the impact of a mighty smash. Hawk threw his arms before his face. The Shadow's left hand struck them down. His burning eyes were close to Hawk's hideous, distorted countenance.
"Who is after Antrim?"
"I'll tell you!" cried Hawk. "A guy I used to know — long ago. He's given me the lay. He's comin' here — to New York — to get—"
Before the miserable man could continue, the door was lifted bodily from its hinges, and hurled into the room. It had yielded unexpectedly. As it fell, two men sprawled headlong upon it.
The Shadow, never forgetting his purpose here, moved swiftly and silently. In three long, rapid strides, he was by the window. There, he turned for one quick, parting glance. Hawk Forster was pouncing forward. The Shadow saw the reason. In front of one of the men who was clambering from the flattened door lay a gleaming revolver.
The rising man was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the New York force. His gun had shot from his grasp when he plunged in with the door.
That revolver meant salvation for Hawk Forster. The inrush of the police had ended The Shadow's opportunity to hear what Hawk knew. Now the menacing figure had departed, and Hawk saw his chance to thwart the men who sought to capture him.