The Shadow - Grammaton Cleric
These men were snipers at heart. They had attacked openly because they were many
against one. Now, realizing their error, those who remained uninjured were lying low,
awaiting a false move by the man whose life they sought.
The blackened door was refuge, in Cleve's mind. The bursts of flame that had emerged
from it were signs of sure protection. With gunfire ended, he felt that escape was the only
course. Escape, before fresh attackers might arrive.
Springing from behind the table, Cleve leaped straight toward the door. His dash carried
him no farther than five feet. The shots came from hidden Chinamen. A bullet winged
Cleve in the shoulder, and he sprawled headlong on the floor.
The hidden friend was answering. Shots rang from his reloaded automatics. But now the
task was superhuman. Cleve's false move had placed his helpless body where it was a
target for the aim of merciless snipers.
These Chinese would not be content to let that body lie. Dead or alive, the form of Cleve
Branch was due to receive a full quota of revengeful lead.
Cleve's eyes, upraised toward the door, were staring with both misery and amazement.
For before him appeared a strange, unaccountable form. Sweeping in from the darkened
hallway came a living shadow!
No longer a mere fleeting phantom, The Shadow appeared as a man garbed in black - a
flowing cloak upon his shoulders, a slouch hat pulled low over his inscrutable visage.
Two black-gloved hands were clutching their automatics.
The Shadow was coming to the rescue!
His first move was a swift one. Like a living form of darkness, The Shadow swept
forward, and his tall shape blotted out the form of Cleve Branch. Willfully, The Shadow
had made himself the target for those hidden enemies.
His challenge was answered.
No longer was Cleve the victim that the murderers sought. Their fire turned toward this
new menace - the man who had spoiled their schemes - the hidden marksman who had
sent their comrades sprawling with his wondrous aim.
Swaying evasively, The Shadow made a strange target. His tall form, moving with a
mystic rhythm, seemed to elude the fire of his foeman. A bullet clipped the top of the
slouch hat. Another zimmed through the flowing border of the black cloak.
From hidden lips came a mocking laugh - a merciless mirth that boded no good for the
relentless enemy. A living target, The Shadow had played the Chinamen's own game. He
had caused their eagerness to prevail over their caution.
Unscathed by the shots that had greeted his appearance, he had surveyed the scene with
piercing eyes. He had marked the spots from which betraying spurts of flame had told the
presence of the snipers.
Now his automatics came into sudden action. They burst forth with roars that sounded
like cannon in that low-ceilinged room. They formed a swift barrage - a deadly hail of
uncanny fire that rained destruction on those who had unwisely found The Shadow's
wrath!
One bullet caught a yellow-visaged sniper as he dodged behind a door. The man toppled
sidewise and sprawled into the room, his revolver striking the floor four feet beyond his
body. A sneaking form, slipping down behind a corner table, plumped suddenly and did
not rise again.
The Shadow's left hand, with quickly moving forefinger, turned the path of an automatic
across a blackened opening at the far side of the room.
Somewhere in that darkness lay a man whose revolver was pointed, ready to deliver a
fatal bullet. The shot never came. The Shadow's remedy had worked. Another Chinaman
became motionless.
THOSE deadly automatics brought another silence to the den of death. Down to a single
shot that remained in his right-hand gun, The Shadow had dealt destruction to the hidden
murderers. Not one Chinaman remained capable of action - either in that room or in the
hidden passageways beyond.
A prone man in a corner was trying to rise and deliver a last shot; but his effort failed. He
sank back helpless, and his revolver dropped from his grip.
There was an open window across the room. It opened on a narrow crevice between this
building and the next. Through it, a yellow face was peering. This single assassin had
crawled to his perch from the floor below.
The Shadow did not see that face, for his gaze was turning to the floor. There, a crippled
knife-wielder was writhing upward at The Shadow's side. His blade was poised in his left
hand. Seeking to attack at close range, he had approached The Shadow while the
automatics were barking.
The Shadow saw his foe. His right hand swung wide with a long, forceful blow. It struck
the Chinaman's raised wrist, and hurled the assassin sidewise. The knife, loosened from
the grasp which held it, clicked harmlessly away.
A yellow hand was beside the face at the window. A gleaming revolver shone. Its muzzle
was pointed directly at the form in black. The Shadow's cloak was spreading, and its
crimson lining formed a background for the man within that cloak. The revolver moved
upward at the window.
The Shadow, turning suddenly, saw the threatening gleam. His lowered automatic swung
upward. Its last shot sped on its way, just as the poised enemy prepared to loose his fire.
The Shadow's bullet found its mark. It whizzed past the extended arm, almost clicking
the gleaming gun. It struck the body behind the revolver.
The leering yellow face dropped backward. A hand waved wildly as the helpless
Chinaman toppled from his perch. A moment of impressive silence; then, from the
crevice below the window came a dull crash, as the victim reached the bottom of his fall.
The Shadow was helping Cleve to his feet. Dazed and bewildered, the disguised
government man clutched his wounded shoulder and staggered forward under his
rescuer's guidance.