Gray Fist s-48

by Maxwell Grant

  Several moments passed, then, as if in proof of Ruff's statement, two men appeared upon the street.

  They approached the parked sedan simultaneously, one from the sidewalk, the other from the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

  Jake and Caulkey had arrived. They were entering the car where the stranger was seated. Ruff growled a laugh as he saw the gleam of a revolver in Jake's right hand.

  "There won't be any fooling," he decided. "See how neat those boys handled it? Woody's got a gorilla watching from the Black Ship. He's seen Jake and Caulkey sure enough. That means the sharpshooters will be closing in from up the line."

  Snakes snarled his understanding. Already, the sharp-eyed watcher could detect a movement far up the street. Hiding hordes were moving out from alleys and from empty buildings. They were forming a blocking group at the rear.

  But these meant nothing, compared to the crowd ahead. "Boney" and his mob, though not in view, were waiting there until the sedan might appear. Ruff knew what Snakes was thinking. He added a comment.

  "Maybe Boney won't get a chance," laughed Ruff. "Jake'll be driving slow when he comes this way.

  These birds with me"—he was nudging his hand back toward the alley—"are handy with the rods. I've got some other sharpshooters across the way, too."

  "It's time the car was starting," observed Snakes.

  "Give them time," growled Ruff. "Give them time."

  Snakes was staring. He fancied that he had seen a motion at the side of the sedan. Was some one lingering there, in the darkness of the car? The stoop-shouldered watcher growled his disapproval of the delay. Ruff came back with a laugh.

  "I've fixed that all right," he remarked. "If the car don't start, we'll know why, quick enough. See—there's a guy looking in now!"

  A tough-looking rowdy had arrived alongside of the sedan. He had crept up from the sidewalk. Another was approaching from the opposite side of the street. One was reaching for one front door of the sedan, the other for the door opposite.

  The doors opened simultaneously. A startled growl came from Ruff Shefflin. Out of one door tumbled the sprawling form of a man. A similar figure dropped from the other. Jake and Caulkey, Ruff's two watchdogs. Both had met with disaster the moment that they had entered the sedan!

  What was the answer? Only that the stranger had not trusted the two men sent to drive him away.

  Despite the caution of Ruff Shefflin's henchmen, the two had been knocked unconscious by unseen blows dealt them in the darkness of the car!

  ANOTHER advancing gangster had leaped forward with the two who had opened the doors to let Jake and Caulkey drop out. This man was the gang leader, "Woody," who was serving as Ruff Shefflin's lieutenant. Ruff and Snakes saw Woody yank open the rear door of the sedan, and throw the rays of a flashlight inward while he held a revolver in his other fist.

  Even from the distance of the alley where they watched, Ruff and Snakes could see the answer. The glare of the flashlight showed the interior of the sedan in all completeness. The car was empty!

  Snakes Blakey realized the truth. The person who had entered the sedan had slipped out the other door after knocking out Jake and Caulkey. He was hiding there now, in the darkness at the side of the car. If Woody would only throw the flashlight's beam to the street side of the sedan!

  In answer to the thought, Woody performed the action. The farther door of the sedan swung outward.

  The glare of the flashlight hit the street; with it came other rays from new torches that approaching gangsters threw toward the focal point.

  Of a sudden, the left side of the sedan was illuminated. It was then that a cry came from Ruff Shefflin's harsh lips—a cry that was echoed from other spots along the silent street.

  Moving swiftly from the car, swinging straight into the center of the focused lights, was a weaving form in black. Like a hideous specter of the night, this strange creature had come into view.

  For one brief instant, amazing suspense hung over all. It was upon that instant that Ruff Shefflin shouted forth his realization of identity—the name of the being whom he had been set to trap. The gang leader's cry was filled with fury, yet the venom of his recognition was tinged with the note of uncontrollable fear.

  For the name which Ruff was uttering was one which the underworld held in awe.

  "The Shadow!"

  CHAPTER X. THE SHADOW'S FLIGHT

  RUFF SHEFFLIN had recognized The Shadow. So had the others who now thronged the street. All these men of mobland were amazed, with one exception—Snakes Blakey.

  The sneaky gangster who served as Gray Fist's emissary had known the identity of the stranger who had entered the car. Snakes, however, had wisely refrained from mentioning it. He knew the reason why Gray Fist had ordered out the hordes of gangdom. It would take many to battle with this one—The Shadow.

  Snakes had looked for the unexpected. He had not believed that The Shadow's strategy would come so soon. Indeed, Snakes had believed that The Shadow had come to yield to Gray Fist's ultimatum. Snakes had expected the trouble later—when The Shadow would find himself completely trapped.

  The Shadow had done the unexpected. He had anticipated treachery on the part of Gray Fist. He had known that the pretended offer of safety had been a fake. Snakes realized this; at the same time Snakes was elated. For although The Shadow had met Gray Fist's subterfuge, Gray Fist, in return, had prepared for The Shadow's counterstroke.

  Mobsmen, human wolves, fight in packs. Lone combatants would have feared The Shadow's wrath.

  Gray Fist had foreseen the fact, and had not trusted to a mere handful of gorillas. He had turned loose the hordes of gangland. He had known that stark terror would change to fiendish rage once a host of mobsters realized that they had the opportunity to defeat their greatest enemy!

  So had Gray Fist reckoned. So had Snakes Blakey known. But the first reaction of the surrounding mobsters was one of individual terror. Startled eyes that saw The Shadow produced the natural response. Despite their numbers, the gangsters who had uncovered The Shadow dropped away.

  Skulking rats, they looked for cover as quickly as possible.

  The Shadow acted. Amid the glare of the receding flashlights, his gloved hands swung. Huge automatics thundered the first shots in the battle. One straight-aimed bullet sped through the door of the sedan. A wild cry sounded. Woody, the gang leader, who had dropped back at sight of The Shadow, came tumbling rearward to the sidewalk through the door which he had first entered.

  The mobster who had previously opened the front door of the sedan, was the recipient of The Shadow's other bullet. With a piercing shriek, this mobster crumpled, and his flashlight clattered uselessly to the paving of the street.

  Flashlights clicked out. From the darkness blazed new bursts of flame. The Shadow, weaving his way across the street, was picking his enemies from amid the gloom. Snarling gangsters were firing wildly with revolvers, aiming at the spots where they could see The Shadow's automatics blaze. But The Shadow, moving weirdly, was merging with the darkness of the houses. Revolver shots were wild. The bullets from the automatics were shooting true.

  RUFF SHEFFLIN cried an order. Out from the alley behind him piled four mobsters. From across the way, another four appeared. Dropping close to the sidewalk, they fired in vain at an unseen target. Ruff, commander of these forces, clung to the safety of the alley, with Snakes crouching beside him.

  "Look!"

  Snakes snarled the word to Ruff in exultation. From the doorway of the Black Ship, a squad of mobsters was spreading across the street. These men were dashing forward, forming a living wall which no one could penetrate.

  "They'll get him!" growled Ruff.

  Then came the bark of automatics. From the temporary shelter of a niche in an opposite wall, The Shadow had spied the advancing squad. The thundering cannonade of his automatics came in swift staccato. One mobster sprawled forward. Another paused, swayed, and collapsed. A third and fourth went down like nine-pins.

&nb
sp; The squad broke for shelter. Leaping for alleys, for the steps of houses, they sought safety points from which they could resist the weird attack. Then came a cessation of The Shadow's fire. This lull was cleverly induced.

  The mobsters, as they raised their guns, looked in vain for new bursts of flame. The Shadow had downed his adversaries when they were in the open. He foiled them now that they had taken to ambush.

  The next episode in the fray was forced by consequences. Hardly had the lull begun before an automobile came whirling up the street from a point ahead. The sound of battle had reached Boney, the lieutenant who blocked the path. A rakish touring car was swinging into action to aid the mobsters who crouched along the narrow street.

  A searchlight swept its beams along the wall on the right. As the nearing car approached an unexpected spot, a cry rose from a dozen lips.

  Boldly, a tall form had appeared within that light. One hand—the left—was holding an automatic. The other had tossed a gun aside, and was drawing forth a new weapon from the folds of the black cloak.

  This action, however, did not disturb the left.

  The automatic spat its message. A perfectly driven bullet smashed the searchlight. The car came sweeping up with headlights glaring, but The Shadow was again in darkness!

  From their spot of safety, Snakes and Ruff could see the glimmer of a machine gun. That would mean The Shadow's doom. They waited for the typewriter rattle that would spray the walls of houses with a deluge of lead. The sound never came.

  Instead, two automatics roared, an instant before the machine-gunner was ready to unlimber. A terrific volley of The Shadow's making was hurled into the touring car. Cries, groans, and shrieks echoed with one accord. The driver whirled the touring car to the left. He lost control as a bullet clipped him at the wheel. Hurtling, the touring car smashed squarely into the parked sedan. It raised oddly on its outer wheels, and turned upon its side. Plunging forms of wounded mobsters shot from the wrecked car.

  Amid a momentary lull, Ruff Shefflin cried out with all his might. His shout was a call for battle to the end.

  Mobsters, filled with frenzy that banished fear, came leaping from everywhere, and opened charge upon the spot where they knew The Shadow must be.

  ROARING automatics answered. Forward-dashing gangsters fired as they sprawled. Bullets smashed against house walls. Shots ricocheted from the sidewalk. The Shadow was dropping his attackers with uncanny precision, but the very size of the odds against him seemed sure to seal his doom.

  At the crucial moment, The Shadow changed his tactics. His tall form was visible as it swept across the street toward the smashed automobiles. Mobsters shouted as they paused to change their aims. Ruff Shefflin, snarling as he leaped from his spot of observation, fired rapid shots after the flying figure.

  One bullet clipped the edge of The Shadow's hat. Another must have dealt a minor wound, for the phantom figure swerved, changed course, and then kept on. Ruff paused and swung his hand deliberately. The Shadow passed behind the sedan just as the mob leader fired.

  Against the wall on the nearer side of the street, The Shadow, catching a friendly place of darkness, paused to deliver a final volley. Firing gangsters dropped instinctively. Then they caught another glimpse of their enemy. The Shadow was making back up the street toward the entrance of an alley.

  While wild shots echoed, two gangsters leaped suddenly into view. Their revolvers gleamed; they were blotted from sight as The Shadow, with a giant forward plunge, hurled himself squarely upon his pair of enemies. It was an amazing piece of strategy. The one mobster who fired, missed The Shadow by a scant inch. The other never pressed the trigger of his gun.

  The Shadow's right hand descended with a swing. His heavy automatic laid the gangster flat. The one who had missed his shot swung to fire again. The Shadow caught him with a sideswipe, and sent him sprawling along the sidewalk.

  From phantom lips came the sound of a bursting taunt of mockery. The black-garbed figure precipitated itself into darkness. Despite the bullets that had swept about him, despite the scratches that he had received in the fray, The Shadow was the victor in this combat.

  One factor, only, had driven him from the fray. In the course of the running fight, he had exhausted the bullets in all four automatics. He had used his empty weapons to down a pair of well-armed men who blocked his path to safety.

  The Shadow was in flight—but not as a vanquished fighter. His departure was a move of strategy—a lure to bring his enemies to a new battle-ground, where he could display further deeds of prowess.

  The Shadow had met Gray Fist's challenge. He had kept his appointment. He had proven the perfidy of the fiend. He had let Gray Fist know that so long as he, The Shadow, remained alive, he would be a menace to the supercrook.

  But in his seeking of a new battlefield, The Shadow had no easy task ahead. Wild shouts and roaring fire followed his swift escape. These vicious sounds were echoed from blocks around.

  The Shadow was heading into the heart of the underworld. He was dashing into a gang land that had been aroused. Like wildfire, the news had traveled almost from the moment that the fray had begun.

  Fierce lips everywhere in this dangerous district were fuming the one cry:

  "Death to The Shadow!"

  CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S STRONGHOLD

  AMONG the enemies who had beset The Shadow, there was one whose craftiness was more dangerous than the abandon of those who had fought against the black-clad warrior. That single foeman was Snakes Blakey, the wily lookout who served Gray Fist.

  To-night, Snakes had engineered the coup that had turned out hordes of gangdom to wage war with The Shadow. Through Ruff Shefflin and the lesser gang leaders, Snakes had created a stir that was increasing to a fever pitch.

  From this focal point deep in the bad lands, the cry had gone forth. Gangsters and ruffians of all types had responded to a single urge. They were out to get The Shadow, to end the career of the intrepid battler who had so persistently defeated the schemes of supercrooks.

  Snakes had foreseen The Shadow's move. From the edge of the alleyway, where he waited, the stoop-shouldered sneak had realized that The Shadow might break through the ring of mobsters that had surrounded him. Snakes could do nothing to augment the forces that were fighting in the street by the Black Ship, but he knew that his services might be required elsewhere.

  When The Shadow crashed his way past the two mobsters who sought to stop him, Snakes Blakey was acting also. With frantic speed, Snakes hurried down his own alley, in a mad effort to beat The Shadow to the street beyond.

  Ahead, Snakes saw men waiting. The glare of a flashlight shone into his eyes. Knowing that only mobsters could be hereabouts, Snakes shouted out an order which he knew would be heeded.

  "The Shadow!" was his cry. "Get him! In the next alley. He's coming through!"

  The flashlight swung. Deep-throated voices passed along the cry. Scurrying mobsters were arriving. With one accord, they gave the signal to their fellows.

  "The Shadow! Get him! Get The Shadow!"

  A huge mobster leaped in the direction that Snakes had indicated. He was the first to reach the opening where The Shadow was expected. Holding a big revolver in his right hand, he used his left to turn the rays of a flashlight along the next alley.

  The gleam of the torch was blackened in a trice. Like a living avalanche, a mass of darkness precipitated itself forward in solidified form. A long black arm swung downward.

  The Shadow had arrived. With one swift stroke, he had met his adversary. The huge mobster was flattened by a terrific blow from an emptied automatic.

  Mobsters saw their pal fall. They caught only a fleeting glimpse of the fighter who had struck down the gunman. The Shadow, with amazing agility, swung back into the darkness of the alleyway. Stooping, he plucked the mobster's .45 from the paving where it lay.

  "Death to The Shadow!"

  AS the cry resounded, hurried bullets were discharged toward the wall by the alley. Shots
were plastered flat against the bricks. Mobsters were converging to a spot opposite, from which they could gauge the range.

  Then came The Shadow's answer. His stern hand opened fire with the seized revolver. The borrowed weapon found its targets. Two gangsters fell. The rest dropped for cover.

  The Shadow did not tarry. Already a horde was on his trail. Shots were coming from the back end of the alley, where thwarted gangsters were entering to take up the chase. The Shadow sprang from the spot which was no longer secure. With incredible speed, he hurtled along the street, choosing the direction where mobsters were the fewest.

  Shots followed. They could not find that fleeting form, which appeared but momentarily when it entered patches of light. A gangster leaped from cover to block The Shadow's path. His finger was trembling on the trigger of his gun; it never managed to discharge the weapon.

  A burst from the .45 settled the blocking mobster. As his body sprawled, The Shadow cleared it with a leap. His keen eyes spied approaching men ahead. With sudden intuition, The Shadow doubled on his trail, shot across the street, and sprang into an opening on the other side.

  "Get him! Get The Shadow!"

  Ruffians were leaping to the cry. They thought that they had trapped their daring foeman. The opening which The Shadow had chosen was a blind alley, with a high wall at the end. Fearless in their frenzy, men of the underworld piled on The Shadow's trail. The thought of death was forgotten in the individual urge to be the first to deliver a fatal shot to the common enemy.

  Three gangsters reached their goal. One shot a light into the alleyway. All had guns pointed toward the wall at the end of the cul-de-sac. A cry came from the first mobster as he turned his lantern upward.

  The Shadow, by a superhuman effort, had gained the top of the high wall. The gangsters were aiming toward a lower level. Before they could raise their weapons, The Shadow gave them the remaining contents of the gun that he had seized.

  Roars from the .45 reechoed through the short area as zipping bullets found their marks in human flesh.