How The Shadow guessed the correct direction was a mystery, even to Moe; nevertheless, the black-cloaked observer picked it. This time, it happened to be Banker Dreeb who staged the dodge. Like Grease, Banker was angry because he managed to get clear so easily.
Only one car still clung to the cab that carried Flush Tygert. The man in charge was the third lieutenant, Clip Zelber, and he was in a dilemma. He didn't know whether to stay along with Five-face and protect him or to make another effort to divert the trail.
Clip hadn't expected the chase to reach its present state. While he was puzzling over the situation, The Shadow solved it for him.
Knowing that only one car lay between him and the fugitive cab, The Shadow
ordered Moe to overtake it. As Moe made a marked gain by a swift turn at a corner, The Shadow opened a bombardment.
Had Clip allowed it to continue, he and his companions would have found themselves in a wrecked car, for The Shadow had neat ways of puncturing tires and crippling drivers at the steering wheels.
Frantically, Clip ordered his driver to take the next corner. The sedan scudded for safety, leaving The Shadow a clear route to the cab ahead.
IN that cab, Five-face rode alone. The term suited him better than his recent identity of Flush Tygert, because Five-face no longer looked like Flush.
He had started to change his personality with the aid of materials from a make-up box.
He was using a fake chin and a molding substance that looked like putty.
He spoke in the tone of Flush, however, as he ordered his driver to start dodging corners.
Oddly, the driver of the fugitive cab was not a thug. He was simply a scared cabby, who had been drawn into this mess by chance. Choice of the cab was another tribute to the mastery of Five-face. The chameleon crook had foreseen that a threatened driver would show more speed than any other, and the
cabby was proving it under the present strain.
He took corners on two wheels, whizzed right through traffic lights, jounced the curb in order to escape blocking traffic. In the course of a dozen blocks, the fellow actually gained a few on Moe Shrevnitz, which was a very remarkable feat.
The numbers on the street corners were clicking past like those on a roulette wheel. Almost finished with his make-up, Five-face glanced from the window. He couldn't spot the street numbers, but he recognized the district.
He
was very close to the destination that he wanted.
With one hand, Five-face gripped the jewel bag beside him; then, in the tone of Flush Tygert, he ordered:
"Take it easy, jockey. We're getting too near Times Square to raise hob with the traffic. You know where Lody's Cafe is?"
The cabby gulped that he did. The fellow's tone brought one of Flush's typical laughs. Lody's was noted as a hangout for mobsters of a deluxe sort, but patronized only by those against whom the law had no definite complaints.
Despite its glitter, Lody's was a joint, and recognized as such.
"We're going to Lody's," came the assuring tone of Flush. "Nice and properlike, understand? Pull up in front and drop me like I was any ordinary customer."
The cabby began to stammer that they were east of Lody's, and that it happened to be on an eastbound street. It wouldn't do for an ordinary cab to be
bucking traffic. Flush's tone cut the driver short.
"Don't you think I know it?" drawled the big-shot. "Take the first westbound street before you get to Lody's, then swing around to the place."
As he finished, Five-face threw a glance to the rear. He could see The Shadow's cab and hear the sirens of the police cars behind it. Nevertheless, he
laughed and leaned forward to the front seat.
"Remember that gat I showed you?" he inquired. "Here it is again, where you'll remember it. Take it easy, jockey, in case I want to jump out in a hurry."
The cabby quivered as he felt the cold ring of steel that pressed against the back of his neck. The gun had worried him enough; the pressure of a muzzle completely cowed him. Still, he found strength enough to follow orders. He idled the cab the moment that he swung the corner, reducing it almost to a crawl.
By the time the cab had turned the next corner, The Shadow's taxi swung the first one. The next block was very short, along an avenue; the cab navigated it and took the turn that brought it in front of Lody's. By then, Moe
had overtaken it, and sirens could be heard from the avenue.
Hurling a door open, The Shadow reached the other cab just as it stopped.
He saw the driver sitting stiff, his hands upraised. Hearing his own door clatter open, the fellow pleaded:
"Don't start nothing! He's got me covered; he'll croak me! He's poking my neck with a gun -"
The Shadow's laugh intervened; it came as a reassuring whisper. Glancing in the mirror, the cabby saw to his amazement that his recent passenger was gone. In place of Flush Tygert was a black-clad rescuer, who was calmly telling
the cabby to pull ahead.
As he spoke, The Shadow placed his gloved fingers against the back of the driver's neck and plucked away an object that was stuck there.
It was a dime that Five-face had pressed against the cabby's neck, instead
of a gun muzzle. Pushed slightly upward, it had adhered to the fellow's perspiring skin. The cabby felt it each time his neck tilted back against his collar.
By so placing the coin, Five-face had kept the driver on his way after the
master crook had found a chance drop off from the cab.
WHILE the cabby was staring at the dime that The Shadow dropped into his hand, the police cars swerved into the side street. Springing to the curb, The Shadow waved arms to flag them.
He didn't want them to open fire on the empty cab, which no longer contained the crook they wanted. The wanted man must be somewhere in the vicinity, the bag of diamonds with him. The next step was to block his escape from the neighborhood.
Five-face had foreseen that prospect.
As the white-topped police cars were halting at sight of The Shadow, a hard-faced waiter in Lody's was answering a telephone call. Hanging up, the fellow stepped to a table where three men were dining. Their Tuxedos did not disguise the fact that they were mobsters of the first water.
These three did not belong to Five-face nor any of his lieutenants. They were ex-racketeers, still living on ill-gotten cash, like most of the patrons in Lody's.
"Just got a tip-off, gents," informed the waiter. "The Shadow is outside.
Thought you'd like to know it."
They did like to know it. Nowhere was the name of The Shadow voiced more venomously than at Lody's. These has-beens of crime belonged to the same ilk as
Grease, Banker, and Clip. They happened to be dining at Lody's because they still were prosperous. With each day, they had been looking forward to the time
when someone would settle The Shadow once for all.
They didn't regard the waiter's tip-off as a hoax. It wasn't healthy to play practical jokes on the crowd that dined at Lody's. These crooks deluxe saw
their opportunity to deal with The Shadow personally. Instead of mobbies, they could depend upon a score more of their own kind, who were also in the restaurant.
The word passed instantly from table to table; with one accord, Tuxedoed rats came to their feet and started out to the street. Undaunted by the arriving police, they whipped revolvers from their pockets the instant that they saw the cloaked figure outlined in the lights of the patrol cars.
The first member of the throng gave the cry to which all responded:
"The Shadow!"
With the cry, the cloaked figure wheeled. The Shadow knew instantly that Flush Tygert had phoned the word to Lody's after dropping off from his cab. He recognized, too, that these attackers were not part of the big-shot's horde.