“Nipper got his,” was all he said.
Cliff leaped to the back seat. Dave had stated a fact. There lay the body of Nipper Brady, the pale-faced little gangster who had fought like a man of iron. The parting shots of Hoke Larrigan’s cohorts had slain the man who had felled their leader.
“Who was in back with you?” questioned Cliff, as Dave returned.
“Only Nipper,” was the reply. “That’s all I saw. I was half out. No, wait” — a puzzled look appeared upon Dave’s face — “there must have been another guy. There was somebody there, firing away at the gang. It couldn’t have been Nipper. He was out!”
Cliff moved in the darkness of the truck, searching every foot of space. No one was there.
He and Patsy had escaped injury. Dave was wounded. Nipper was dead. But the fifth man had come and gone, like a creature of the night. He had saved the fray, had made his escape, and had departed in mystery.
As Cliff stood solemnly beside Nipper’s body, he fancied that he heard a distant sound — the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XVII
THE THEATER TRAGEDY
THE Tuesday morning newspapers carried sensational stories of the fight at the Brooklyn dock. The conflict had continued between the rival factions, who sought revenge for their fallen leaders. Police intervention had followed. Arrests had been made.