Maxwell Grant - The shadow - 184 - The Masked Lady

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THE MASKED LADY
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. CRIME TO COME
? CHAPTER II. THE VEILED GUEST
? CHAPTER III. MASKED FLIGHT
? CHAPTER IV. THE LOST TRAIL
? CHAPTER V. THE DEATH ROOM
? CHAPTER VI. TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS
? CHAPTER VII. CROOKS ON THE MOVE
? CHAPTER VIII. THE GIRL IN RED
? CHAPTER IX. DEATH STRIKES AGAIN
? CHAPTER X. FIND THE LADY
? CHAPTER XI. GATHERED EVIDENCE
? CHAPTER XII. AT THE HOSPITAL
? CHAPTER XIII. THE LAW MOVES
? CHAPTER XI. CRIME'S BACKGROUND
? CHAPTER XV. THE PROVEN ALIBI
? CHAPTER XVI. CHUCK TALKS TERMS
? CHAPTER XVII. THE LOOSE LINK
? CHAPTER XVIII. DEATH GREETS THE SHADOW
? CHAPTER XIX. THE CAPTURED LADY
? CHAPTER XX. FACTS OF CRIME
? CHAPTER XXI. DEATH BRINGS DEATH
CHAPTER I. CRIME TO COME
POLICE COMMISSIONER RALPH WESTON was seated behind the big desk in his office stifling the
impatient words that he wanted to utter. His lips, alternately tightening and opening, sent wiggles to the
pointed tips of his military mustache; but, so far, the commissioner had managed to restrain himself from
vocal outburst.
It was the end of a busy day, and Weston had reasons for not wanting to stay overtime at his office. But
when Perry Brodwin was announced as a visitor, the commissioner could not decline to see him, even
though Brodwin had not telephoned beforehand to make an appointment.
Perry Brodwin was doing all the talking, as he had a right to do, under the circumstances. A big man,
forceful in speech and with a powerful fist that jarred Weston's mahogany desk with repeated thwacks,
Brodwin rated as New York's most ardent champion of reform.
Though Brodwin was elderly, his face was youthful. The white hair that flowed above his chiseled
features would have done credit to an ancient war horse. In fact, other reformers had termed Brodwin a
"war horse," and in tribute to his dynamic personality and ceaseless energy they had chosen him as leader
of the Better City League, a reform organization which Brodwin had helped to found.
Two other listeners were present besides Weston. One was Inspector Joe Cardona, a stocky man with a
swarthy, poker-faced countenance. Weston had summoned Cardona to the office to hear what Brodwin
had to say.
The second witness to the proceedings was Lamont Cranston, millionaire clubman, whose face was
masklike and hawkish in profile. Though he was listening, Cranston seemed little interested in the
discussion which, so far, had been handled by Brodwin. Cranston had simply come here to meet Weston
and take the commissioner to dinner at the Cobalt Club, of which they both were members.
Brodwin's big fist gave the desk top a final whack, that might have split woodwork of less thickness.
"There you have it, commissioner!" boomed the white-haired reformer. "I have proven that gambling is
rampant in our city; that it is controlled by some hidden crime king! My question is: what do you intend to
do about it?"
Weston pondered carefully before committing himself. Then he said, tersely:
"There are gambling houses in town, yes. Too many of them, I admit. But they are operating under the
charters of private clubs. We cannot close them."
"You can raid them," asserted Brodwin, "and thereby prove that they are engaged in illegal practices."
"If we catch them with the goods," admitted Weston. "Unfortunately, they are too well posted on our
moves. Inspector Cardona can give you details on that point, Mr. Brodwin."
With a wave of his hand, Brodwin dismissed the details before Cardona could get started.
"Granted that you are doing your best in that direction," he rumbled, "why do you not attack the situation
from another angle?"
"What angle, Mr. Brodwin?"
"The angle that these gaming houses are controlled by racketeers." insisted Brodwin. "We know that they
pay immense sums for protection, either to some syndicate that demands such tribute, or to one man who
rules the whole game. Why not expose the racket for what it is?"
Wearily, Weston shook his head.
"We'd like to do that," he said, "but we can act only upon complaint from one of the victims. Other
rackets have been cracked because the victims, engaged in honest enterprise, were willing to complain.
But these gamblers, operating illegally, simply refuse to admit that the racket exists."
"If just one man could be found to -"
"Find him, Mr. Brodwin," invited Weston, tartly, "and bring him in here. We shall guarantee him immunity,
if he tells all he knows. I know that the district attorney's office will co-operate."
BRODWIN sat back in his chair. Weston smiled, pleased that he had managed to pass the problem to
Brodwin. The Better City League was well enough organized, in Weston's opinion, to do something on
its own. But Brodwin, evidently, was up against the same difficulty as the police. He and his fellow
reformers simply could not find a gaming-house proprietor who would complain.
Suddenly, Brodwin remembered another theme.
"Something must be done," he said, seriously, "otherwise, this situation will produce murder and mob
warfare. It is your duty, commissioner, to prevent such strife."
Weston nodded, very intently. Brodwin adjusted a large pair of spectacles on his nose and looked
through a stack of papers that he had brought with him.
"During the past two months," stated Brodwin, "a gambler named Lucien Darra has been in New York.
According to our records, Darra made a great deal of money, some estimates say as high as a quarter
million dollars, operating a gambling house in Miami."
Weston looked to Cardona, who nodded as if the news was old to him.
"That's right, commissioner," gruffed the inspector. "Darra lives in a little apartment off Lexington Avenue.
He just hired a pug named Mike Yober for a bodyguard. Only, Darra calls Mike a butler."
"I have heard nothing of this;" reproved Weston. "What is this man Darra doing in town?"
"Nothing as yet," returned Cardona. "That's why we haven't bothered him, commissioner."
Brodwin was rustling another sheet of paper.
"Only last week," he declared, "another gambler, named Waldo Hoxland, arrived from California. He
had been running a gambling ship off Catalina Island, but without much success. Perhaps" - Brodwin
swung to Cardona - "you have heard of Hoxland, inspector?"
Again Joe nodded.
"He's been behaving legally too," said the inspector. "Hoxland has a guy named Lou Telf working for him.
You've heard of Telf, commissioner - the fellow who used to run a private detective agency."
Weston gave a suspicious grumble. "Why is Telf working for a man like Hoxland?"
"Because Telf needs dough," replied Cardona, bluntly. "With Hoxland doing nothing illegal, there's no
reason why Telf shouldn't work for him. He's been looking over the night clubs, Telf has, to see what
kind of business they're doing. Maybe Hoxland is thinking of starting one."
"Exactly what Telf says," announced Brodwin. "I had him come up to my office, and questioned him. I
believe that Telf is honest, but" - he was wagging his forefinger - "I do not think that Telf knows
Hoxland's real purpose."
"What is it?" inquired Weston.
"To join his old partner Darra" - Brodwin was pushing the papers across the desk, tapping paragraphs
that proved the former connection - "and start a de luxe gambling house of their own."
"To buck the syndicate?" demanded Cardona, suddenly. "If they try to run against that racket, there will
be plenty of trouble! You're right, Mr. Brodwin. The mobs will be in it."
Weston pushed the papers back to Brodwin.
"Let it start," decided the commissioner. "We'll trace it back to the head of the racket ring. I know what
you'd like me to do, Mr. Brodwin: that would be to order Darra and Hoxland out of town, to prevent
bloodshed. But that would be exceeding my authority."
GATHERING up his papers, Brodwin rose indignantly. Weston rose also; following the reformer to the
door, the commissioner kept assuring him that the law would do its part as soon as crooks actually
showed their hand. Brodwin was rather mollified when he gave a parting handshake.
Closing the door, Weston came back to the desk and sat down with a relieved sigh.
"That's over!" he exclaimed. "It turned out better than I'd hoped. Brodwin is addressing a reform mass
meeting at Symphony Hall tonight, and I feared that he intended to rake me. But when he shook hands,
he said he would be lenient."
Glancing at his watch, Weston decided that it was too late to go to the Cobalt Club.
"I'm leaving for Albany in an hour," he told Cranston. "I shall have to eat dinner on the train. Sorry."
Lamont Cranston merely smiled. When he spoke, he brought the subject back to the matter that Weston
had discussed with Brodwin.
"Regarding those two gamblers," said Cranston, in a leisurely tone. "I feel quite positive that they intend to
work together."
"What evidence could you have, Cranston?"
"I have met Lucien Darra," was the even-toned reply. "He has made an effort to meet people during the
past few months. This morning, I received an invitation to a party at his apartment."
Cranston tossed an engraved card on the commissioner's desk. Weston stared at it, then passed it to
Cardona, with the comment:
"An invitation to a reception given by Lucien Darra, in honor of Waldo Hoxland."
Cardona stared at the card as if he didn't believe it. Gamblers going swank was something that rather
amazed the police inspector. Meanwhile, Weston had a query.
"Why didn't Brodwin know about this?" he asked. "How is it that no word came to us?"
"Darra would not send an invitation to a reformer," returned Cranston, with a smile, "nor to the police. He
has been making the acquaintance of cafe society, so that he will have customers for the gaming house
that he intends to operate with Hoxland."
"And you met him -"
"At the Top Hat Club; where I happened to stop one night. Darra probably put my name on his mailing
list. Of course" - Cranston was about to tear up the engraved card, as Cardona returned it - "I shall
ignore this invitation."
"No, no!" objected Weston, hastily. "Go there, Cranston! You will probably enjoy yourself this evening.
Moreover" - the commissioner was eager - "you will do me a great favor!"
When Cranston registered surprise, Weston explained.
"I shall hear from Perry Brodwin again," he said. "It would help greatly if I could show that we have been
looking into the gambling situation quite as capably as the Better City League. Your report on what
happens at Darra's tonight will be great help, Cranston."
LEAVING the commissioner's office, Lamont Cranston entered a large limousine and told the chauffeur
to take him to the Cobalt Club, where he was to dine alone. As the big car rolled along, Cranston's thin
lips gave a low, sibilant laugh.
It was weird, that mirth, even though it was no more than a whisper, and its tone pronounced the true
identity of the man who posed as Lamont Cranston. He was The Shadow!
Strange being who tracked down crime, The Shadow was usually identified as a figure cloaked in black,
who moved in upon criminals in their territory and put a prompt end to their schemes, often with the aid
of two large automatic pistols. But The Shadow had other ways of reaching the terrain where crime was
fostered.
Tonight, he intended to go as Cranston and see what happened at the so-called reception that might
mark the resumption of a partnership between the two gamblers: Lucien Darra and Waldo Hoxland.
There was a real Lamont Cranston, a man of considerable wealth - but he was usually at far corners of
the world hunting big game and exploring. At such times, The Shadow assumed his identity.
From the facts that he had already learned while playing the part of Cranston, The Shadow could foresee
crime to come. But even he - like Brodwin, Weston and Cardona - had no inkling of how soon it would
begin.
Crime was due to strike tonight, under circumstances that would prove startling, even to The Shadow!
CHAPTER II. THE VEILED GUEST
LUCIEN DARRA lived in an old house that had been converted into apartments. The entry was on the
basement level, down a few steps from the sidewalk. Arriving in his limousine, The Shadow saw a human
watchdog near that entrance.
The watcher did not belong to Darra. The Shadow recognized him as Lou Telf, the private detective who
worked for Waldo Hoxland.
Telf was a thin, stoop-shouldered man, whose pointed features gave him the expression of a snooper.
Evidently Hoxland did not care to have him mingle with socially prominent guests, therefore, had left him
outside.
Of course, Telf was also serving as a lookout for both Darra and Hoxland. He stared toward the
limousine as The Shadow stepped from it. Seeing Cranston, a figure in evening clothes, with a coat over
his arm, Telf accepted him as one of the invited guests and gave no challenge.
Going down the few steps, The Shadow followed a short passage, then ascended the stairway to the first
floor. Darra's door was the only one on that floor; as The Shadow knocked, the door swung quickly
open and Lamont Cranston was face to face with Darra's bodyguard, Mike Yober.
The ex-pugilist was husky enough, but looked rather the worse for wear. As Cranston, The Shadow had
never before met a butler, or even a serving man, who could boast a cauliflower ear. Mike's eyes had a
squint that looked as if it had been punched into them, but there was nothing wrong with the fellow's
vision.
Deciding that Cranston was one of the guests, the bodyguard asked for his card. When The Shadow
tendered it, Mike ushered him into a little entry and offered to take his hat and coat. Seeing other
garments lying on chairs, The Shadow merely smiled and laid his own with them, to save Mike the
trouble.
Walking stiffly ahead, Mike crossed a hallway to a living room, smoothed the bulging Tuxedo that he
wore, and announced in a voice that suited a prizefight referee:
"Mr. Lamont Cranston."
Meanwhile, The Shadow was looking over the hall. The entry opened into the very center of it. On the
right, toward the front of the apartment, the hallway opened into bedrooms. On the left, it showed an
open doorway to a room that made a small office.
The living room was almost straight across the hallway, and when The Shadow entered he observed a
doorway in the far left corner. It opened into a large kitchen behind Darra's office. Gaining the proper
observation point, The Shadow saw that the kitchen door to the outside was very heavy, and
double-bolted.
Perhaps there were times when Darra liked to go out by that route, but the gambler had fixed it so that
unwelcome parties would not drop in to see him by the back-way.
WHILE shaking hands with people who seemed pleased that Cranston was with them, The Shadow
observed that the reception was a very informal affair. True, the men were wearing evening clothes and
the women displaying elaborate gowns, but they were lounging about, very much at home.
In fact, the best-groomed man was Lucien Darra. The host was a tall, long-faced man, whose hair was
very sleek. His handclasp had a velvety touch despite its firmness, and his tone of welcome was an oily
purr. Never the less, when he said he was glad to see Cranston, he apparently meant it.
A marked contrast was Waldo Hoxland. The visiting gambler was big, bulky, and bluff-faced. In a jolly
mood, he had taken advantage of being guest of honor, to act the clown. His coat was off and he was
wearing a large apron, while he jangled a cocktail shaker.
Filling a glass for Cranston, Hoxland drained the shaker, juggled it, listening to the rattle of ice, and did an
"Off to Buffalo" shuffle out into the kitchen, to mix some more drinks. His shoulder hit the swinging door,
knocking it shut, and there was a crash of breaking glasses that brought laughter from the other guests.
Hoxland poked his head in through the door, gave a grin and announced: "It's all right, folks!" Everybody
thought it funny, so he kept repeating the process at intervals.
Though Lamont Cranston began to chat with other guests, his keen eyes kept noticing Lucien Darra. The
sleek member of the gambling partnership conversed with certain people in an undertone. Noting Darra's
lips, catching replies, The Shadow soon established something that he had suspected.
Darra had already been gambling on a big scale, but only with selected friends that he had invited to this
apartment. Such games as blackjack and poker were his specialty, and it was quite obvious that Darra
had not been the loser. The fact that certain guests had not come tonight indicated that they had dropped
too much cash to Darra, and did not care to see him again.
It was evident, though, that Darra had built up his circle of acquaintances. It was likely that he had
weeded out the group by trimming the less-wealthy ones at cards.
Most of the people that The Shadow saw tonight were more than mere habitues of night clubs. They
were the type who were also listed in the social register, or who had hopes of being some day recognized
as members of New York's elite.
New guests, as they arrived, were being greeted by friends, and among the later arrivals were a few
members of the swanky Cobalt Club. They were shaking hands enthusiastically with Cranston, when
Hoxland again appeared from the kitchen.
Since the living room was crowding, Hoxland was bringing two cocktail shakers, swinging them in each
hand, like dumbbells. He was looking toward Darra, to see if his sleek pal liked the mirth-provoking
tactics.
But Darra, at that moment, was busy conferring with Mike Yober.
FOLLOWING Hoxland's gaze, The Shadow saw the reason for the buzzed conversation between Darra
and the husky bodyguard.
Another guest was in the hallway, a girl who evidently did not intend to join the party. She was wearing a
dark skirt, that lacked the trailing effect of an evening gown, and she was keeping a light coat bundled
tightly about her. The small hat that she wore had a veil that came down to her chin, and in the gloom of
the hallway, her face could not be discerned.
There was poise in her manner, that had probably impressed Lou Telf, down on the street. As for Mike
Yober, he had admitted the girl because she had one of the engraved invitation cards. The pug showed it
to Darra, who glanced toward the hall and purred:
"What's her name?"
Mike didn't know. The lady wanted to talk to Darra privately, that was all. The gambler said something
to Mike, who nodded. The Shadow saw Mike return to the hallway and point the veiled visitor in the
direction of the office, while Darra came over to Hoxland.
"Keep the party going, Waldo," said Darra. "Pour those drinks, and shake up some more. I don't want
this gang to go to sleep on me."
Hoxland promptly started to pour the cocktails. As he filled the first glass, he queried in an undertone:
"How about one for the lady?"
"She'll join the party if she wants one," returned Darra. "Whoever she is, she's got some business to talk
about first. That's what she told Mike."
THERE was one less guest in the living room when Hoxland had finished pouring cocktails and was
starting to the kitchen to mix more. Quite unnoticed, Lamont Cranston's hand worked toward the hallway
door.
From that vantage point, he saw that the door to the office was closed. Mike was waiting outside it, in
case Darra called for him, but from his impatient motions, it appeared that the bodyguard did not intend
to stay there long.
Crossing to the entry, Lamont Cranston disappeared from sight, and then erased himself entirely. He
became The Shadow.
His cloak and hat were under the coat that he had carried with him, as were the thin gloves that made up
part of his black attire. His automatics were already holstered beneath his evening clothes; hence the
transformation required but a very short time of space.
Instead of Cranston, the entry held a tall shape that blended with the wall's gloom when Mike went past.
The bodyguard was taking his station at the living-room door, where he remained between times. Mike's
back was turned when The Shadow emerged from the entry and moved carefully leftward along the hall.
At the door of Darra's office, The Shadow blended against the dark oak so well, that Mike did not
notice him when he occasionally glanced that way. The Shadow's one difficulty was the door. It was
latched from the other side.
To settle that difficulty, The Shadow produced a tiny implement shaped like a bradawl. It lay in the palm
of his gloved hand; pressure of his fingers projected a pointed spike no thicker than a needle.
By pushing the needle through the woodwork, The Shadow intended to press back the door latch and
learn what the conference was about. The tiny instrument would leave no mark in the woodwork; Darra
would never know that The Shadow had probed the door latch, even if he made an inspection.
But Darra's worries - even any that concerned The Shadow - were just about ended.
Before The Shadow could press the needle, he heard a muffled shot beyond the latched door. There was
an excited cry in a feminine tone. By the time The Shadow had flicked the spike back into the tiny
bradawl and dropped the instrument into his pocket, there was a click from the doorknob.
The Shadow was drawing an automatic, intending to shoot his way into the office, when he was saved
the trouble of ruining the door. It whipped inward; on the threshold stood the girl whose rescue The
Shadow had intended. Her veil was lifted above the tiny hat she wore, but that detail did not reveal her
face.
She was wearing a mask made from a blue bandanna handkerchief. Only her eyes were visible, through
two slits in the cloth, for the bandanna formed a triangle point down to her chin. Her eyes looked darkish,
there were tufts of blond hair at each side of the mask; but those details were scarcely important at the
moment.
In her hand, the girl held a small revolver. Whether by chance or design, she had the gun trained straight
toward The Shadow, whose cloaked form was plainly visible in the glow from the well-lighted office.
Such was The Shadow's first meeting with the unknown girl who was beginning her career as the
Masked Lady.
It threatened to be his last, as well!
CHAPTER III. MASKED FLIGHT
PERHAPS the Masked Lady was startled by the sudden appearance of The Shadow upon the very
threshold of the room she was about to leave. Her finger failed to stiffen on the gun trigger, until a gloved
hand had swept forward, to clamp her wrist.
Then the girl fired, but the bullet sizzled wide. The Shadow's quick grab had started her gun hand
upward. The Shadow had saved himself from death - unlike Darra, whose sprawled body was on the
floor, halfway between the office desk and the wall.
Though The Shadow saw what had happened to Lucien Darra, the sight was not visible from farther
down the hall. There, Mike Yober was beginning a charge in The Shadow's direction. The clatter of the
door had brought the bodyguard, and Mike was choosing The Shadow as his natural foe.
The girl lost her gun as The Shadow sent her spinning half across the office. Turning, the black-cloaked
fighter swung his automatic, to knock Mike's half-drawn revolver from the new challenger's hand. Loss
of a gun didn't bother the pug. Mike used his fists instead.
Boring in among the punches, The Shadow grappled the bodyguard. Without dropping his gun, the
cloaked fighter gained a jujitsu hold and sent Mike bouncing back along the floor. Mike managed to drag
The Shadow with him in that sprawl, which helped the Masked Lady.
Scooping up her revolver, she started through the hall, slamming the office door behind her. She did not
aim for The Shadow or Mike as they wrestled on the gloomy floor. She was more concerned with
others, who blocked the path ahead.
It happened that Mike had gone to answer the apartment door, to admit a trio of guests - two men and a
woman - when the excitement began at the office door. Thus there were three other witnesses, beside
Mike, who knew that the girl had come alone from the office and that The Shadow had merely loomed
up from somewhere, to intercept her.
They didn't know that Lucien Darra lay dead in the office that the Masked Lady had just left. She knew
it, though, and the fact that she would be wanted for murder, spurred her desire for escape. The Masked
Lady aimed for the incoming guests and they scattered.
Firing once, the unknown girl reached the entry, turned about and gestured her revolver toward the living
room. There were yells from that quarter, with sounds of frantic scurries. Instead of wasting more bullets,
the Masked Lady ignored the massed guests and fled.
During the girl's dash along the hall, The Shadow had managed to aim after her, despite Mike's struggles.
Preferring to capture the girl alive, The Shadow had withheld his fire, as long as lives were not
threatened. As the girl ducked out through the entry. The Shadow had his chance to settle Mike.
Another man dashed in ahead of him. It was Hoxland, coming from the kitchen. Attracted by the shouts
of the guests, the big man had rushed out into the living room, apron and all, carrying a cocktail shaker,
which he evidently hoped to use as a weapon. Spying the Masked Lady, Hoxland was after her, half a
dozen steps ahead of The Shadow.
Shouts from the living room told that guests were rallying to join the pursuit, but they were far behind.
Down to the lower passage, along it to the front door, The Shadow could glimpse the Masked Lady
ahead, with Hoxland's big frame forming a barrier in between.
Hoxland was yelling that he had a gun, but the shouts didn't stop the girl.
ON the sidewalk, Lou Telf sprang out to block the girl. The fact that she was hurrying away from
Darra's, was enough to bring the private detective into action. He grabbed for the bandanna mask with
one hand, tried to get the girl's revolver with the other, and in his haste, missed both.
Dropping back, Telf reached for a revolver of his own, as the girl made a gun gesture in his direction.
Hoxland, arriving at that moment, yelled: "Look out! She's going to fire!"
Telf would have ignored the warning, had Hoxland let him. The dick saw the Masked Lady dart for a
cab and figured he had time to drop her. But Hoxland wasn't looking in the girl's direction. He wanted to
save Telf, and the measure he used would have been a great help, had the Masked Lady actually waited
to settle the private dick.
Diving for Telf, Hoxland flung the full weight of his bulky body on the thinnish man. Together, they
sprawled across a low rail, down into a low pit outside a basement window. Hoxland's gun and Telf's
cocktail shaker went clanking, side by side.
By then, The Shadow had reached the sidewalk. The girl's cab was starting away with plenty of speed,
for the Masked Lady had placed her gun against the driver's neck.
The taxi driver had parked here hoping to pick up guests when they left Darra's party. He hadn't counted
on a passenger such as the one he now had, but he wasn't asking any questions; he was simply doing as
told.
Beyond a line of parked cars, the cab made a difficult target. The Shadow did not fire after it. He had a
better plan.
Another cab was cruising along the street; it sped suddenly toward the spot that the first cab had left. The
Shadow sprang out to meet it. The cab was his own, driven by a hackie named Moe Shrevnitz, a secret
agent of The Shadow. The Shadow had ordered it to be in this vicinity.
The Shadow had not gone half a dozen paces before a gun began to talk. Telf had picked up his revolver
and was firing wildly in the direction of the cab that carried the Masked Lady. Those shots, useless in
themselves, produced the same effect as a stone hurled into a tree-load of ripe apples.
Guns began to spurt from across the street; from doorways near Darra's, as well. They weren't aimed in
the direction of the departing car. They were pointing for a black-clad target that was streaking across
the sidewalk. From somewhere, a raucous voice inserted the yell:
"The Shadow! Get him!"
Hoxland dragged Telf down into the pit. Both had seen The Shadow, knew that the shots were meant for
the fighter in black. But Hoxland was quick enough to see that they might be spotted next.
"Cripes!" gulped the gambler. "The dame's got a mob! Lay low or they'll come for us, after they knock
off The Shadow!"
As he voiced that statement, Hoxland didn't concede The Shadow a chance. A crook at heart, he wasn't
at all unhappy at the thought of The Shadow's finish. But Hoxland had overcalculated the ability of sniping
mobbies, and was lacking in proper estimate of The Shadow's tactics.
Never, pausing, The Shadow had whirled clear of the sidewalk just as Moe's cab came along. The door
yawned to receive the cloaked passenger; The Shadow spun aboard it without waiting for the vehicle to
stop. The door slammed shut behind him, and at the same instant, so it seemed, an automatic muzzle was
jabbing shots from the cab window.
THOUGH the cab was dented by the flanking fire, The Shadow escaped unscathed. Moreover, he was
out of range of the marksmen who had harried his swift course. His stabs were directed for others, who
lay ahead, in ambush, and he found the targets he wanted.
Snipers, opening fire too soon, were picked off by The Shadow. As some howled, others ducked for
deeper shelter. Those in the rear were rushing for cars of their own, to take up the chase. The Shadow,
on the trail of the Masked Lady, was bringing a crew of vengeful crooks in pursuit of his own cab.
Amid the rattle of guns, guests from Darra's apartment decided they would be better off upstairs. Thus,
as the sounds of moving battle faded around the corner, the only persons remaining on the scene were
Hoxland and Telf.
As Hoxland picked up the cocktail shaker, Telf stowed his gun away. The dick began to apologize for
letting the Masked Lady into the apartment.
摘要：

THEMASKEDLADYMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.CRIMETOCOME?CHAPTERII.THEVEILEDGUEST?CHAPTERIII.MASKEDFLIGHT?CHAPTERIV.THELOSTTRAIL?CHAPTERV.THEDEATHROOM?CHAPTERVI.TWENTYTHOUSANDDOLLARS?CHAPTERVII.CROOKSONTHEMOVE?CHAPTERVIII.THEGIRLINRED?CHAPTERIX.DEA...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：70 页 大小：176.58KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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