Jerry’s revolver barked, but the bullet whizzed above the broad-brimmed hat. Then came an answering report from one of The Shadow’s automatics.
Jerry’s right arm fell helpless at his side. His gun slipped from his nerveless fingers.
Isaac Coffran was not yet foiled. He had a moment in which to work. His position was an excellent one; the switch that controlled the lights of the cavern was less than ten feet away.
With youthful agility, the old man sprang toward the desired spot. The Shadow, wheeling, fired a single shot. It was aimed while in motion; yet it would have found its mark in Isaac Coffran’s wrist, but for the intervention of a rod that projected from the printing press.
The bullet was deflected. Isaac Coffran reached his objective. He extinguished the light; the room was plunged in darkness.
Like rats, the counterfeiters scurried from the cavern. Their one desire was to escape the wrath of The Shadow. They did not know that the eyes of that mysterious foe were accustomed to the dark; that he could discern their departing forms.
It was only because he had observed something else that he chose to let them flee in safety. Birdie Crull, before he joined the mad departure, had thrust the end of the hose above the grating.
The water was now completely above the heads of the imprisoned men. The Shadow had other work to do.
A spurt of flame came from the muzzle of his automatic. The bullet shattered the strong padlock. Dropping his gun, the rescuer in the black cloak clutched the bars of the heavy grating.
It had taken the efforts of two men to lift it; now he pulled it upward as though it were made of paper.