Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 051 - The Cobra

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THE COBRA
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. THE CRIME TRAIL
? CHAPTER II. THE NEW AVENGER
? CHAPTER III. THE COBRA WINS
? CHAPTER IV. THE COMMISSIONER HEARS
? CHAPTER V. MYLAND ADVISES
? CHAPTER VI. THE SHADOW MOVES
? CHAPTER VII. THE COBRA'S LAIR
? CHAPTER VIII. THE TRAIL
? CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW ENTERS
? CHAPTER X. AGAIN THE COBRA
? CHAPTER XI. QUICK STROKES
? CHAPTER XII. WESTON ORDERS
? CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW HEARS
? CHAPTER XIV. CLIFF PLAYS HIS PART
? CHAPTER XV. AT KING ZOBELL'S
? CHAPTER XVI. THE MEETING
? CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW'S SKILL
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE DECISION
? CHAPTER XIX. THE SHADOW'S CLEW
? CHAPTER XX. CLIFF AWAKES
? CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW'S COURSE
? CHAPTER XXII. PASS THE COBRA
? CHAPTER XXIII. MEN AT BAY
? CHAPTER XXIV. THE DUEL
? CHAPTER XXV. VANQUISHED MINIONS
CHAPTER I. THE CRIME TRAIL
FOGGY darkness swirled beneath the superstructure of the East Side elevated. Dim lights, glowing
through the murk, showed the dingy fronts of dilapidated buildings. Shifty, skulking figures shambled
along the street. A bluecoat, twirling his club, watched them idly from the corner; then resumed his beat.
This was a bad spot on the fringe of the underworld. The officers who patrolled this section of Manhattan
were chosen members of the force. Always on the lookout for the paths of crooks, they kept a wary
check of sullen faces and sly, stoop-shouldered prowlers.
Less than one minute after the patrolman had continued on his beat, a man stepped forward from the
cover of the elevated steps. Well-dressed, but inconspicuous in his dark suit, he was of better
appearance than the usual denizens of this district. Like the bluecoat, he watched with wary eye.
A taxicab rolled slowly by. The man by the steps noted it with a sidelong glance. He saw a gray-haired
man of middle age peering keenly from the window, as though engaged in study of the district. The cab
rolled on. The man by the steps lighted a cigarette.
The flicker of the match revealed his face. It was a hardened countenance, with curling, ugly lips. A long
scar showed from chin to cheek. That scar was buried by the hand that held the match.
As he flicked the match away, the man by the elevated steps used his other hand to draw the collar of his
coat across the telltale scar. His action showed further effort to hide the mark.
With head hunched slightly to the side, the man squinted up and down the street, then moved along by
the curb with an easy, swinging gait.
There was method in his wariness. This man was known in the underworld. "Deek" Hundell, leader of the
toughest hold-up crew in Manhattan, was a person whom any lurker in the badlands could have spotted
instantly by his familiar scar.
THE strolling patrolman had missed an opportunity tonight. Standing openly at the corner, he had been
spotted by Deek Hundell. The hold-up expert had waited for the policeman to depart; and there had
been method in his waiting. Deek Hundell was wanted for murder.
A disdainful smile showed on Deek's ugly lips as the crook passed the front of a lighted shop. Deek had
dodged flatfeet before. Cops did not worry him. His caution now was for the benefit of chance passers.
Among the slouchers on this gloomy street, Deek knew that he might encounter enemies who would
betray him. These were the stool pigeons, the spies of the police.
Deek Hundell turned to peer at a display of cheap suitcases in a pawn shop window. His hand, rising to
pluck the cigarette from his lips, remained there, adding its hiding palm to cover the scar.
A ragged, stoop-shouldered prowler was shambling from the fog. Moving close to the window, Deek
caught the reflection of a pasty face. The passing man was going straight ahead. Deek waited.
More footsteps. Two foreigners, jabbering in their own tongue, moved past the standing crook. Then
came an old woman, carrying a basket on her arm. Footsteps died along the sidewalk. Deek turned and
resumed his course.
Twenty paces brought the gang leader to the entrance of an alleyway. Here, with head still hunched,
Deek gazed in both directions and flicked his cigarette to the gutter. Satisfied that no one was watching,
he moved into the darkness. A muttered laugh came from his lips.
Deek Hundell had passed the crossroads of the underworld. From now on, his course would be
untraceable. On this visit to the badlands, the notorious crook had taken no chances. His laugh was one
of surety.
Silence dominated the street by the elevated. The swirling, chilly fog seemed to creep about the iron
pillars like a living monster. A thickened spot of darkish mist spread slowly away from the shelter of a
pillar directly opposite the alleyway that Deek Hundell had taken.
BLACKNESS remained, but in the blackness glowed two spots that shone like coals of fire.
Metamorphosing from the mist, they showed as living eyes, poised in an inky background.
Then blackness moved; a tall, uncanny shape stepped forward from the elevated post. The owner of
those glistening eyes had manifested himself.
A spectral being clad entirely in black - a form shrouded by the folds of a sable-hued cloak; above the
eyes, the brim of a dark slouch hat.
The strange figure paused momentarily, while the piercing eyes studied the course that Deek Hundell had
taken. Then, with a quick swish of the cloak, this watcher crossed the sidewalk and merged with the
darkness of the alleyway.
Deek Hundell had congratulated himself too soon. Convinced that he had reached the alleyway
unnoticed, the crook was continuing his course with no fear of pursuit. He did not know that his trail had
been taken by the most vigilant tracker who had ever entered the badlands - The Shadow!
A creature of the darkness, a phantom being whose guise of black rendered him invisible to the sharpest
eyes, The Shadow was on the trail of impending crime. He had picked up the course of Deek Hundell
and he was following it to a certain objective.
There could be but one reason for Deek's appearance in the underworld. Wanted for murder, the gang
leader had chosen other spots until tonight. His arrival here was a sure indication of a rendezvous
between Deek Hundell and his gangster henchmen.
Motion in darkness; such was the only indication of The Shadow's presence. The swish of the black
cloak sounded faintly as the master trailer moved through the alleyway and took a turn into a passage
between two houses. He could not see his quarry up ahead, for Deek was moving cautiously through the
gloom; yet The Shadow followed the slight sounds of the gang leader's footsteps.
When the mobster trailer reached the end of the passage between the houses, his keen eyes peered
across a narrow, gloomy street. They spied Deek Hundell entering the battered doorway of an old brick
house, where only darkened windows showed.
A weird specter, The Shadow crossed the narrow street and reached the darkened doorway. The
opening of the barrier seemed imperceptible. The black figure entered. The Shadow stood in a narrow,
gloomy hallway which terminated in a fight of rickety stairs. A gas jet, its flame turned low, furnished the
only illumination.
Slowly, The Shadow advanced. His gliding progress ended at a door on the right of the hall. A creeping
hand, gloved in black came from the folds of The Shadow's cloak. It turned the knob of the door. Keen
eyes peered through the narrow crevice.
BEYOND was a small flight of stairs; then a stone-walled room where a few dozen men were seated
about at tables; bottles and glasses were set before them.
The Shadow knew this place; it was a sordid dive of the underworld where lesser mobsters were wont
to meet. The entrance was opposite the door through which The Shadow peered. It opened on a side
alley that led from the front street.
Deek Hundell was not in the underground den. The door closed silently. A soft, whispered laugh
sounded in the gloomy hall. Its echoes clung there as The Shadow turned to the stairs and ascended. The
steps terminated in the center of a second-story hall.
Like the one below, this hall was lighted by a flickering gas jet. At the rear was another flight of stairs that
led down to the back of the building. The front of the hall terminated in a door.
The Shadow turned in that direction. He passed two doors on the right; just beyond the second one, he
paused to listen. A muffled, growling voice was sounding from the room beyond the barrier.
Swiftly, The Shadow continued to the end of the hallway. His hand turned the knob of the door at the
end. The door was locked. Muffled clicks sounded as The Shadow applied an instrument of steel. The
lock gave. The door opened and The Shadow entered the front room.
Dark, deserted and illy furnished, this room extended to the right - a fact which The Shadow had
anticipated by his study of the building itself. To the right was a connecting doorway that led to the room
where the voice had sounded.
The Shadow reached the intervening barrier and applied the pick. This time, there was not the slightest
sound of the yielding lock. The knob turned noiselessly; the door opened inch by inch until a narrow slit
was formed. Silent and motionless, his hand still on the knob, The Shadow gazed into the room beyond.
Five men were seated about a broken-down table. Their evil, sordid faces marked them as desperadoes
of the badlands. Their eyes were turned upon an individual who sat facing the doorway to the hall. In the
illumination of the gas-lit room, that man's features were plain.
Deek Hundell.
Glinting eyes and snarling lips; a scar that ran an ugly, jagged line from chin to cheek - this was the quarry
that The Shadow sought. Deek Hundell, murderer, had reached his destination in the underworld. Joined
by his squad of killers, he was building new schemes for crime.
The eyes of minions were on the gang leader. Attentive ears were drinking in Deek's growled words.
Gloating faces showed eagerness for evil deeds that lay ahead. Little did these crooks realize that another
listener was present; that eyes keener than their own were watching the sordid countenance of Deek
Hundell.
The Shadow, master fighter against crime, was listening in on Deek Hundell's plans. With those schemes
learned, The Shadow would be prepared to strike from darkness. Criminals, confident in their security,
were doomed to failure before their plans were formed.
CHAPTER II. THE NEW AVENGER
"WE'RE pulling the job tomorrow night." Deek Hundell's growl had an emphasis that held his henchmen.
"Out on the Boston Post Road is a swell place where there'll be lots of palookas with dough. I've picked
the spot - I'll lead you to it when we go."
"OK, Deek," came a response from one mobster. The others joined with nods.
"Maybe," resumed Deek, leering, "some of you guys are wondering why I'm taking places outside of the
city. I'll tell you why. It's because these spots are outside. Don't get the idea that these New York bulls
have me worried."
Laughs from the mobsters indicated that they, as well as Deek, were contemptuous of the Manhattan
police.
"I've been living here in New York," continued Deek, "in an uptown hotel and there ain't a bull that's had
an eye on me. Wanted for murder - that's rich - and that dumb dick, Joe Cardona, thinks he's going to
grab me.
"Him? For two bits, I'd poke a gat in Cardona's ribs and take his badge from him. That's what I think of
Joe Cardona!
"Why are they hollering about me? Because I bumped off a flatfoot two weeks ago. That's not the only
bird I've plugged, but they're hollering because a dumb cop got his. Let 'em holler! When I feel like it, I'll
go downtown shooting for the whole force!"
A pause. Gloating smiles showed that Deek's confidence was impressing his followers. The very fact that
Deek was here in the badlands showed his disregard for the police who sought his trail.
Eying his companions in crime, the gang leader saw that he had gained his point. It was now possible for
him to proceed with cautious remarks without damaging the authority that he held over his band.
"The trouble here in New York," declared Deek, "is too many cops. They pile up on you before the job
is pulled. They'll never get me - but I'm thinking about you guys.
"That ain't all. There's too many stools here in town. They know me - and they can spot this scratch I've
got on my jaw. It's O.K. for you fellows to lay around here until I want you - but it's best for me to be
out of the district."
Nods. One of the mobsters tapped the table with his knuckles; then ventured a chance remark.
"You got the right idea, Deek," he declared. "Between the cops and the stools, a guy's got to keep his
mug shut. Then there's The Shadow -"
"The Shadow!" Deek snarled the name with contempt. "Listen to that, you fellows! Bulker, here, is
talking about The Shadow! Say - we ain't had no trouble with The Shadow, have we?"
HEADS shook as Deek looked about the circle. The gang leader grunted new contempt. Before he
could make another statement, there was a rap at the door. A new mobster entered as Deek growled.
"Hello, Gringo," greeted Deek. "Sit down here - and listen to the pipe that Bulker just made. He's talking
about The Shadow!
"Say - who is The Shadow? I'll tell you - a guy that goes around in a black shirt and mooches in on jobs.
He ain't never given us no trouble and he never will. Say - have any of you bimbos ever seen The
Shadow?"
"The guys that have seen him," protested "Bulker" weakly, "ain't around to tell it."
"Yeah?" Deek laughed, "Well, if The Shadow ever tries to cross me, he'll get his! What say, Gringo?"
The newcomer raised his hands for silence. There was something in his manner that betokened
tenseness.
All sat silently - Deek included - as "Gringo" approached the table and leaned forward. A hard-faced
rowdy, the toughest of Deek's henchmen, Gringo's manner of unfeigned alarm commanded interest.
"Listen, Deek." Gringo was serious. "You've been out of sight for a while. You don't know what's been
going on - and neither does the rest of the mob - because they ain't in the know. What I'm going to give
you now is something to think about."
"Are you figuring that The Shadow is in it?"
Gringo shook his head emphatically. "The Shadow is out - he's a has-been compared to the guy that's in
the picture now. Say - you know how The Shadow works. Lays back and watches - then hits some big
shot or cleans up his mob.
"The Shadow's tough all right, but while he's on one trail, the others are running wild. That's because The
Shadow waits until he's got a fellow with the goods. Savvy?"
"I know that," growled Deek. "He'll never get me -"
"I'm not talking about The Shadow," interrupted Gringo. "Listen, Deek - what would you say to a guy
that began knocking off big birds while they were laying quiet? Picking them before they had a chance to
move?"
"Who's doing that?"
"A fellow that calls himself The Cobra." Gringo's tone was an awed whisper. "He spots his man when the
guy has a crowd about him. He walks in and bags the guy he wants. You know what happened to Hunky
Fitzler, don't you!"
"The guy with the apartment-house racket? Sure - somebody gave him the works up in that swell joint of
his -"
"That's right. And I'll tell you who put Hunky on the spot. It was The Cobra. What's more, he bumped
Cass Rogan, the guy that had the gambling racket sewed up. There were fellows that saw him do it!"
"They ain't shouting about it."
"You're right they ain't! I'll tell you why. When you see a big shot get his - and know that that guy who
did it could have plugged you just as easy, you're going to keep mum, ain't you?"
Deek considered. At last he nodded; his face was sober. Gringo added a pointed remark.
"I'm telling you this, Deek," he warned, "because you're big enough to have The Cobra on your trail. I'm
telling you - The Cobra is lopping them off. They say The Shadow listens in - well, The Cobra walks in -
DEEK HUNDELL thumped his powerful fist on the table. His snarling growl broke off Gringo's
discourse. The wide flame of the gas jet wavered beside the door. Deek's sullen face gleamed viciously in
the light.
"Forget this hokum!" he rasped. "We ain't got time for pipe dreams. The Shadow ain't never tackled this
mob of mine. The Cobra ain't going to take a chance on me alone.
"I'm going to give you fellows the dope on tomorrow night. I'm only waiting for Corky Gurk to show up,
so he'll be in on it, Then I'm sliding out that hall to the street - and you birds can ease into the joint down
in the cellar. One-by-one - get me? There's nobody ever wised up this meeting place yet - and there ain't
nobody going to -"
Deek stopped as a rap sounded at the door. Mobsters started. Deek laughed; then scowled as he saw
them shift uneasily.
"That's Corky," he scoffed. "Time he was here. Who did you think it was? The Cobra?"
The mobsters joined in the laugh as Deek, half rising from his chair had his hands upon the edge of the
table as he rasped the order:
"Come in Corky."
The door opened. It seemed to swing inward of its own accord. Each mobster, showing indifference,
was glancing toward the barrier.
Suddenly wild gasps came from bloated lips. Deek Hundell alone gave no outcry. His scarred face was
frozen.
IN the doorway was a grotesque figure that looked like nothing human, although it had the stature of a
man. Clad from head to foot in a close-fitting, dark brown jersey, this individual was entirely masked.
The single garment formed thick wrinkles on the limbs and body. About the narrow jersey, it terminated
in a broad hood, which was topped by a small, tapering knob.
There was something snakelike in the costume; but the feature that gave it weird realism was the hood
which hid the entrant's face.
It was the hood of a cobra!
Two white spots appeared like eyes, about them, broad white circles that terminated in downward
pointing lines. The effect was that of a terrifying face which seemed to survey the startled mob with
expressionless gaze.
There was no mummery about The Cobra's painted visage. The gangsters who saw it cringed as though it
had been a living countenance. It was a sign; an identity that brought instant recognition. Men of crime
were face-to-face with the new avenger!
To each gazer, the eyes of The Cobra's hood seemed fixed in his direction. Then came The Cobra's
warning - a hiss that sizzled from lips beneath the hood - the perfect mimicry of a snake about to strike!
Like a flash, a hand swung from the central fold of the pleated brown jersey. A revolver glistened
beneath the gaslight. Deek Hundell, an answering snarl coming from his own lips, yanked a gun from a
pocket to meet The Cobra's aim.
The new avenger had hissed his warning. His swift revolver was the coming stroke. Deek Hundell,
murderous gang leader, was forced to a fight for life!
Gangster eyes were bulging. Hands were trembling. The witnesses of the duel were powerless. Beyond
the door to the front room, other eyes were on the scene. Another hand was acting. The Shadow,
sensing grim events, was drawing an automatic from beneath the cloak.
Stern avenger who roamed the underworld, The Shadow had become the witness to the power of a new
figure of mystery who was there to deal death to a startled murderer!
CHAPTER III. THE COBRA WINS
THE sound of The Cobra's venomous hiss ended with the bark of the revolver. Deek Hundell, rising,
stopped short. The gun which he had whipped from his pocket dropped from loosening fingers. The gang
leader clapped his hand to his stomach; his snarling lips twisted in agony as Deek collapsed face forward
on the table.
Deek's henchmen were stunned. Then came another hiss. Wild eyes stared at the smoking gun barrel in
The Cobra's hand. They saw a brown arm sweep upward to the gas jet; a twist - the room was plunged
in darkness, save for a slight flicker of illumination from the hall.
The Cobra's form was blurred, except for its hood. There, against a darkened background, glowed the
painted eyes and their surrounding lines. Weirdly luminous, The Cobra's false face was peering toward
the gangsters whose chief had died.
Then came a sweeping barrier - the closing door. A fierce hiss dwindled as The Cobra swung the portal
behind him.
An oath came from Gringo's lips. A flashlight glimmered in the mobster's hand. It was followed by others,
as Deek Hundell's cohorts suddenly sprang to avenge the death of their murderous chief.
Gringo was the first to reach the gloomy hall. The action required a leap across the room; then the
opening of the door. The hall was empty. Gringo stared in both directions.
"I'll take the back stairs," he rasped. "You're with me, Bulker. The rest of you pile into that front room -
maybe he ducked that way."
There was a call from below. Gangsters in the underground dive had heard the muffled sound of The
Cobra's shot. They were coming to find out what had happened. Gringo shouted down as he headed
towards the back.
The body of Deek Hundell lay sprawled upon the table where it had collapsed. The mobsters had piled
from the room; now the door that adjoined from the front was open. The Shadow, standing in the dim
gloom, was surveying the victim The Cobra had slain.
SWIFT had been The Cobra's work. The killing - the departure - both had been timed with precision.
The Shadow had come here to forestall Deek Hundell's plans for crime. The Cobra had gone The
Shadow one better. He had slain Deek in cold blood.
The Shadow held no grief for Deek Hundell. The man was a self-admitted murderer. He had deserved to
die. The ringleader of a dangerous mob, his death meant the end of that gang's crimes; for Deek Hundell
had held the whip hand over the crew.
For once, The Shadow had been forced to stand by as a mere watcher while another hand of vengeance
had delivered doom.
The Cobra!
Gringo, the gangster, had spoken well when he had described this new avenger as a rising menace to the
underworld. The Cobra had struck in the presence of a crowd of witnesses. His deed was one that
would reverberate through all gangdom.
A whispered laugh came from The Shadow's lips. It was a tense, foreboding laugh - one that told of
impending trouble.
The Cobra had made a perfect getaway. Maddened gangsters, augmented by those below, were turning
this hovel into a hornet's nest. The Shadow, silent witness of The Cobra's might, was left in the thick of
it!
Mobsters were coming now - back into the room where Deek's body lay. They were lighting the gas
while others were trying to open the door to the front room, from the hall.
The Shadow had locked that door behind him. Swiftly, he was regaining the front room through the
connecting door. He closed the barrier as the gas came on. He turned the lock and stood silently in
darkness.
Mobsters were working at the connecting door. They had hopes that The Cobra might be here.
The Shadow was faced by a dilemma. His choice lay between a quick departure or a futile struggle.
The Shadow was a fighter who did not deal in flight, save when it formed a portion of his strategy.
Tonight, he was faced by a situation which was unique even in his long experience.
He could gain nothing by remaining. Mobsters would fight The Shadow as quickly as they would The
Cobra; and the hordes of gangland would know that The Shadow had stood idly by while his new rival
had delivered death!
Picks had failed on the door from the hall. Mobsters were battering the barrier as The Shadow swept to
the front window of the upstairs room. Up came the sash. The Shadow's tall form swung over the sill, just
as the door from the hall was flattened by a surge of mobsters.
Two gangsters tumbled as the door gave. Behind them was a third, holding a bull's-eye lantern; beside
him, two gorillas with ready guns.
As chance had it, the rays of the lantern shone straight upon the open window. A cry came from the
mobster as he saw the blackened form swinging from the sill.
REVOLVERS barked wild shots as the gunmen responded to their companion's shout. Had The
Shadow continued his swing from the window, the next shots would have beaded him. Instead, The
Shadow delivered his response.
Clinging to the sill, he swung his right hand inward and pressed the trigger of a mammoth automatic. His
target was the bull's-eye lantern. Darkness, crashing glass, and the howl of the wounded lantern-holder
was proof of The Shadow's perfect aim.
Again, the automatic spurted flame. Tongues of fire; driving bullets that smashed hot against the walls of
the hallway sent mobsters ducking for cover. Amid the echoes of the gunshots came the strident tones of
The Shadow's laugh.
Time was precious. More than twenty mobsters were close by; should The Shadow remain, this room
would become the focal spot for hastening fighters from all parts of the underworld.
With a sweep through the window, The Shadow poised with one hand clutching the sill; then dropped
catlike, a dozen feet to the sidewalk below.
The plunge was timely. Mobsters had reached the street. They had heard the bark of guns from above.
With The Shadow's poise, flashlights glimmered upon the window - just in time to reveal the huddled
shape in black as it dropped to the street.
Down came the glimmers. Focused lights played on The Shadow's shape as it showed, half-sprawled
upon the sidewalk. Cries of recognition; shouts of triumph! These came as the men with the flashlights
aimed revolvers toward what appeared to be their helpless prey.
They had reckoned wrong. The Shadow, as he took the plunge, knew that split seconds would be
precious. The fall had neither stunned nor crippled him. He had chosen to use his guns instead of rising.
Automatics blazed. They were held by hands that were less than two feet above the sidewalk. Crouching
with back against the brick wall of the old house, The Shadow delivered an enfilading fire along the
street.
Gangsters staggered or dived for cover. The Shadow, rising as he pressed the triggers, sent shots that
ricocheted from walls and paving. The street was cleared except for a trio of crippled mobsters who had
failed in their dive for safety.
The Shadow's laugh came in ringing challenge. His emptied automatics dropped beneath the folds of his
cloak. Another pair of .45s - fully loaded - appeared instead of the exhausted weapons.
LEAPING from the wall, like a black projectile, The Shadow gained the center of the street in two quick
bounds; there, still moving toward the opposite side, he whirled and brought his automatics into play.
The Shadow did not choose men as his targets. Instead, he picked the spots where men must be. The
doorway through which he had trailed Deek Hundell; the entrance of an alleyway, thirty feet along the
street; the front windows of the old house - one on the ground floor; the other on the second - the very
window through which The Shadow had escaped.
These were the points upon which The Shadow rained his leaden hail. As The Shadow fired, shots came
from those strategic spots. The Shadow, in his lone game, held a strange advantage.
His retreating figure, weaving toward the gloom of the opposite side of the street, was a hopeless target
even for skilled marksmen.
Bullets sizzed past that phantom shape in black. Metal messengers flattened against old walls beyond the
further sidewalk. A single shot that seared The Shadow's shoulder with a trivial flesh wound was the
closest of the mobster bullets.
Doorways and windows - these were the targets which The Shadow had chosen. It was purely through
superiority of numbers that the mobsters had gained their chance to open fire. The Shadow's shots,
blazing back, stilled those nests from which frenzied sharpshooters were sniping.
Quick shots sent mobsters scurrying back along the alleyway. Timely bullets picked two gangsters at the
door; one crumpled within the doorway, the other staggered back. Shots to the downstairs window
dropped a sniper there. Then came the upturned blaze of an automatic.
A gangster, leaning from the second-story window, was aiming for the last spot where he had seen an
automatic spurt. He never found his target. The Shadow's bullet clipped the mobster's shoulder. His
revolver dropped from his hand and clattered to the sidewalk. Then, with a wild scream, the mobster lost
his hold and hurtled forward to the street below.
As this final enemy landed head first upon the paving. The Shadow's laugh came as a mocking peal.
The mobster's rolling form lay still. It was the last motion in the street. The Shadow had gained the
passage between the buildings opposite. Stanch warrior of the night, he had returned to darkness.
POLICE whistles were sounding in the distance. Cries rose from afar. Excitement was arising in this
section of the badlands. Ringing gunfire had been heard for blocks around.
The Shadow no longer remained in the vicinity where confusion reigned. His was a fleeting figure,
traveling unfrequented byways. The swish of a cloak; the soft whisper of a laugh; these alone marked The
Shadow's escaping course.
The Shadow had fought well tonight, yet he had been forced to a struggle which he had not sought.
Battling for his own protection, he had borne the brunt of a conflict which another had precipitated.
Hollow victory had been The Shadow's gain. It was The Cobra who had won tonight. The new avenger
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THECOBRAMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.THECRIMETRAIL?CHAPTERII.THENEWAVENGER?CHAPTERIII.THECOBRAWINS?CHAPTERIV.THECOMMISSIONERHEARS?CHAPTERV.MYLANDADVISES?CHAPTERVI.THESHADOWMOVES?CHAPTERVII.THECOBRA'SLAIR?CHAPTERVIII.THETRAIL?CHAPTERIX.THESHADOWE...

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