Chapter XV — The Hand of the Shadow
As the door of the inner room clattered to the floor, the attacking mobsmen dropped away to cover. Their first step gained, they waited for the moment. The way was clear, but they knew that in the room an armed man waited them.
A short, powerful ruffian stood in the center of the large, outer room. This was Barney Gleason, leader of the gorillas.
He stared coolly about him, and saw that his forces numbered nearly twenty men. Four were waiting by the door of the inner room. The others were scattered about at tables.
There were a few faces that Barney Gleason did not recognize, but they did not matter. All here were mobsmen, and the few outsiders who were present by chance would follow the law of gangdom. They would join with the attacking mob, if required. But Gleason knew that they would not be needed. He noticed one man — a grimy, sweater-clad individual — seated at a far table. The fellow's ugly face bore a long, livid scar. He was a man whom Gleason did not know, but that did not matter. A single glance convinced the gang leader that the scar-faced man was a fighter of the underworld. Like a general reviewing his troops, Barney Gleason finished his calm inspection of his forces. Standing boldly in the center of the room, he faced the door of the inner compartment and waved his automatic in that direction.
"Go get him!" he ordered.
All eyes turned toward the door of the beleaguered room. The four men crouching beside it would be the shock troops. With one sustained rush they would enter and overpower the doomed man. Perhaps one or more of them might fall. What of it? That was the chance that went with membership in Barney Gleason's mob.
Dick Terry's only hope of escaping the four gorillas would be to break through their attack. That might not be difficult.
If he chose to flee, they would, in all probability, let him go— out into the room where more than a dozen revolvers sparkled in readiness.
It was at that moment that Dick Terry sprang the unexpected. He appeared suddenly at the door of the inner room. He spotted the form of Barney Gleason.
He shot at the gang leader, but Gleason had seen him coming. A series of shots rang out as Gleason dived for cover. Dick Terry dropped back out of sight.
Gleason was on his feet again, making silent signals that all understood. He was giving the cue: Wait for a few minutes.
If Dick appeared again, the crouching shock troops could fling themselves upon him, following him back into the inner room. The other gats must wait.
Like a music maestro, Gleason was lulling with a downward movement of his hands. The meaning was plain.
Moments passed. Barney Gleason, in the center of the room, was snarling meaningless orders to mislead the beleaguered victim. His watchful eye was on the door of the little room, however. Dick Terry acted as Barney Gleason had hoped. He appeared again at the door, armed with the revolver of the gangster whom he had shot in the little room. He spotted Barney Gleason, but the gang leader was already dodging for the protection of a thick post, and Dick's shots were of no avail. This time there was no fusillade from the gangsters scattered about the room. Instead, the four gorillas by the door leaped to their feet and threw themselves in a mass toward Dick Terry. Their attack was totally unexpected. But for a remarkable intervention, they would have fallen upon their startled prey before Dick could fire another shot to save himself. Death was planned as quick and certain.
But the intervention arrived. Automatics barked from close beside the outer door of the big room. Like toy figures, the four attackers went down in quick succession, one toppling — two sprawling — the last slumping slowly to the floor!
It formed a most amazing picture — four fiends of gangland rising silently to the attack, then dropping helplessly at the sound of that protecting gunfire — dropping before they had discharged a solitary bullet!
Barney Gleason whirled toward the spot from which the destructive shots had come. He saw the smoking automatics in the hands of the scarred, unknown gangster. Barney's quick shout, that rose above the echoes of the dying gunfire, was the signal for a free-for-all attack. Gangsters, on their feet, were aiming for that unexpected enemy, while others were shooting toward Dick Terry at the doorway of the inner room.
Only Barney Gleason was inactive. He was heading for a spot where he would be momentarily protected from the gunfire of the stranger.
The sharp crack of the stranger's automatics began a split second before the general attack. It was that momentary start that gave him a remarkable advantage. His rising automatics clipped his nearest foemen. Crouching one instant, he fired straight at a hand that held a leveled revolver. A moment later, he was towering beside the wall, his other hand performing deadly work in a new direction. There were shots in reply — many of them; but somehow, this mysterious man had the faculty of picking off the most dangerous mobsters first.
Guns which would have loosed fatal bullets dropped harmlessly to the floor. Those which were in excited hands were the one's which he ignored. Bullets whistled by and dug into the walls. But always, when the shots came high, the scarred gangster was crouching. When revolvers turned to cover his huddled form, he was sweeping away to a new vantage point, his form tall and elusive. Only Barney Gleason was not firing. He was holding his shots, for his position behind an overturned table made it difficult for him to draw a steady aim toward that weaving figure. His automatic could spell its message later on — if needed.
Watching with beady eyes, the gang leader was tense. He was following the motions of a long shadow that stretched across the floor — a mysterious, flickering shadow that came from that fighting form. The Shadow!
Barney Gleason knew the identity of this antagonist. He realized that only The Shadow could fight as this man was fighting. He knew that The Shadow was a conqueror of odds.
The right-hand automatic ceased to function. The Shadow flung it swiftly toward a gangster who was reaching toward the floor, striving to regain a revolver. The heavy missile crashed against the gangster's head. The left-hand gun barked, and a second gunman sprawled, weaponless.
The right hand of The Shadow, sweeping beneath the grimy sweater, appeared with a new automatic. It was just in time to clip an enemy who had fired once and missed. All these events were happening with lightning like rapidity.
Into the midst of the fray came a sudden interruption. Dick Terry, who had ducked for the safety of the inner room, had reappeared at the open doorway.
Seeing his lone protector engaged in single-handed conflict, Terry joined in the fire. He knew that all but this one were his enemies.
An excellent shot, Dick, by his timely action, assured the outcome of the fray. The Shadow, superman though he was, stood in constant danger of a single chance shot from among the rattle of decreasing gunfire.
Now, with Dick working from another angle, Barney Gleason saw that his few remaining gorillas bore no chance. Rising, he aimed his automatic toward Dick Terry.
Protected from The Shadow's gunfire, Barney's single shot reached its mark. Dick Terry crumpled, wounded. Barney did not fire again. One was out.
The Shadow was his quarry now!
Whirling across the room, The Shadow was on his way to protect his fallen ally. Two shots barked from his right-hand automatic. They were the last. Not another replied.
All but Barney Gleason had fallen. A few badly wounded gangsters were stumbling toward the outer door, which their enemy had left. The rest were silent where they lay.
Now was Barney Gleason's chance. He sprang from his table, a wild gleam in his eyes. He leaped straight for The Shadow, leveling his gun as he hurled himself forward.