The Shadow had business elsewhere. He started for the spot where he had parked his car; his laugh pealed a strident challenge that brought fire from gunmen who were battling a batch of police.

Gunners couldn't find The Shadow. He jabbed timely shots that dropped a pair of them. The officers did the rest. The Shadow let them handle the scattered hoodlums. His path was clear.

Hand on the k.n.o.b of the coupe's door, The Shadow sidestepped as a man flung up beside him. Recklessly, the fellow didn't care what happened, provided he reached The Shadow. Had he been a foeman, a sledged gun would have felled him. In the dark, he ran that risk. It happened that The Shadow's gun did not swing.

The approach told him that this was no hoodlum. Shoving out an arm, The Shadow blocked the panting arrival; half pushed him into the car. It was Clyde Burke, guided by The Shadow's laugh to the spot where his chief was stationed.

Clyde had gone to headquarters. He'd heard what was up. He was here, as fast as he could make it, to tell The Shadow what had happened to Harry. Clyde had inserted a call to Burbank, at the nearest telephone. Word was in from Moe Shrevnitz, telling where Cliff had taken Harry.

THE coupe was off, whipping for an avenue. It wheeled a corner, into the path of a big sedan. As brakes screeched, The Shadow clung too tightly to the wheel to roll himself from view. There were mobsters in that sedan - fleeing Arms of Siva - with Lucky among them.

The Shadow did not wait for battle. He swung the coupe clear; was away when crooks began their fire. A taxi shot into sight. Staring from its window was Gummer Gilben. He had Eyes with him. Like the Arms, they were bent on flight.

The Shadow had chosen a route that he had mentioned to Joe Cardona: a lone, twisty course that was to be left open by the police cordon. Crooks would never have found it for themselves. But it became theirs, thanks to The Shadow.

The Shadow was in flight!

So crooks thought; and they saw opportunity. They wanted to quit this neighborhood; and they liked battle, when the odds were their own.

Outnumbering The Shadow, emboldened by the false belief that he feared them, thugs took up the trail.

For that half dozen who pursued The Shadow, a full two-score had been left for capture by the law. But neither Lucky nor Gummer minded that. The small fry could take the rap. It would be victory, after all, if Lucky and Gummer could bag The Shadow.

Police had been told that a coupe should be pa.s.sed unmolested. That ruling did not apply to a heavy sedan and a wildcat taxicab. Squad cars took up the chase, hoping to catch The Shadow's pursuers.

Clinging to the opened window of the coupe, Clyde heard the gritted laugh that rasped from The Shadow's hidden lips. Clyde understood. The Shadow was pa.s.sing up an opportunity.

He could lose those pursuers in a maze of streets, and leave them to the law. That, however, would mean delay. Not a second could be lost in reaching Harry.

Moreover, The Shadow was increasing the odds that lay against him. Unlesshe outdistanced the mobsters behind, they would be on deck when the goal was reached.

There was a chance that the squad cars might stick close. That would help, if it occurred. But the chase was spreading, with the crooks doing better than the police. Had Clyde been at the wheel, he would not have shoved that accelerator to the floor; for he could see the consequences far ahead.

The Shadow saw them, as well as Clyde; but he gave the coupe every ounce of gas. Cross streets whisked by so rapidly that Clyde could scarcely count them. Ahead, Clyde saw the big red neon sign that topped an old hotel. That was where the route turned right, to the vicinity of h.e.l.l's Kitchen, where Cliff Marsland had finally completed his tour with Harry Vincent and the thugs who were waiting for him to be b.u.mped off.

Like a thing of doom, the light was looming closer, bringing the moment when The Shadow would again be forced to stage a dangerous rescue.

Again, Clyde heard The Shadow's laugh; its whisper a prophecy of battle, that might prove The Shadow's last.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHANGED COURSES.

THE alleyway was silent, except for a low-growled voice that gave continued threats: "Not talking, huh? We've got a way to squeeze it out of mugs like you!

How'd you like some heat - real heat?"

The tone was Cliff's; the threatened man was Harry. There were other listeners, though, who were irked by the delay.

"Let him have it, Cliff!"

The suggestion came from the man at the wheel of the death car; and gorillas added their approval. Cliff gave them answer.

"I'm making this lug blab," he announced. "Get it? Or don't you?"

"Lucky didn't say to make him squawk," returned an objector. "He didn't say to stall, either, getting here."

Cliff snorted his contempt - not for Lucky, but for the speaker.

"Lucky left it to me," he told the crew. "Where to bring the guy, and how to handle him. How do you know what Lucky told me?"

"Because he told us." The driver bulged over from the front seat, poked a gun toward Harry's ribs. "And if you ain't croaking the guy, we are!"

There was a slight thud in the darkness, as Cliff's automatic gave a downward drop against the fellow's gun hand. The driver withdrew his fist, with a snarl.

"There's one thing Lucky didn't tell you," snapped Cliff. "He didn't say who this guy was, did he?"

Growls responded in the negative.

"You're right, he didn't," added Cliff, "because he didn't know. So I'll put you wise." He was ready with his final argument. "This guy is a stooge that's working for The Shadow! That's why I want him to talk."

The argument brought delay. Cliff's effort to quiz Harry brought approval.

Gorillas were muttering among themselves. If Cliff was right, he was playing a good bet. Those mutters kept on, while Cliff resumed his probe of Harry.

In his turn, Harry said nothing. Talk wouldn't help Cliff's stall. Cliff had been doing well enough without it.

While he growled at Harry, Cliff was conscious of the mutters of the thugs with him. They didn't quite suit him. A few words struck Cliff as sour. Hesensed their import. One thug had whispered the impression that maybe Cliff knew too much about The Shadow. The set-up sounded phony.

Pretending not to hear, Cliff reached beside him. He found the k.n.o.b of the door; covered its squeak by raising his tone. His hand came back to his left hip; crossing beneath his right elbow, it shoved a spare gun against Harry's fingers.

Cliff's grip found Harry's forearm. Cliff jerked leftward; s.n.a.t.c.hed Harry toward the door. Adding to the plunge, Harry went sprawling to the curb, as Cliff shouted: "All right! Give it!"

SHOVING half out from the door, Cliff supplied the first shots, over Harry's head. Gleefully, the driver leaned from his own window, jabbed his gun toward Harry's rolling form.

Cliff sledged another gun-blow for the driver; but this was no gentle knuckle rap.

The automatic thudded the driver's skull, with a wallop that slumped the fellow deep beneath the wheel.

Right after that, Cliff was locked with two tough fighters, both to his right. One was jabbing a gun from the front seat; the other had a grip around Cliff's neck. It was a tussle that left Cliff very little chance, after the next thirty seconds. In taking out the driver, he had given the other pair the odds.

The door by the driver's seat yanked open. The slugged crook rolled inert to the curb. Harry came shoving through, to side with Cliff. He pitched on the front-seat gorilla. It was timely aid, but it brought a bad break.

Cliff, too, was occupied with that same fighter. The thug in the rear was twisted, with his gun hand high. He managed to squirm by Cliff; thwacked a cross-blow to Harry's head. Cliff stopped it partially, but not enough.

All was grim in that darkness. The next instant the situation was revealed, by a glare that swathed in from the mouth of the alley. Blinding light showed Harry, wavering above the wheel. It spotted Cliff, rolling for the open side door, with glittering revolver barrels shoving toward him.

Crooks hesitated, in the brilliance of those flooding headlights. A big gun spoke ahead of theirs. Bullets from an automatic whistled through the open sides of the touring car, as a coupe rocketed alongside.

The light was gone; in its place came a fierce laugh, from a fighter whose right hand laid a gun across his left elbow. Still gripping the coupe's wheel, The Shadow pumped new shots into the touring car.

Gunmen had forgotten Cliff and Harry. They were turning to battle The Shadow. That move didn't help them. The Shadow's shots came first, put them out of the fray for good.

The Shadow shoved Clyde from the right side of the coupe; gave him the quick order: "Get that car started! Bring Marsland and Vincent along! Keep beside me!"

The coupe was moving ahead when Clyde reached the touring car. Cliff piled into the machine when Clyde told him. Shoving Harry to the right, Clyde grabbed the wheel. The starter grated. The car was moving when two others wheeled into the alley.

Jouncing through the alley, the touring car and the coupe were open targets for Lucky and Gummer; but of the two machines, they wanted the coupe.

They saw a body by the curb, but did not recognize it. They thought the dead man to be Harry. As they sized it, The Shadow was trying to finish Cliff and his three gorillas, for they saw and heard the bursts of a gun. Side by side, the pursuers closed upon the coupe; they saw its door swing wide; their bullets began to drill.

The touring car kept onward, but the coupe careened. It took the curb and crashed a building wall. They were alongside, Lucky's car first, then Gummer's, when one of their band gave a raucous shout and pointed.

Up ahead, the touring car was swinging from the alley into the glow of the street lamp. Rising from the open car's step, they saw The Shadow. Doors were open on the right; two forms came sprawling lifelessly from within the car.

The Shadow shoved into the rear seat. The doors slammed shut.

HOW the game had changed, Lucky and Gummer couldn't guess; but they weren't ready to call it quits. The Shadow was still in flight.

Motors roared, beginning a new pursuit. Once through the alley, they caught the touring car's trail; and they followed it, unmolested.

The crooks had shaken off the squad car, through sheer speed. Sirens told that the police were heading for a scene of finished battle: that alley where no living fighters remained, where chance for a trail was ended.

Of four available drivers, himself included, The Shadow had placed the least expert at the wheel. Clyde was doing a good job, but he couldn't get the distance that he needed to outpace the crooks, even though The Shadow guided him.

As the race continued, it became apparent that The Shadow did not want to end the pursuit. Between his steady instructions to Clyde, he told his agents what came next. They listened, almost rapt, as they heard The Shadow's plan.

Picking his streets, The Shadow gave word for a final spurt, to be followed by a sharp turn to the right. Accomplished, Clyde gave the brakes within a hundred feet. Agents sprang from the car and dived for a doorway to which The Shadow pointed.

They were inside when The Shadow opened fire back toward the corner.

Mobster guns answered a few seconds later. By that time, The Shadow had joined his own followers. Through the door, The Shadow ordered it clamped shut.

They were in a little courtyard between two buildings, with thugs banging at the barring door. The Shadow picked a window, smashed its gla.s.s with a gun b.u.t.t. The window came up; the four climbed through.

This was the interior of an antique shop, closed for the night. Evidently The Shadow had been in the place before. Uncannily, he picked a corner and ordered Cliff and Harry to shove aside a big chest of drawers.

Once the chest was clear, the agents saw a locked door. The Shadow finished the lock with a single bullet. They went through to a pa.s.sage beyond.

The corridor was leading them in the direction of an alley that Clyde had noticed, when he stopped the car.

The Shadow halted by a cobwebbed door. Again, he blasted a lock. The four emerged into a s.p.a.ce that formed an air shaft. There was a window opposite.

The Shadow smashed it in, took an inward dive through it before his agents could follow.

There was a scuffle within a room. When the three agents reached the scene, they saw The Shadow rising from above the figure of a bearded Hindu, whose turban had rolled to the floor. The Shadow had knocked the guard senseless.

It was Harry who realized where they were. This was the floor below the Siva temple! It was split up into secret rooms and routes, as Harry had supposed.

The Shadow had not been idle, during those times that he had let Hawkeyerelieve him. He had been gaining a considerable knowledge of these premises, through secret search.

THE SHADOW took keys from the Hindu's sash. He found the one that unlocked a steel door in the far wall of the room. Stepping into a tiny cell, he emerged with a prisoner. The captive was Lucille Mayland, bound and gagged.

While Harry and Cliff cut the cords that held Lucille, The Shadow was speaking to the girl in whispered tones. Lucille's eyes showed flashes of mingled understanding and amazement. When she was free, The Shadow pointed to another door The agents were to take Lucille through there; out by the alleyway. Other moves were to follow; but not until the police arrived. They would be here soon, headed by Joe Cardona. Meanwhile, the path was clear. Lucky and Gummer and their mobs would not molest the get-away.

Proof of that was already coming from the air shaft. Mobsters had reached the last door that The Shadow had broken. The Shadow was remaining, to lure them on another trail. He waited in a pa.s.sage just beyond the door through which the agents carried Lucille.

Lucky was the first thug through the window. He saw the flattened Hindu.

The sight puzzled him, until Gummer arrived.

"Cripes!" voiced Gummer. "This is the joint where we brought the moll!

Lamp that, Lucky" - he pointed to the vacant cell - "it's where we shoved her!"

"Yeah?" demanded Lucky. "Then where's she got to?"

"The Shadow's snagged her," snarled Gummer, "and he's taken her out the other way. Unless he's pulled another fast one. Maybe this guy can tell us."

The "guy" was the Hindu, who was showing signs of life. They brought him to his feet. He shook his head. He couldn't understand the questions that were asked him, let alone answer them.

Gummer opened the far door, gave a sudden shout. The rest joined him, as he dropped back. Gummer was pointing to a pa.s.sage that ended in a solid wall.

"The Shadow!" he gulped. "I seen him there!"

Lucky believed where others doubted. He jogged the Hindu's shoulder; pointed to the dead-end pa.s.sage. The bearded man reached to the wall, pressed a hidden switch. A panel slid upward.

Framed on that threshold stood The Shadow. Guns stowed away, he stood with folded arms. From his lips came a new, mirthful challenge, that echoed its defiance to the startled horde of blinking crooks!

CHAPTER XIX.

THE FINAL TRAP.

LONG-HELD though The Shadow's position seemed to the enemies who viewed it, his stand was no more than momentary. Before a gun could be lifted against him, The Shadow wheeled. With sweeping stride, he appeared to vanish upward.

Where he had been, thugs saw the background of a metal stairway. They headed for it, with Lucky leading the chase. Tailing the gun crew came the bearded Hindu, his wits recovered. That guardian of the lower cell was babbling words that no one understood.