Smarley fell for the game. He was wasting bullets, when The Shadow cleared
the desk. His last shots pinged the safe door after The Shadow was beyond it.
Smarley was yanking at a useless trigger, when he heard The Shadow's laugh, sinister and sibilant, a promise of coming doom. Frantically, Smarley turned and ran.
One shot was all The Shadow needed; he took deliberate aim, hoping to bring Smarley down. As yet, he did not regard Smarley as a master crook, but simply as a fugitive who had accomplished a crude, though somewhat daring, theft.
Straight through the doorway lay the fire tower, a dim background against Smarley's approaching figure. The mobster's back made a perfect target; as he ran, he was clutching the box in front of him, and therefore no longer had a shield.
It seemed that Smarley's new career of crime was due for a sudden finish, considering The Shadow's skill as a marksman.
Then intervention came, from a new source - the fire tower itself.
TWO thuggish figures leaped forward as Smarley neared them. Passing the running crook, they converged, opening fire as they came. They had spotted The Shadow's head and shoulders, rising above the top of the open safe door.
Their target was gone before they fired. Dropping instantly to the floor, The Shadow was out of sight as bullets whined above the huge safe door, which was ample enough for shelter. The gunners aimed lower, but their slugs merely pommeled the metal barrier. Again, they heard The Shadow's taunting laugh.
Then, almost from the floor, a gun fired upward. By a dipping twist, The Shadow had poked from cover below the level of the opposing fire. He was putting in quick jabs, with double purpose. Not only were the gunning thugs blocking his path to Smarley; their presence had become dangerous.
The two private detectives were hustling across the room, guns in hand, making for the rear exit. They thought that they could handle the opponents who
had failed to nick The Shadow. But the dicks didn't stand a chance against such
opposition; they were blundering right into serious trouble. The Shadow had to take a risk to save them.
Trained in all varieties of trick marksmanship, The Shadow's quick hand performed in a superhuman style. There were yells from the hallway, as crooks sprawled. Beyond the floundering thugs, The Shadow saw Smarley on the top step of the fire tower. The stoopy crook was turned about, a smirk on his face, watching to see The Shadow's finish.
When he saw his own gunners sprawl, Smarley did not wait for a further climax. He took an agile dive down the stairway, dropping from sight like a figure in a puppet show.
Smarley was quick enough to escape the shots that The Shadow delivered a few moments later. Immediately, the cloaked marksman halted fire. The private dicks were at the rear door and were dashing through, in pursuit of Smarley.
With them went another man, who scooped up a revolver that a wounded crook
had dropped. The third man was Kelson; the sallow secretary was anxious to redeem himself.
The Shadow followed. He trailed the chase to the street, stopping briefly at floors along the way. The Shadow foresaw a difficulty that the others did not anticipate: the prospect of other marksmen, down below. At one floor, through a window, he saw huddling men edging forward from a parked car across the way. The Shadow fired two quick shots that scattered them.
Still lower, The Shadow spied a rakish automobile wheeling in from a corner. He jabbed shots that caused the driver to whip the car across the sidewalk, so that occupants could leap out the other side and take to shelter.
Then, as The Shadow neared the ground, he heard a volley of shots, accompanied by the whining sirens of police cars.
Inspector Cardona was on the job. From out front, he had heard the sounds of battle high up in the building. He and his men knew what it meant and had smartly made for the rear of the building. More police were coming up to aid them, in what promised to be a major battle against hordes of crimeland.
Smarley had reached the street and was jumping into a waiting car. He was yelling something about The Shadow, and thugs in other cars could hear his shouts. Among those listeners were Smarley's three lieutenants: Grease, Banker,
and Clip. In their turn, they were bawling orders to the various thugs and snipers they had supplied for the present enterprise.
Things weren't panning out as Five-face had promised. This wasn't a mere cover-up job. It was the type of fray that might disclose the identities of the
lieutenants, along with that of Smarley.
Naturally, Five-face did not worry over his dilemma, for he intended to drop the guise of Smarley, anyway. But discovery could prove disastrous to the three lieutenants.
They hit upon a compromise. While yelling for men to cover Smarley, they put their own cars in motion. Opening fire upon police cars, they made it look as though they were trying to clear a path for others to follow. Actually, they
were trying to save their own hides and faces.
Of course, they wanted Smarley to get clear, too, and he had a chance to make his getaway at the expense of the thugs who were out of their cars and spread along the street.
But Smarley hesitated. Thrusting his face from the window of his car, he waved his empty gun, pointing it toward the ground floor of the fire tower. At Smarley's yell, shooting thugs quit aiming at police cars.
They heard his shout:
"Get the guy with the specs!"
THE "guy with the specs" was Kelson, who had reached the street along with
the private dicks. Smarley's shout was followed by a quick-hissed order that came from the steps of the fire tower. The dicks heard it - The Shadow's command - and grabbed Kelson, to haul him back to safety. But the maddened secretary showed a sudden savagery.
Spinning about, he slashed his gun at his friends; as the dicks ducked, he
lurched from their grasp. Taking the last half dozen steps in a long leap, The Shadow made a grab for Kelson but lost him, as a stumbling detective blundered in between.
What happened in the next half second was something that even The Shadow could not prevent.
Springing wildly for Smarley's car, Kelson was met by a concerted fusillade from half-a dozen directions. Flayed by bullets, the sallow man jolted; twisting, he stumbled across the curb and sprawled in the gutter, to the tune of triumphant howls from the outspread firing squad.
Smarley's car was in motion; the master crook had dropped below the window. Maybe others still thought of him as Smarley, the fugitive, but The Shadow had him classed as a criminal of a fiendish caliber. Though others had fired the shots that killed Kelson, the real murderer was Smarley. He was the man that The Shadow wanted.
Springing from the fire tower, The Shadow reached the moving car. He was on its running board before the outspread snipers spied him. At sight of their archfoe, thugs wheeled to aim. The Shadow gave them no attention; he knew that,
by this time, the stings were gone from that crew of murderers.
The Shadow was right. Other guns were talking as he boarded Smarley's car.
The police had spotted the killers who put the blast on Kelson. Aiming thugs were hitting the asphalt and the sidewalks before they could tug their gun triggers.
Cardona and his amplified squad were performing double service: avenging Kelson's death and giving The Shadow a clear path to Smarley.
Yanking open the car door, The Shadow lunged for Smarley. In the front seat, a cowering mobster clung to the wheel, trying to get the car around the corner.
Smarley, in his turn, yanked open the door on the other side. When he saw The Shadow's big gun loom for him, he hurled the metal cash box at the weapon's