Again, The Shadow was upon him, struggling to wrest away the gun. Barney's left fist struck at the scarred face. He heard a sinister laugh from grimy lips as the blow passed futilely beside The Shadow's jaw.
His opponent seemed to slump, and Barney, with a triumphant cry, clutched at the face below him. His right wrist, held high by a powerful hand, tried to wrest itself free.
Up went the form of Barney Gleason, heaved by an irresistible force. Up it went and backward!
Barney's left hand swung away as he sought to protect himself from a fall. The automatic dropped from his helpless clutch as he made a wild, sweeping gesture to catch the sides of the broad window.
His effort was too late. His floundering form was flung furiously backward. Head foremost, Barney Gleason smashed into the window sash.
The frame gave way, and the gang leader's body shot backward, turning head downward as it plunged toward the paving of the alley, twenty feet below the window.
All was silent as The Shadow leaned over the form of Dick Terry. He was examining the wound that Barney Gleason's bullet had indicted.
Long minutes went by, amid unabated silence. There was a noise at the corner of the room behind the bar.
A door opened, and the frightened face of "Black Pete" peered into the room. Formidable as Black Pete appeared, he was a coward at heart. He kept this dive only because Barney Gleason demanded it. Black Pete moved cautiously into the room. He saw the bodies of the dead gangsters the remnants of Barney Gleason's mob.
Then he caught a glimpse of the man who stood by the door of the inner room. Cringing, Black Pete held up his arm.