Excerpt from The Silver Scourge
CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW STRIKES
A LIGHT flickered in the deserted ballroom. A muffled oath sounded; the flashlight was
extinguished. Duffy Bagland growled a warning to his men.
"No glims in here," announced the gang leader. "There's enough light through the
transoms. Wait until we get to the swag. Come along."
Gangsters formed a solid phalanx as they neared the door which Silk Elverton had
prepared as their entrance to the treasure room. They entered the innermost room of the
triple tier. Here Duffy used a small light to indicate the door behind which lay the
Russian plate.
That door was ajar - as Silk Elverton had left it. Duffy's prying light glittered as the gang
leader focused it through the crack. The sight of ready wealth caused the man to chuckle.
Then, in a hoarse whisper, he gave instructions to his henchmen.
"We've got to unload this stuff smooth," he said. "Boggy and Pogo are set down at the
bottom of the stairs. As soon as we load each bag, run it down and let them watch it.
Then we can all grab the stuff and head for the fire tower.
"Look out for that door over there," Duffy's light flickered momentarily upon the barrier
between this room and the other chambers of the tier. "If anybody makes trouble, it will
be from there. Come on. Get busy."
Gangsters entered the treasure room. Flashlights shone. Eager hands began to work.
With care not to cause a clatter, the mobsters loaded gold and silver into bags which they
had brought for the purpose. Duffy Bagland watched the work; then moved out toward
the ballroom, to guide the way for the first man who came with a precious burden.
The gang leader became wary as he stepped into the ballroom. He exerted a privilege that
he had denied the others - that of using a flashlight. There was something about this huge
apartment that worried him.
Duffy sent a gleaming ray on a long sweep about the room. The termination of that swath
was toward the wall beside the door which led into the tier.
Something caught Duffy Bagland's eye just as he clicked off the switch. As the rays of
light had reached their final point, the very edge of the door, they had uncovered a
peculiar mass of blackness - a fringe of gloom which had shown a smothering effect as it
received the flashlight's gleam.
The phenomenon was not sufficient to indicate a human being. Nevertheless, Duffy
Bagland was tense as he again turned on the light. The torch was in his left hand; a
revolver in his right. This time, Duffy directed the rays higher up than before.
The result was instantaneous.
AGAIN that mass of blackness; but now the gloom had a shape. Duffy Bagland stared
squarely at the head and shoulders of a weird stranger - a being whose features were
buried between the upturned collar of a black cloak and the broad brim of a slouch hat!
For an instant, the gang leader took the sight for an illusion; then, as he caught the glare
of brilliant eyes, Duffy Bagland knew that he faced a living form! His lips opened to utter
the name that they could not repress; his right hand came up with its gun.
But before the gang leader could gasp out the name of The Shadow; before he could press
his finger to the revolver trigger, the phantom of the night was in action. Even as the first
glimmers of light outlined his form, The Shadow sprang forward upon the man who had
discovered him.
Duffy Bagland was swept backward by the swift attack. A powerful hand gripped his
right wrist. An arm like iron found the gang leader's neck.
Caught in a stalwart gasp, Duffy Bagland was twisted sidewise in the air. His body did a
whirl, and hurtled along the floor. Flashlight and revolver clattered away. Stunned by The
Shadow's jujitsu throw, the gang leader lay stunned and helpless.
The revolver had skidded away from sight. The flashlight, its rays trickling along the
floor, was plainly visible.
A black hand came into the glare of the torch. A click; the light was out. The Shadow
arose to turn back to his chosen post. He stopped and stood in darkness.
Two men were coming from the end room of the tier. Each was burdened with a bag. One
was speaking in a low tone. The other caught the words.
"Where's Duffy?" was the question.
"Out here somewhere," came the reply.
"Thought I heard something drop."
The first man was moving onward with the bag. The second growled for him to wait.
Both men set down their burdens.
The one nearest the door turned on a flashlight. Its illumination fell squarely upon the
crumpled shape of Duffy Bagland.
"Say -"
The man's gasp died as his turning light encountered a gliding mass of blackness. Stark
terror caught this mobster's heart. Then came the revealing light, from the other gangster's
torch. The crossing beams fell full upon The Shadow!
Each hand that projected from the folds of the black cloak now held a powerful
automatic. From the moment that he had felled Duffy Bagland, The Shadow had
expected imminent discovery of the gang leader's stunned form. He had chosen to reserve
attack until his enemies were spread apart and burdened with their spoils; chance had
made it necessary to act at an earlier moment.
COVERED by a double glare of light, The Shadow boomed forth his leaden welcome.
Both automatics spoke. So close were their separate shots that the roar seemed like the
burst of a cannon.
The first bullet was aimed directly toward the flashlight which one gangster held.
Shooting into the center of light at close range, The Shadow shattered the torch before its
holder could extinguish it.
The shot from the other automatic was delivered with the same purpose - this time toward
the second gangster. The bullet found its mark.
Plowing missiles not only smashed the flashlights; they found human flesh beyond.
Snarls of agony came from the wounded gangsters. Neither man could attempt to return
The Shadow's fire. Both dropped to the floor.
Those shots meant action. Eight gangsters heard them from the other rooms. Bags of
plate clattered to the floor. Flashlights shone as Duffy Bagland's minions sprang forward
to meet the unexpected invasion.
From behind the edge of the ballroom door, The Shadow opened his prompt attack.
Automatics spat their blinding flashes. Gangsters pitched forward as they emerged from
the treasure room.
Those behind them, seeing their fall, sprang for corners of the room. Dropping to the
floor, they fired with their revolvers, using their flashlights to pick out the spot from
which The Shadow had attacked. They shot at emptiness alone.
His first volley delivered, The Shadow had glided out of sight. His bullets had dropped
three among a squad of eight; they might have taken greater toll but for the protection
which the staggering men had given to those behind them. The remaining five were
trapped. The Shadow was at the portal through which they hoped to flee.
Not one dared leap forward. The Shadow, hidden, was as great a threat as he had been
when in view. The first instinctive thought in every mobster's mind had been to gain
safety for himself. It would be minutes now before the concerted attack. Five would
spring forth upon one - but that one was The Shadow!
In the tense interim which followed the echoes of The Shadow's automatics, and the
futile, short-lived outbreak of replying revolver shots, vague, distant reports came in
muffled outburst. From the silence of the ballroom, The Shadow's laugh rang forth in
mocking tones that made the scattered gangsters tremble.
The Shadow knew the meaning of those other shots. Their sound had come from the
stairway that led down to the twenty-first floor. This meant that the two gangsters at the
bottom of the stairs had heard The Shadow's shots, and had started for the fire tower.
Cliff Marsland was stationed at that spot. A stanch fighter, waiting behind the protection
of a heavy door, The Shadow's agent held the advantage. Well did The Shadow know that
those isolated minions could not escape by the path which they had chosen.
With Cliff in ambush, ready for the foe, The Shadow had deliberately intended to split
the squad of gangsters. He knew their ilk; knew that they would flee. While The Shadow
broke the ranks of trapped men, Cliff could halt the flight of others until The Shadow
arrived upon their trail.
Circumstances, however, had eased Cliff's duty to the minimum. Outside of the mobsters
whom The Shadow had dropped, the entire squad accompanying Duffy Bagland was now
held within The Shadow's snare.
CONFUSED shouts came vaguely to the ballroom. The Shadow's laugh issued forth in a
sinister whisper that brought hollow echoes from the walls of the great room. The mass
attack would be forced upon the gangsters now. The fire of guns had been heard
throughout the floor.
The door between the second and third rooms of the tier burst open. A flood of light
showed the figures of crouching mobsters. Three detectives, sensing that a raid was being
made upon the Russian plate, were coming to investigate.
The skulking gangsters rose to action. Here was opportunity! Before them, they saw men
whom they could fight; out through the tier was a chance for escape!
Taking advantage of the stupid mistake made by the detectives, the mobsters leaped
forward, firing as they came!
Detectives leaped for cover; one staggered away with a bullet in his arm.
With mad cries of elation, the mobsters hurled themselves toward the opened outlet.
Their shouts were murderous. The retreating detectives - only two able to resist - were
faced by a desperate situation.
Of the five mobsters, only one had reckoned with The Shadow. He, alone, turned toward
the ballroom door, while his companions hurtled toward the new avenue of escape.
As the gangster stared, he saw a black shape blot out the rays of light which now
penetrated to the ballroom. He raised his hand to fire; an automatic blazed, and he went
down.
Wounded, the gangster cried the warning. His companions turned as they heard the
desperate cry.
"The Shadow!"
Four revolver muzzles swung toward the spot where The Shadow stood. The automatics
roared a cannonade. Split seconds were the advantage which The Shadow held; but he
had four marksmen to meet before his work would be done.
One gangster fell while aiming. Another staggered with his finger pressing the trigger.
His shot landed in the wall above the door.
The form of The Shadow seemed to dwindle; a third gangster faltered momentarily in his
aim. A bullet from one of the deadly automatics clipped his arm, and he dropped his
weapon. The fourth man, however, blazed with venomous fury.
A bullet whistled through the black slouch hat. A second shot, directed lower, whisked
the folds of The Shadow's cloak, just above the left shoulder. The black form seemed to
waver; the hand trembled. The desperate mobsman aimed for The Shadow's heart.
He never fired that final shot. Often had enemies delivered a single bullet toward the
black-clad fighter; rarely had they sent a second; never a third.
The Shadow's right hand shot back from a heavy recoil as its automatic spoke. The
aiming mobster staggered away, shrieking as he dropped his gun. His clawing hands went
to his body; his shoulders struck against the wall, then slipped sidewise. Crumpling
crazily, the man fell dead.
Duffy Bagland's mobsters were not yet through. A few of them, wounded, were still
capable of weakened battle as they crawled to pick up their dropped weapons. But as they
rose to make a last hopeless battle, the figure of The Shadow vanished before their eyes.
There was a reason.
THE two detectives had seen the falling forms of mobsters. They knew that some one
was fighting in their behalf, even though the black-clad image of The Shadow was
beyond their vision.
Unscathed, the sleuths dashed into the room. They fell upon the beaten, crippled
mobsters, and ended the resistance before the wounded men could renew the battle.
The Shadow had traveled from the range of light. His searching eyes, however, swept to
the floor. They viewed the position - now illuminated - where Duffy Bagland had lain.
The gang leader was gone! Unarmed, he had managed to sneak away during the final
stages of the conflict.
Loud voices reached The Shadow's ears. They were coming from the stairway behind the
stage. The Shadow knew the meaning of the shouts that he heard. People had heard the
shots on the floor below. Rescuers were coming up through.
The Shadow did not linger. His swift form was no more than a gliding patch of blackness
as it merged with the gloom near the window through which he had entered the ballroom.
As men came clambering from the stage, that window closed. A batlike shape suspended
itself from the outside balcony.
A spudgy sound gave evidence of The Shadow's progress down the wall. The black-clad
phantom, with suction disks at work, neared an open window. His invisible shape glided
into a darkened room, several floors below. There, a lighted cigarette tip denoted the
presence of a man.
"Report," came the weird whisper of The Shadow.
The tip of light faltered. Then, in an awed voice, Cliff Marsland made reply to his chief,
whose sudden entry had escaped his observation.
"Stopped them at the fire tower," announced Cliff. "They made a dash for it. Caught them
halfway and dropped both. I came down the tower to this room."
"Remain here," ordered The Shadow. "You will not be questioned. You will receive
orders when to leave."
The cloak swished through the room. Cliff Marsland caught a momentary glimpse of a
blotting shape in black, as the door to the hallway opened and closed again.
The Shadow's agent turned on the light. Cliff Marsland removed his coat and vest, tuned
in the radio, and sat down in an easy-chair.
He had done The Shadow's bidding to-night. He had served The Shadow well. His
automatics were tucked out of sight. As The Shadow had said, Cliff would probably not
be questioned.
But Cliff Marsland, despite the skill and precision with which he had picked off Duffy
Bagland's two reserves, could not feel pride in his accomplishment. While he had
delivered crippling shots to two ruffians, The Shadow, Cliff knew, had eliminated a
horde!
Even now, while Cliff was laying low to cover his part in this night's work, The Shadow
was again faring forth to make sure that he had accomplished all that might be needed!