Then came surprise. The fusillade was stopped by bulletproof glass. The car started away, followed by wild shots. It was a decoy. Another car came whirling up the street. A searchlight shone, revealing the scattered attackers. The rattle of a machine gun burst through the night.
Frederick Froman had not been caught unawares. With vast millions in his control, he was taking no chances. He had hired a mob of gangsters for tonight, paying them well to clear the way along this thoroughfare!
Now came a new surprise. Sirens were whining from the avenue beyond. Police cars rolled down the street. A flying squad had been summoned here. That was the purpose of the mysterious call that The Shadow had made. Burbank had sent an anonymous message to headquarters!
THE threefold conflict was short-lived. Had the police arrived on schedule, they would have prevented most of the battle. Motkin’s men had started an ambush. They in turn had been mowed down. Now, their attackers were in mad flight, with the police in pursuit. Gangsters were earning their pay tonight — earning it in lead to match the gold that they had been promised!
A squad of police were spreading out on foot. The last remnants of Motkin’s crew were scattering.
Others, wounded and dead, were picked up by the police.
Soon the fighting zone was cleared. Motkin’s hordes were eliminated. Froman’s forces had fled. The police, believing that they had completed their work, had departed. This street had resumed its silence.
A large automobile slid up to the door of Froman’s home. Four men carried a large box into the house.
Two of them left and drove away in the car. The pair who remained had brought in the box of gems.
No lights appeared. Within that silent house, a mighty task had been accomplished. Frederick Froman and one other man were here, their work completed. Their car had waited until the road was free.