Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 224 - The Thunder King

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THE THUNDER KING
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. OUT OF THE BLACK
? CHAPTER II. MEN OF THE NIGHT
? CHAPTER III. THE WRONG ROAD
? CHAPTER IV. CRIME RETRACED
? CHAPTER V. IN THE RIVAL CAMP
? CHAPTER VI. TRAILS REVERSED
? CHAPTER VII. CROSSED BATTLE
? CHAPTER VIII. DEATH FROM THE HILL
? CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW TRAITS
? CHAPTER X. CRIME'S RESULTS
? CHAPTER XI. MARGO TAKES A TRIP
? CHAPTER XII. THUNDER OVER MANHATTAN
? CHAPTER XIII. MARGO'S MESSAGE
? CHAPTER XIV. THE SHORTEST WAY
? CHAPTER XV. THE MURDER MACHINE
? CHAPTER XVI. JOLTS OF DEATH
? CHAPTER XVII. TRAILS TO DISASTER
? CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW'S EXIT
? CHAPTER XIX. RIVALS MEET
? CHAPTER XX. MASTER OF THUNDER
CHAPTER I. OUT OF THE BLACK
THE cafe lounge of the Hotel Metrolite was a quiet, comfortable place to wait for someone, but Margo
Lane had been waiting too long. She was waiting for Lamont Cranston and he was ten minutes overdue,
which meant that he had probably forgotten the appointment; usually, he was very punctual.
An added annoyance was the man at a near table, who kept ogling looks in Margo's direction. Perhaps
he admired brunettes of Margo's type, but his appearance didn't impress Margo favorably. Though sleek
and well dressed, the fellow had ratlike eyes that darted from his sharp, sallow face.
He'd given his name to a waiter, loud enough for Margo to overhear. He'd asked if there had been any
calls for Harvey Quade, and the waiter had gone to find out. Just now, the waiter was returning to tell
Quade that there were no messages.
Rather than appear interested, Margo let her eyes drift toward the door, hoping that Lamont would
appear.
Her eyes riveted.
Coming through the door was a man she recognized by his stooped shoulders and the long face above
them. The blinks of the man's colorless eyes clinched his identity. He was Louis Wilbert, private
investigator working for Universal Industries, a concern with which Lamont Cranston was associated.
Margo had seen Wilbert talking to Cranston outside the Cobalt Club, a few days ago. At the time, she
had been waiting in Cranston's limousine, hence Wilbert hadn't seen her. Later, Lamont had told her who
Wilbert was, and had been rather noncommittal in his opinions regarding the investigator.
Margo had gathered that Wilbert might be capable, but that his methods were somewhat doubtful. Her
opinion was strengthened as she watched Wilbert cross the cafe lounge.
Wilbert came directly to Quade's table. There, the long-faced investigator shook hands with the ratlike
man. They ordered drinks from the waiter, and began a buzzing conversation. Margo was quite confident
that their talk must concern Universal Industries.
Feigning indifference, Margo stopped the waiter as he passed her table and ordered a Mirage cocktail;
then, with no change of demeanor, she strained to listen to the neighboring conversation.
Margo understood the set-up of Universal Industries. It was a huge, new corporation organized by a
financier named Oswald Kelber, and Universal Industries had taken on tremendous contracts to build
and equip new factory units that would turn out materials for national defense.
Universal Industries would lose those contracts if deliveries were not made within a specified time; hence
Kelber, fearing unforeseen delays, had hired Wilbert to check conditions at the various plants connected
with Universal Industries.
One man would probably be very glad if Universal Industries should fail to deliver. That man's name was
Jerome Thorden, and he headed a large business group known as Thorden Enterprises. Thorden had
been after the very same contracts but Kelber had underbid him. Should Kelber be forced to drop the
contracts, Thorden would take them over.
Wilbert and Quade had finished their drinks and were ready for another round, when Margo's Mirage
cocktail arrived. The Mirage was a pinkish concoction that looked like a very powerful cocktail, but it
actually contained nothing stronger than grape juice. Margo could drink Mirages all evening without
losing any of her wits, and at present, her choice of such a drink was bringing dividends.
Seeing Quade glance at Margo's table, Wilbert did the same. Both mistook the Mirage for a rum
concoction, and they decided that the brunette wasn't in a listening mood. Unconsciously, they let their
voices rise a trifle. Margo overheard them.
"I've finished most of the work that Kelber wants," said Wilbert "So far, it's been mostly a routine job."
"Has he paid you off yet?" inquired Quade.
"Not yet," returned Wilbert. "He's still expecting a final bill. Which makes me think" - Wilbert was
stroking his long chin - "that if I showed him the correspondence you mention, it would be worth plenty -
to both of us."
"It ought to be," grunted Quade. "It would give you proof of everything you suspect."
Wilbert nodded; then Margo heard him say:
"There's just one question, Quade: how much Kelber will pay. You see, I'm working for him -"
"But this comes outside your regular job," interposed Quade. Then, with a sharp laugh, he added: "Away
outside!"
"Kelber may not see it that way."
"Let him make an offer," suggested Quade. "If it isn't enough, take it up with Thorden. I'll bet that he'd
pay double."
Wilbert gave Quade an indignant stare, and queried:
"You'd want me to double-cross the man I'm working for?"
The question brought a guffaw from Quade, who seemed to consider honesty on Wilbert's part as
worthy of a jest. The guffaw was overloud and caused Wilbert to glance in Margo's direction.
Fortunately, a waiter was passing the brunette's table, and she promptly pointed to her empty glass and
ordered: "Another."
Nevertheless, Wilbert and Quade lowered their voices as they resumed their conversation.
Margo caught snatches of their talk as she sipped the next Mirage. They seemed to agree that they would
have to acquire the correspondence that they had previously mentioned, before negotiating with either
Kelber or Thorden. Margo heard Wilbert ask:
"How long would it take us to get out there, Quade?"
"About three hours," Quade replied. "We take Highway 95, over in New Jersey, and follow it as far as
-"
He paused abruptly, flashed a ratty look toward Margo. Then, even though the girl didn't appear to be
noticing, Quade buried the rest of his statement in a mumble that Wilbert could hear, but Margo could
not. Wilbert nodded as he listened. He beckoned to the waiter and paid the check. The two went out.
Promptly, Margo hurried to a telephone. She called the Cobalt Club, to see if Cranston was there; but he
wasn't. So she tried his home in New Jersey, and gave a pleased ejaculation when she heard Cranston's
quiet, even tone across the wire.
"Sorry, Margo," said Cranston. "I was going to call you, to say I'd be late. Some business acquaintances
stopped by, and I didn't notice the time until they left. We were talking about Universal Industries -"
"And so am I!" put in Margo. "Lamont, I've just seen Wilbert. He was making some sort of a deal with a
man named Quade. Listen, while I give the details -"
Cranston listened, but seemed only mildly interested. When Margo emphasized the final point - that
Wilbert and Quade were starting on a mysterious mission along Highway 95 - Cranston interposed with
a tired drawl.
"I suppose you think that I should try to follow them," he said, "or have someone trail them for me. Very
ridiculous, Margo. It would be nothing but a wild-goose chase!"
"Then I'm a wild goose!" snapped Margo. "I have my car here, and I still can overtake that pair. You'll
hear from me later, Lamont!"
SLAMMING the telephone receiver, Margo flaunted from the hotel, took her coupe from the parking
space that an obliging doorman had found for her, and started toward the Lincoln Tunnel. She was still
boiling when she drove into the tube, but as she neared the New Jersey exit, she cooled.
Odd, thought Margo, that her appointment with Cranston should have enabled her to witness the meeting
between Wilbert and Quade.
Perhaps Lamont had known that Wilbert was to meet someone at the Metrolite and had deliberately
arranged for Margo to be there, in case he should be detained elsewhere. If so, it was natural that he
should have pretended indifference later, for when Lamont Cranston played any part, he carried it to the
full. For example, the matter of The Shadow.
Everyone knew of The Shadow, that strange, mysterious fighter in black who battled crime to its doom.
But few suspected that The Shadow, in private life, posed as Lamont Cranston, wealthy New York
clubman.
Margo was one of the few who did suspect it, but even she could not always be sure. The Shadow
certainly had ways of appearing in places when Lamont Cranston didn't seem to be anywhere around!
Probably The Shadow wanted Margo to take up this trail, and therefore, when speaking as Cranston, he
was true to form when he discouraged her. But the point was that Margo hadn't been discouraged. She
was actually on the trail, despite Cranston. Things could work that way, where The Shadow was
concerned.
Thus convinced, Margo glued herself to the task of picking up the trail, and was successful as she neared
the beginning of Highway 95. She saw a car turn off ahead of her, just as a traffic light changed to green,
and the glow from a service station gave her a view of the men in the other coupe.
Harvey Quade was at the wheel, and his companion was Louis Wilbert.
The night was moonless, and stars afforded very little light as Margo followed the other car along the
devious turns of Highway 95. She was careful to keep well behind, so that if Wilbert or Quade noticed
her headlights in their rear-view mirror, they would simply think that another car had chanced to take the
same road.
Route 95 was an old one, and for once, short hills and sharp bends were Margo's idea of perfect driving
conditions. Time and again, she was able to close in on the car ahead and spot it taking a slope, or a
curve.
This was rugged country, and the highway followed the deep ravine of a creek. At times, it dipped and
crossed the stream over bridges; more often, it skirted the fringes of the gorge, where heavy guard rails
protected motorists from skidding into the threatening depths. At intervals, Margo noted great buttresses
of ghostly gray that loomed to a higher level.
They marked the new superhighway that was soon to replace Route 95. Having driven the old road
before, Margo knew that soon it would swing beneath the arch of a great concrete span that stretched
across the deep ravine.
There would be a climb first, a steep side road to the left, a short level stretch, and then a gradual gradual
left-ward curve that would take the old road under the new bridge.
A good place to gain on the car ahead. Margo recognized the upgrade as she neared it and gave her car
a spurt. She was doing forty as she passed the side road, and she held that speed along the level.
At the curve, she let her foot go to the brake pedal, though she expected that the motor itself would
sufficiently reduced her speed. Still, it was best to play safe, for the ravine was on her right and Margo
didn't care to test the strength of the guard rail.
She caught the gleam of a taillight as she took the bend. There was only one car that it could be - the one
containing Wilbert and Quade.
Just ahead of the other car, looming like a cavernous maw, was the archway of the great new span. The
other car was curving into it, as though some monster were receiving it in a side-mouthed gulp. The
thought gave Margo a momentary shudder. It was curious how she could imagine things.
But nothing, in all of Margo's wildest fancy, could have matched what did occur.
IT came before Quade's car even reached the harmless gullet of the bridge. Margo had heard of bolts
from the blue; this was a bolt from the black. It struck downward from the blocked-off glow of the stars
above the huge concrete bridge.
It was a flash of forked lightning, jagged, brilliant in its gleam, terrific in its stroke. A blinding flash,
accompanied by a smash of thunder that seemed to burst Margo's ears and jar her from the wheel.
Her own car lurched over toward the guard rail, as her foot instinctively drove down on the brake pedal.
But the jounce that she took was as nothing compared to what happened to the car ahead
Like a shaft of doom hurled by some ancient thunder god, the bolt struck the car containing Wilbert and
Quade, made it twist and writhe like a living creature in agony.
Wrenched out of shape as the lightning lashed it, the car actually somersaulted toward the guard rail. It
didn't have to bounce across the barrier, for the rail itself was cloven by the bolt, and with it went a chunk
of roadway ripped up by lightning's power.
Margo had a momentary glimpse of the doomed car plunging into the ravine; then blackness was back
again, in all its intensity.
Then, as a final touch to those loud, but short-lived peals, Margo heard a dull, metallic crash drift upward
from the depths of the ravine.
It marked the final halt of the doomed car beside the rock-strewn creek, a hundred feet below. A token
of double death that had come to Louis Wilbert and Harvey Quade, whose scheme for mutual profit had
perished with them!
CHAPTER II. MEN OF THE NIGHT
MARGO'S car was perched against the guard rail, some thirty feet short of the spot where the barrier
had broken to let Wilbert and Quade take their plunge from the old highway.
Probably the drop hadn't been needed to seal their doom, for Margo's recollection of the lightning stroke
was vivid enough to include a picture of a car so twisted that death could have come instantly to the
occupants.
There was something else that Margo remembered, though it came back to her gradually. The concrete
bridge had been plainly shown in the glare that had turned blackness into something more brilliant than
daylight. She recalled tall towers, skeleton structures, on the bridge itself, and a truck parked beside
them. She wondered if the truck had occupants, too; if so, how they had fared.
Her own plight didn't bother her, chiefly because it did not seem serious. She was safe - alive; that much
was certain. She couldn't wonder what to do next because she felt too dazed. Besides, her eyes still saw
jagged flashes - after-images of the lightning - and she was wondering, vaguely, why no thunderclaps
accompanied the brilliance.
Her eyes tightly shut, Margo pressed them with her hands, and gradually the forked light faded. Then,
oddly, she thought she heard the thunder rumbling from somewhere up above her. It didn't come with a
loud burst, nor did it echo as it had before, and very suddenly, Margo realized that it wasn't thunder at
all.
The noise was the motor of the truck that she had seen on the bridge. It was pulling away from the span
above.
Margo reached for the door of the coupe. She couldn't find it at first, because she was lying on it. At last,
she recognized the tilt at which the car had stopped. Pulling herself up against the wheel, she groped for
the door handle.
The door gave of its own accord and Margo rolled out into the arms of two men, who had opened the
door from the outside.
She couldn't see their faces, even though there was a slight trace of starlight, for her eyes were just
recovering from the ordeal of the lightning. But Margo, taking these arrivals for friends, thought she must
tell them what had happened.
"One car went off the road," she gasped. "It had two men in it! The lightning struck it! There was a
truck... up on the bridge -"
One man was hauling Margo to her feet. The other pushed something cold against her neck. The
pressure, plus the man's growl, told Margo that the object was a gun.
"All right, wise dame," the man said. "You're coming with us, and no squawks!"
Margo made no squawk. She was too dazed even to stay on her feet. The road wasn't tilted the way her
car was, and she lost her sense of balance. Before gripping hands could halt her, she slumped back into
the car. Her head rolled away from the gun and angled across the wheel. The first man was trying to haul
her out through the door again, when the fellow with the gun gruffed:
"Hold it! Here comes a car the other way."
The tone was half gloating, and Margo saw why, when she half opened her eyes. Headlights were
swinging from beneath the arch of the concrete bridge, and only by a sudden maneuver did the arriving
car escape disaster.
The lightning had carved the narrow highway almost to its center, and the left wheels of the car just
missed the fissure, as the driver swung the right ones against the embankment.
Chunks dropped from the center of the road as the car pushed past. It veered slightly and its headlights
fully illuminated Margo's coupe and the men beside it. With a glance, the girl observed the pair.
They looked rough, but fairly respectable; more like a pair of truckers than the thugs that Margo knew
they must be.
Half hidden by his companion, the man with the gun was sliding the weapon away, but Margo saw that
both were keeping their hands in their coat pockets.
As the other car arrived, a clatter told that the door had opened on the driver's side. The two thugs
couldn't see the man who was getting out, because he was in back of the lights. Thinking that Margo had
gone back into her daze, the pair stepped forward, rather affably. Margo heard one speaking to the man
that he couldn't see.
"You'd better hop along the road," he said, "and warn people about the cave-in, so they won't come
through. The girl's all right" - he was gesturing back in Margo's direction - "and we'll look after her."
Desperately, Margo raised her head.
"No, no!" she called. "I'm not all right! Look out; those men have guns!"
THE thugs were turning when they heard Margo's outcry, and she thought they were going to pounce
back to her car, to silence her; hence, she sped the rest of the warning. But the mere mention of guns
produced a reverse effect.
Wheeling, the thugs yanked their weapons and sprang for the driver of the rescue car, hoping to suppress
him.
They were going into blackness beyond the lights; at least, so they thought. Instead, that blackness
surged out to meet them. It came in the shape of a cloaked fighter, who already carried a drawn
automatic; a figure whose challenging laugh was an added token of identity.
The Shadow!
How he had come here from the wrong direction, was as much a mystery to Margo as to the would-be
captors who had hoped to suppress her. However, sight of crime's archfoe blotted trifling matters from
their minds. Their guns already drawn, they tried to use them.
It was a foolish effort, considering that The Shadow already held them covered, and his speed with a gun
trigger would easily have enabled him to jab two shots before either thug could supply one.
But The Shadow wasn't wasting bullets at this moment, nor did he care to deliver death where other
measures would suffice. He made a slash at one crook's gun, while his other hand sped for the second
man's wrist and plucked it upward.
The first gun flew to the roadway; the second spouted a harmless shot in the air. With a twist, The
Shadow not only wrenched the gun from the hand that had fired it; his leverage on the man's arm
somersaulted the thug a dozen feet from Margo's car.
The first man, scrambling to regain his lost revolver, was halted by The Shadow's laugh; while the other,
on hands and knees, looked more dazed than Margo had when she rolled from the coupe.
It would have been an easy victory for The Shadow, but for the seemingly useless shot that one of the
foemen had fired. That shot proved a signal.
Before The Shadow could huddle the two prisoners together, guns began to blast from down the road.
Bullets whizzed past Margo's coupe wide shots, but close enough to prove that marksmen would soon
find the range, with The Shadow as their target, if he remained where he was.
Oddly, The Shadow did remain. He seemed bewildered, as he wheeled toward Margo's car. The thugs
close by grabbed up their guns and sprang for their black-clad foe, thinking that it was now their turn for
victory.
Ending his bewildered pretense, The Shadow twisted hard upon them, giving a mocking laugh that told
how ably he had tricked them. It was too late, then, for the pair to change their misguided tactics.
The Shadow was upon them. Slashing with his automatic, gripping with his free hand, he was knocking
other guns aside, and at the same time hauling his forman into a grapple that they could not escape. The
Shadow wasn't slugging them into submission, as he could easily have done; he was letting them continue
a groggy struggle, so that they served as human shields against the distant gunfire.
Always, the two buffeted thugs were between The Shadow and the marksmen somewhere down the
road; hence the spasmodic shots continued to be wide. Sharpshooters were yelling for their pals to wrest
away, to allow clear aim at The Shadow; but the two thugs couldn't.
One person, alone, failed to realize The Shadow's strategy. That person was Margo Lane, at present
back behind the wheel of her tilted coupe. From Margo's restricted viewpoint, The Shadow's grapple
with two foemen looked legitimate enough. Indeed, the way he reeled to turn his antagonists toward the
gunfire, made it seem that they were gaining the upper hand.
They were swinging their guns, those thugs, and Margo didn't realize that The Shadow was letting them.
Each time he parried a wild stroke, Margo thought that luck was partly responsible. The grapplers were
at the very door of the car, and Margo valiantly tried to equalize the struggle by grabbing at the first man
she could reach.
At that moment, The Shadow was voicing a sharp command, apparently meant for someone in his own
car. Too late to countermand the order, he hurled one thug aside and lunged for the other, who was
turning to beat off Margo's clutch.
The lights of The Shadow's roadster were suddenly extinguished, a result of his command, bringing a
blanket of absolute blackness upon the scene.
THINGS happened quickly, and blindly. The Shadow hooked the second thug as the fellow's swinging
gun was descending toward Margo's head. The action would have fully diverted the stroke, if Margo,
thanks to her tenacious grip, hadn't come along.
As it was, she took a glancing blow that gave her the sensation of bursts of light amid the darkness, a
miniature reminder of the lightning flash that she had seen earlier.
Margo's grip was gone. She rolled back into the car, while the slugging thug, caught by the full fury of
The Shadow's fling, took off for the other side of the road in a spinning plunge that landed him headlong.
Hurled like chaff, The Shadow's two antagonists were gone, while Margo's moan, coming from within the
coupe, revealed that she was not too badly hurt. With darkness laying its deep shroud over all, The
Shadow had attained the setting that he needed.
Again, The Shadow's laugh; this time a taunt that carried its sardonic mirth to distant men who had halted
their useless gunfire. The challenge that only The Shadow could utter, a tone that carried prophecy along
with its note of triumph.
A relentless laugh, promising victory in the greater fray that was to come. Victory, not for those
marksmen who no longer had a target, but for the avenger who opposed them, The Shadow!
CHAPTER III. THE WRONG ROAD
THE SHADOW'S gun was talking from deep darkness, its stabs directed toward the enemies who had
tried to clip him from long range. Uncannily, he had gauged their position from their earlier fire and was
placing shots too close for their comfort. They began an immediate retreat, supplying a wild return fire as
they went.
The thing that baffled that crew completely was the way The Shadow's fire shifted. The spurts of his gun
came from varied angles, in a style that they could not fathom
At one moment, he seemed to be shooting from the rail that bordered the ravine; at the next, from
somewhere on the other side of the road. The range of his fire also fluctuated, making it impossible to
guess where he had gone.
It didn't occur to those retiring gunners that they were dealing with two opponents, instead of one. Having
lost sight of The Shadow during his struggle beside Margo's coupe, they supposed that he had gotten
back to his own car and turned off the lights himself.
Actually, the lights were blotted out by Harry Vincent, one of The Shadow's secret agents, who had
accompanied his chief on this expedition. Harry had simply awaited The Shadow's order.
Once given, the order was also Harry's cue to join the fray. He was out of the car, pumping shots along
with The Shadow's. Perfectly teamed, The Shadow and his agent were alternating their fire, each picking
up where the other left off. Such sporadic gunnery bewildered the opposition, making them think that The
Shadow might be anywhere - or everywhere.
Indeed, The Shadow intended to further that impression. Drawing a fresh automatic, he delivered two
quick shots - a signal for Harry to continue the fire alone. Crossing to the inside of the road, The Shadow
was ready to move in rapidly upon his foemen, to reveal himself among them while they still believed him
to be elsewhere.
He had calculated their number to be no more than four, and a surprise attack from their midst would be
sufficient to scatter a group of that small size.
But before The Shadow could make his advance through darkness, his opponents received a warning. It
came from the two thugs who had taken those sprawls in the road.
Finding their feet and their guns, they were too chary to attempt new combat with The Shadow. Instead,
they crept to the inside of the road and began climbing up among rocks and slender trees, to reach the
higher level.
Loosened stones began to tumble down, while saplings crackled as the fugitives gripped them. Realizing
that they were giving themselves away, they went the limit.
"Look out for The Shadow!" yelled one. "He's moving in on you!"
"He's got other guys with him!" howled the other. "A bunch of them -"
The rest was drowned by the burst of guns. Turning, The Shadow was shooting in the direction of the
voices, largely for Harry's benefit. The Shadow's own position was unknown; that of his agent could be
spotted. The thing was to spur the flight of the two fugitives before they could get in deadly work. The
Shadow succeeded - and more.
Not only did his bullets ricochet among the rocks; those slugs nicked the fleeing men, for the wild shots
that they sent back were interspersed with howls. After that, they fired no more; the only sounds from
their direction were stumbling clambers toward the top of the steep slope.
They wouldn't have taken that precipitous route unless it offered safety, and The Shadow promptly linked
their flight with the calls that they had given.
Down the road, four other men were in rapid retreat past the shelter of the bend. Unquestionably they
had a car awaiting them; hence, there was only one way to overtake them, along with the crippled
fugitives who had scaled the height.
Springing toward his roadster, The Shadow met Harry on the way. He sliced a flashlight's gleam toward
Margo's tilted coupe, revealing the half-stunned girl behind the wheel. He gave quick orders to his agent,
then leaped to the wheel of his own roadster. Big lights glimmered; The Shadow shot the car into gear
and was away with a roar.
By then, Harry was at the coupe, pushing Margo to the high side of the car. Backing the coupe, Harry
worked it to the middle of the road, then started forward. Since The Shadow's car was gone, the way
was clear.
Bearing to the left, Harry avoided the cleft in the road and continued beneath the great arch of the
concrete bridge, carrying Margo off to safety.
MEANWHILE, The Shadow, speeding in the opposite direction, caught the shine of lights off to his right
and above. Crooks had reached their car and were starting it up the steep side road that Margo had
noted when she passed it earlier.
Veering hard to the left, The Shadow skimmed the guard rail, applying the brakes after yanking the wheel
hard to the right. The sudden jolt actually put the big roadster into a skid that enabled him to make the
hairpin turn. Then, accelerator shoved to the floor board, he was spurting up the steep slope of the
narrow side road, on the trail of the car that carried the fugitive mob.
Crooks couldn't have supposed that The Shadow would make the U-turn in one sweep; otherwise, they
wouldn't have slackened their flight to take on the two men who had clambered up from the rocky slope.
Those two were hardly on the running board, before The Shadow's lights loomed into sight from the rear,
fully disclosing the fugitive car as a rakish sedan, the very sort that mobbies would prefer.
The man at the wheel of the sedan did not wait for others to open the doors and take the wounded thugs
on board. He gave his car all the speed he could, took it over a sharp rise, and made a sudden turn to the
right.
Perhaps he hoped that the swerve would deceive The Shadow, but it didn't. The pursuing roadster was
too close to lose the trail.
Therewith, The Shadow made a valuable discovery. In cutting off to the right, the sedan was picking a
road not yet opened for public travel. It was leading The Shadow across the great span that formed a
link in the new superhighway that crossed above Route 95.
Where one car was going, another could have preceded it. And that fact told its own story. The Shadow
knew, without Margo's testimony, that the disaster that overwhelmed Wilbert and Quade must have
come from the bridge top.
There was no sign of the truck that Margo had observed coincident with the lightning flash, for it had
gone; but The Shadow recognized the existence of such a vehicle and knew that the fleeing sedan was
nothing but a cover-up car, that had come along Route 95 to make sure that murder was properly
delivered.
The roadbed of the great bridge was a level of rough concrete that had not yet been surfaced, hence it
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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：74 页 大小：188.15KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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