But his crippled arms were unequal to the task. Clipper had signed his own death warrant when he had made that desperate plunge. The force of the ten-foot swing had jarred him; now his clutching hands were losing their hold.
Numbed fingers slipped. With a fearful cry, Clipper Tobin lost his battle and pitched downward into the Stygian depths of the concrete-floored alley!
The crash of his body awoke a frightful echo. His death scream floated upward. A deep, sighing groan sounded from the blackness. All was still. The Shadow waited.
He heard the sound of footsteps echoing beneath. They did not follow to the spot where Clipper had fallen. They were pounding toward the fire tower.
Swiftly, The Shadow whirled across the room and locked the door of the little hallway. The action was none too soon. Already men were entering the outside corridor. Joe Cardona’s squad, dispatched to prevent the murder of Arnold Bodine, was already at the doorway of the apartment!
The strong door, which Bodine had purposely placed at the entrance, withstood the pounding of the detectives’ shoulders. The gruff voice of Joe Cardona was shouting in the corridor.
Muffled commands could be heard. Cardona was planning to prevent the escape of the man who had closed that door. In the meantime, The Shadow, a strange form in black, was quietly bending over Cliff Marsland, reviving the unconscious man.
Cliff opened his eyes. The Shadow stepped away. Although his head throbbed, Cliff’s confusion cleared away rapidly.
He did not know who had struck him down. He did know that The Shadow had come to his rescue. Too late to save Arnold Bodine, however. The body of the big shot lay but a few feet away.
There was a lull outside. The attackers were waiting to hear if any sound came from within. A voice called up from the alleyway below.
“We’re down here, Cardona! There’s a dead man here!”
The silence indicated to the crier that Cardona had not yet forced his way into Bodine’s apartment. The beam of a powerful flashlight shone outside the window. The men who had found the body were centering its glare upon the roof of the garage. That means of escape was cut off. Police would soon be there.
THE words from the alley echoed in Cliff’s mind. He realized instantly that the dead man must be Clipper. He wondered what The Shadow intended to do. He saw the black-clad form studying the body of Bodine. Was The Shadow about to don a disguise — to deceive Cardona and his men into thinking that he was Arnold Bodine?
No. That would be hopeless. Too many explanations would be necessary. Cliff groaned as he realized that he was a burden on The Shadow. He knew that fact as he tried to climb to his feet, and sank back weakly.
The Shadow could escape, even if he had to fight his way through the minions of the law. But he would not desert his associate.
Leaning against the wall, Cliff watched The Shadow. The mysterious man seemed purposeless, as he strolled about the room. At last, he stopped by the wall in a front corner of the room, and tapped softly.
Cliff could hear a laugh from the man in black.
There was terrific pounding from outside. The blows of a sledge hammer resounded against the corridor door. Wood was splintered. Triumphant shouts followed. The police were breaking in!
The Shadow opened the door of a closet near the corner where he had tapped. He entered. Cliff could see his arm moving up and down.
Now the man in black was across the room again, his hands upon the body of Arnold Bodine. Cliff saw the flash of metal as The Shadow brought forth a key ring from the dead man’s pocket. Once more The Shadow was back in the closet. He emerged and swept toward Cliff. Clutching the black arm that was offered him, Cliff gained his feet.
Crash! Cliff heard the thud as the splintered door gave way. The Shadow was in the closet, drawing him along. He could hear the shouts of orders from the men who were entering the room.
The closet door closed. The powerful clutch of The Shadow was beneath Cliff’s arms. He was thrust toward the side of the closet. He felt himself descending through the floor.
Clutching, he caught the rungs of an iron ladder; he gained a foothold, and let himself down a step.
Something clicked above. The Shadow had closed the secret entrance.
Weak though he was, Cliff managed to keep moving downward. He felt a hand supporting him from above. His feet touched a solid floor. He leaned against the wall and waited.
He knew that The Shadow was beside him. They were at the bottom of a short shaft, some fifteen feet in depth.
Cliff understood it all while he leaned there in the darkness. The Shadow, ever alert, had divined that Arnold Bodine would not dwell in a hideout that had but a single exit. The roof of the adjoining garage had been the clew.
The space between the closet and the wall served a definite purpose. It was a means whereby Bodine could leave his rooms unseen. The Shadow had discovered the lock of the secret door, formed by the wall of the closet. He had obtained the key from Bodine’s body. They were on their way to safety!
Cliff wondered why The Shadow was waiting. He did not believe that his rescuer could be at a loss.
Then he realized that the delay was made to give him time to recuperate his strength.
“I’m all right!” he whispered. “Let’s go!”
A click and the wall ahead moved outward. A firm hand gripped Cliff’s arm. With The Shadow, he stepped forward. They were inside the garage, on a narrow stairway. The tiny gleam of a flashlight appeared, and Cliff made out the stone flight of steps ahead.
Evidently, this was a seldom-used side stairway. They descended, while the flashlight showed the way.
There were no windows — nothing but stone walls on either side. And a locked door blocked farther passage at the bottom!
A BLACK-GLOVED hand appeared in the light, holding the key ring. The lock was opened. The door moved outward and showed a dim corner of a garage floor. An expensive coupe was standing ten feet away.
“Get in the car,” came a whisper.
Cliff was steady now. He walked across to the car, opened the door, and entered it. Resting on the comfortable cushions, he looked back toward the door through which he had come. It was closed now, and it bore the placard, “Air Shaft,” in large white letters.
Before Cliff realized it, the starter was buzzing. He was surprised to see a man in the driver’s seat. The Shadow had silently taken his place there. He was no longer a man in black. Cliff could not distinguish his features in the darkness, but noticed that the cloak was gone, and only the slouch hat remained.
The car moved toward the door of the garage. There a burly policeman stopped it. The man beside Cliff leaned from the window and pulled back the side of his coat.
“From headquarters,” Cliff heard a gruff voice say. “This is Bodine’s car. Cardona told me to bring it around.”
“All right,” came the policeman’s response.
The car rolled out, on the side street. The driver did not speak another word. They traveled on through darkness; even when they crossed the avenue, Cliff could not glimpse the other man’s face in the light, for his head was turned away.
The car pulled up in darkness on another side street. Fifty feet ahead, Cliff saw the electric sign of the Hotel Metrolite. He understood that this was his destination. He waited a moment. The man beside him made no comment.
Cliff opened the door and stepped to the sidewalk. He walked steadily now. When he reached the door of the hotel, he glanced toward the street to see the tail light of Arnold Bodine’s coupe flashing toward the next avenue.
Once again, The Shadow’s daring had overcome all obstacles. A timely rescuer, he had carried Cliff Marsland from the midst of danger; and the escape had been so cleverly contrived that Cardona and his plain-clothes men would never know what had occurred!