The Shadow laughed.
Silence still reigned in that room of death, when a stumbling step sounded on the stairway twenty minutes later. Black Pete was alone, now, standing behind the bar. He looked up to see the bloodstained countenance of Gleason.
The gang leader spied Black Pete amidst the chaos, and stumbled into the room. He looked about suspiciously; then, seeing no sign of a scar-faced gangster, he limped over to the bar and leaned upon it. His bleary eyes noted that the form of Dick Terry no longer lay by the door of the inner room.
"Where — where are the guys that made all the trouble?" he questioned, in a faltering voice.
"One of 'em scrammed," replied Black Pete.
"What — what about the other?" was Barney's inquiry. "I plugged one over there by the door."
"You got him, all right," declared Black Pete. "A couple of gorillas came in here after the other fellow scrammed. I told 'em to get rid of the body. That guy wasn't no gunman. I didn't want his corpse around here."
"They took it away?"
"Yeah. They were a couple of regular guys. Don't know their names, though. Told 'em to see you later, but they said it didn't mean nothin' to 'em, helpin' me out of a jam." Barney Gleason nodded. He knew the ways of gangdom. He was satisfied that Dick Terry was dead. That had been accomplished, even though it had meant the mopping up of his mob.
"I'd have got both of them," growled Barney Gleason, "but I slipped while I was fighting the big bozo by the window. Went backward, right through the sash.