“Open the door!” came a growled voice. “Open the door!”
Strangler made no move.
“Open in the name of the law!”
Strangler knew the voice. He recognized it as the tone of Joe Cardona. His face took on a ferocious glare. Then came a terrific smash. The door seemed to bulge inward. Another crash; a panel began to splinter.
Raising his hand toward his face, Strangler Hunn gripped one end of his paper between his teeth; he held the other end with his fingers. Clumsiness gone, he tore the paper in half; He placed the pieces together.
Another tear. Once more; as Strangler stared at the ripped fragments, the upper hinge of the door broke loose and the barrier swung inward a full foot.
Springing forward, Strangler emitted a vicious laugh as he let the torn pieces of paper drop from his hand.
Downward they fluttered. Strangler saw them waver into the upward licking flames. That was sufficient.
The message gone, Strangler yanked a big .45 from his left hip.
The fluttering papers seemed to dance into the licking flames. Strangler had taken it for granted that they would be destroyed. He was needing them no longer. The flames seemed to catch the pieces individually.
Two ragged slips bobbed upward from the rising heat; the flames sucked in one as it wavered on the edge of the basket.
But the last piece, a single portion of the torn sheet, fluttered free. Striking the edge of the metal basket it toppled outward and drifted, unburned, to the floor. Strangler Hunn never noticed it. His eyes were busy elsewhere.
Crash!
THE lower portion of the door shot free. As the barrier caved, the body of Detective Sergeant Markham came sprawling into the room. Had Strangler taken a shot at that door-breaking form, it would have been his last.
For there was another man behind Markham — a swarthy-faced fellow whose revolver muzzle came into view with promptness. Joe Cardona was covering his pal. This was what Strangler Hunn had expected.
The killer’s arm came upward.
A bark from the big revolver. A bullet flattened itself in the doorway, an inch from Cardona’s ear. The detective fired in return. His hasty shot was wide.
New shots sounded in this duel. Cardona, half protected by the door, was safe. Yet his own shot again was wide.
More shots. The fight was an odd one. Both Strangler and Cardona were shooting left handed. The murderer had no right hand; Cardona could not use his because that side of the door was the only one which gave him cover.
Strangler was a dangerous shooter. It was the protection in the doorway that gave Cardona a break. On the other hand, Cardona’s handicapped shots were delivered with a prayer and Strangler knew it.
It was Markham who had caused the prompt duel. Cardona was engaging Strangler chiefly to save Markham. The detective sergeant had the opportunity to change the balance. He sought to use it.
Rising suddenly from the floor, Markham yanked his revolver and blazed at Strangler. Had the shot been well aimed, the battle would have been ended. But Markham was too hasty. His bullet zimmed the tip of Strangler’s left ear. The killer, swinging suddenly, delivered his reply. Markham fell groaning, a bullet in his shoulder.
Strangler aimed a quick shot at the door to ward off Cardona. Then he swung his gun toward Markham’s prostrate body. This time the hammer clicked. Strangler’s last shot had been used. Luck had saved Detective Sergeant Markham.
Springing forward, Joe Cardona fired his last bullet to stop Strangler Hunn. Just as Joe pressed the trigger, Strangler leaped forward. The bullet missed by inches. Cardona dived to the floor to beat Strangler’s leap. He and the killer were after the same object — Markham’s gun. The detective sergeant had let the weapon clatter on the floor.
Cardona dropped his own revolver as he clutched for Markham’s. But Strangler retained his own big gun; and it served him handily. As Cardona grabbed Markham’s weapon, Strangler delivered a sidewipe.
Having no right arm to stay him, the killer lost his balance, but he gained his purpose. His swinging revolver dealt a glancing blow to Joe Cardona’s head. The detective sprawled upon the floor.
CROUCHING on his knees, Strangler seized Markham’s gun. He aimed it promptly toward the door, where a new detective had appeared. Two shots resounded simultaneously. The detective dropped, wounded; a second man yanked him to the cover of the hallway.
Strangler, edging toward the wall beside the window, gained his feet. The stump of his right arm was against the wall. His left hand was close against his body, holding the precious gun that it had gained.
A hoarse laugh came from Strangler Hunn. The killer saw the way to freedom. Detective Sergeant Markham was wounded and helpless; so was a detective in the hall. One man outside was still in action; Strangler was ready to mow down any ordinary dick.
But for the moment he had a score to settle. Joe Cardona, unarmed, was rising to his feet. The ace detective who had opened the battle was a helpless victim for Strangler’s wrath.
With an evil smile upon his twisted lips, Strangler Hunn thrust his huge fist slowly forward. The revolver and the hand that held it moved just past the edge of the window. The hand steadied as the finger rested on the trigger to deliver the murderous shot.
Joe Cardona, almost to his feet, was staring squarely into the revolver muzzle. Certain death was before him. Aid from the door could not suffice; Strangler had covered that spot also.
ACROSS the street, a blackened, huddled shape lay atop the highest advertising sign. Keen eyes could see Joe Cardona by the door of the apartment living room; those same eyes were upon the hand and gun that had come past the inner edge of the window, fifty yards away!
An automatic barked as The Shadow’s finger pressed the trigger. A tongue of flame spat from the top of the signboard. As if by magic, that distant hand dropped from view!
JOE CARDONA, facing death, saw Strangler’s arm drop as The Shadow’s bullet clipped the killer’s wrist. The report of the automatic seemed to follow, muffled. Yet to Cardona, the event was miraculous.
It was as though a hand from nowhere had delivered the lifesaving stroke.
Cardona was leaping forward to grapple with the slayer. With his single arm swinging like a club, Strangler pounced forward to combat the detective. His hard swing swept the detective aside. Then came two shots from the door.
The detective in the hallway had come to aid. With Strangler bounding squarely toward him, the man had fired point-blank, not knowing that the killer had been rendered helpless.
The Shadow, peering huddled from beyond the parking space, saw the collapse of Strangler Hunn. He knew that deserved death had been received. The Shadow, once he had crippled Strangler, had refrained from its delivery. The actual death had been scored by an excited detective.
Excitement was reigning in the street. All members of the closing cordon had headed toward the apartment house. Along with the shrill of police whistles and the approaching sirens, The Shadow’s lone shot had been mistaken for one from the beleaguered apartment.
Yet The Shadow, with that single, long-range delivery, had turned the tide of battle. He had saved the life of Joe Cardona. He had spelled the end of Strangler Hunn’s murderous career.
A soft, whispered laugh sounded from atop the signboard. Then the blackened form descended into the hidden space against the wall. The echoes of The Shadow’s mockery became a hollow shudder that died unheard!
CHAPTER IV. CARDONA’S CLEW
CLYDE BURKE, standing by the parking space opposite the Melbrook Arms, had first been figuring out a way to join Joe Cardona within the apartment house. Clyde knew that his reporter’s card would not aid him in passing the closed cordon; but he also knew that if he managed to get through the entrance, Cardona would square his action later on.