Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 267 - The Robot Master

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THE ROBOT MASTER
Maxwell Grant
This page copyright © 2001 Blackmask Online.
http://www.blackmask.com
? CHAPTER I. TERROR STALKS
? CHAPTER II. THE DOUBLE TRAP
? CHAPTER III. MURDERER'S FLIGHT
? CHAPTER IV. CRIME'S QUESTION
? CHAPTER V. THE ROBOT TEST
? CHAPTER VI. THE COMPROMISE
? CHAPTER VII. THE ROBOT'S REVENGE
? CHAPTER VIII. PARTED TRAILS
? CHAPTER IX. OUT OF THE PAST
? CHAPTER X. DOUBLE TREACHERY
? CHAPTER XI. DEEDS IN THE DARK
? CHAPTER XII. THE WRONG CHOICE
? CHAPTER XIII. FRAMED CRIME
? CHAPTER XIV. ALIBI TRAIL
? CHAPTER XV. MURDER'S QUESTION
? CHAPTER XVI. THE GAME TURNS
? CHAPTER XVII. DEATH POSTPONED
? CHAPTER XVIII. CRIME DENIED
? CHAPTER XIX. WHEN ROBOTS MEET
? CHAPTER XX. THE BRAIN THAT FAILED
CHAPTER I. TERROR STALKS
THE old man who stopped by the newsstand looked feeble, kindly and poverty-stricken. His hand
trembled as it came from his pocket; he smiled when he found he had a few pennies. Finally, he hesitated
when he bought a newspaper, as though trying to choose the one that would give him the most value for
his coppers.
Appearances were deceiving in the case of Professor Adoniram Durand.
He wasn't feeble. He was tired from a long day's work and out of breath from his hurried climb up the
stairs from the subway.
Nor was the professor kindly. His smile was a mask that he used whenever his shrewd brain was at
work on clever schemes that he preferred to keep to himself.
As for being penniless, Professor Durand was - in a sense. He was spending his last change on a
newspaper. But in the pocket that bulged from inside Durand's overcoat, was a wallet stuffed with more
than a thousand dollars in currency.
A queer old chap, Professor Durand; and he was in keeping with this neighborhood, one of the ugliest
and gloomiest sections of Manhattan. People who came from subway stations in this neighborhood
usually looked around to make sure that no "muggers" were in the vicinity. Often they waited until they
saw a policeman going their direction, then requested the cop's services as a convoy.
But Professor Durand seemed to rely upon his shabby appearance to see him on a route to safety. He
wasn't worried about anything except buying the right newspaper
What Durand bought was a five-star final which he began to spread rapidly, scanning its pages by the
trickly light of the newsstand. Along about Page 40, he came across a picture of himself, a small one,
which was recognizable only by the name beneath it, for the photograph was about twenty years old.
Under the picture was a modest headline:
ROBOT TEST GRANTED
Durand's breath wheezed with a satisfied hiss. Hearing it, the news dealer thought it was a noise from the
subway. Durand's face wasn't visible behind the outspread newspaper, which was fortunate. For the
masking smile was gone; the professor's lips carried a gloat that matched the expression of the pin-point
eyes that shone from his sharp, gray-hued face.
There was more to the story, though Durand didn't bother to read it closely, for he knew exactly what it
was. For months, the National Production Board had been waiting for the professor to demonstrate a
machine of his invention, which he termed a "humanized mechanism." The delay had been partly the fault
of the N.P.B., and partly Durand's own.
Today, the N.P.B. had announced competition. A manufacturer named Rodney Moyne was going into
the robot business, claiming that he could not only match Durand's invention, but could outproduce the
old professor. So Durand had phoned the board demanding an immediate test of his newly completed
robot.
The item in the newspaper was the answer. The request was granted; the test would be held tomorrow.
That fact made Durand more eager than ever to complete certain business that he had scheduled for this
evening. It was on that account that he had put on his oldest clothes, left his New Jersey residence and
come to this disreputable portion of Manhattan.
Tucking the newspaper under his arm, Durand thrust his hands in his coat pockets and stalked across the
street. His step was spry. In one pocket his hand was toying with a small box that gave little clicks as he
thumbed a button. Durand's eyes were sharp, quick in their glance, but they finally centered on a truck
that was swinging into the next block and slowing to a stop.
What Durand should have noticed, but didn't, were the figures of skulkers in doorways down the avenue.
As soon as the professor passed the corner of the side street, those hunched forms shifted. Turning
another corner, they took a direction of their own, but it was along a line parallel to Durand's.
FARTHER up the avenue, the dim lights of a parked taxicab came to life. Within the thick gloom of the
cab's interior, a whispered voice spoke from what was seemingly shapeless void. The cab eased into
gear and swerved a corner, its driver acting in response to the weird command.
The dimmed light of a passing street lamp showed a human outline so vague that not one eye in a
thousand pairs could have detected it. The passenger in the cab was part of the gloom because he was
cloaked in black. His face was obscured by the brim of a slouch hat that matched the cloak's jet hue.
That passenger was The Shadow.
Strange personage whose unseen hand could shape the destiny of others, The Shadow was like a
presiding power over the affairs of Professor Adoniram Durand!
The Shadow made it his business to check on all inventors whose creations might prove useful in
combating crime, or which might, conversely, be of value to criminals should they acquire such devices.
Durand's invention fell into that double classification.
Several days ago, The Shadow had paid a secret visit to Durand's New Jersey home, and from there had
trailed the elderly professor to this subway station in Manhattan. Just why Durand should come to this
area was still a question, but it doubtless had to do with his invention.
Tonight, with the success of the invention at stake, The Shadow had played a hunch that Durand would
venture here again. The subway trip was safe enough, but from then on, the professor's journey could
prove hazardous. So The Shadow was literally picking up the trail from the point where he had dropped
it on the earlier occasion.
Circling half a dozen blocks in less time than it took the professor to walk one, the cab enabled The
Shadow to scout the neighborhood in expert style. He glimpsed those skulkers who had been watching
for Durand, saw them slide into an alleyway as the cab went by.
They had the way of "muggers," those thuggish prowlers who infest bad neighborhoods in squads, to rob
and sometimes kill. But they weren't behaving true to mugger form in choosing a man like Durand for
their quarry. The Shadow, too, had studied Professor Durand and classed his shabbiness as flawless.
These muggers, to term them such, were on the lookout for Durand. Otherwise, they wouldn't have
guessed his route beforehand. For when the cab rounded the block, The Shadow saw Durand spryly
pacing this direction, weaving a course for the danger that lay ahead!
Speed was one of The Shadow's greatest assets, and he had trained his cabby, Moe Shrevnitz, to an
instantaneous response. One whispered word, and the cab had swung again into a darkened street. A
mere pause by the curb, and a door was open and shut again, all in the blink of an eye.
Yet in that interval, The Shadow was out of the cab and merged with the surrounding darkness, while the
cab was slithering along its way as though it had not slackened pace at all.
There was a swish as The Shadow turned about to glide back toward the corner that Durand had almost
reached. Then, as if sensing a change in things, the cloaked figure drew back against the house wall and
waited.
Immediately, Durand came from around the corner. The Shadow's conjecture was correct. Durand
wasn't going straight ahead; he was turning into this block, the slight change in his footfalls being an index
to the fact.
Stealthily, The Shadow glided ahead. His hand struck space which he knew must be the entrance of a
narrow alleyway, perhaps connected with the one in the next street where the muggers had performed
their slink. With a quick twist into that darkness, The Shadow paused and listened.
There were no sounds from deep in the passage. No matter how well they knew this neighborhood,
those skulkers couldn't be coming through without some noise, unless they were using flashlights which,
even if well guarded, could be spotted by The Shadow. So the simple system was to wait and let Durand
go past.
Once The Shadow was behind the professor, stalking him like a shaft of night itself, no thugs would have
a chance at ugly work. One of The Shadow's specialties was that of flinging himself from nowhere upon
thugs who tried to pounce upon an unsuspecting prey.
Professor Durand was fortunate in having a powerful guardian tonight. More fortunate than even The
Shadow knew!
That paradox was soon to be proven.
FOOTSTEPS arrived with falls that were light but sharp. They were Durand's, and with them the
professor went bobbing by the outlet of the alley, almost within arm's reach of The Shadow. Durand was
humming a little tune, with just a slight lift in its melody. It became a monotone when he had gone by, and
The Shadow was gauging by it, along with the footfalls, to pick the right moment to follow.
At the same time, The Shadow hadn't forgotten the alley's depth. His attention was somewhat strained in
that direction. Hence it wasn't surprising that he did not hear another sound approach until it had almost
arrived.
It was following Durand's footsteps at the speed of the professor's own pace. It came with heavy
precision, a tramp that carried a muffled clang.
Clump - clump - clump -
The third step was at the very corner of the alley, and with it The Shadow detected a metallic whir.
Already moving outward, The Shadow swished sideways as another clump thudded hard upon the
sidewalk. Cement seemed to crackle under that pound, and with good reason.
Against the dim light of the street, a monstrous figure loomed above The Shadow. Fully eight feet high,
the thing was something more than human, though it had the rough shape of a squatly man. What proved
it to be mechanical was its glisten - that of steel.
The professor's robot!
Durand's own footsteps had halted. Knifing through the robot's clatter came a cackled laugh, telling that
the owner of this mechanical monstrosity had purposely dispatched the metallic creature into the alley
where The Shadow waited!
The automatic that The Shadow whipped from beneath his cloak seemed puny, indeed, compared to the
steel bulk that towered over him. Fortunately, he realized how useless bullets would be against so
formidable a foe. Even as he drew the gun, The Shadow wheeled away, and he was none too soon.
The robot's stride, its reach, its very bulk, were geared beyond anything that The Shadow supposed.
Huge feet the size of snowshoes clumped forward at the ends of stout plunger-legs that had the girth of
stovepipes. They covered five feet at a stride; and the massive metal arms, that made a circular thrust,
covered an equal range.
Attached to those arms were great steel hands that could have pressed a telephone book between their
metal palms, and the fingers that ripped The Shadow's cloak were sharper, stouter than the prongs of ice
tongs. The thing's body was boiler-shaped, like the head that topped it, and the breadth of that body,
plus the sweep of the circling arms, filled the alley entrance, making escape impossible.
Narrowly eluding the grotesque creature's clutch, The Shadow sprang deep into the alley. His course
was suddenly barred by a door set in a high arch. Grabbing the door, The Shadow pulled it open and
dived through, as the great piston-arms swung the mighty steel hand at his back.
They were slapping in at different levels, those hands. One missed because it was too high. What
slackened the other was the door, for the robot's metal claws encountered it.
But this thing of Durand's invention was geared to handle obstacles. As one hand ripped the door from its
hinges, the other came in and grasped the other side. Stumping through the arch, the metal giant flung the
door straight forward like a missile made of straw.
The Shadow was twisting toward the side of a narrow courtyard as the barrier flew by. He saw the door
land and bounce upon a pile of metal pipes lying in front of a brick wall that was about the robot's height.
The steel Goliath was swinging its arms with wider range as it reached the little court. To dodge it would
be impossible!
Instead, The Shadow made a swift spin deep into the court. The door was lying lengthwise across the
pile of pipes, its far end propped against the brick wall. By using the door as a runway, The Shadow
could clear the wall in the few seconds that would still be his before the robot's flaying arms arrived.
The laugh that The Shadow gave was not intended for the robot. He wanted the taunt to be heard by
Professor Durand, creator of the mechanical contraption. Fierce, strident, the tone filled the courtyard
like a challenge to all-comers.
It brought results, that mirth. From atop the wall came the glare of flashlights, burning downward; in their
glow, the faces of the men who owned them.
The lurkers who were waiting for Professor Durand!
Coming through this blind alley from the other side, men of crime, armed with knives and guns, had found
their archenemy, The Shadow, already in a dilemma which promised his absolute doom!
CHAPTER II. THE DOUBLE TRAP
IF ever The Shadow calculated in terms of split seconds, this was the time. He was between two threats,
with nothing in the way of choice. To battle Durand's robot would mean certain death, considering the
cramped size of the courtyard.
Whereas an effort to scale the wall, was merely to give human killers a chance to compete with one
another. There were three thugs at the top. One thug with a gun was flanked by a pair with knives. One
weapon, at least, would drive home before The Shadow could take care of the trio.
The Shadow might have tried the surge, despite the odds, if only to put a fighting finish to his career. But
in that instant a thought flashed home. The robot, being mechanical, could not be aware of the human
threat that also loomed upon The Shadow.
Were those killers on the wall aware of the robot?
Even as the query swept him, The Shadow acted. Halfway up the leaning door, he dropped back, as if to
escape the glare of the revealing flashlights. There was a hard clang from the middle of the tiny court as
the robot clumped straight toward its prey, The Shadow. One more thump and the clutch would come!
If the thugs on the wall recognized the menace of that steel clash, if they sprayed their flashlights past the
lower end of the tilted door - where The Shadow was halting his sudden recoil - all would be lost. But
the killers did neither.
They thought only that The Shadow was diving away from them; that he must have stumbled into
something that produced the clangor. The two who gripped knives weren't going to give their gunner pal
any priority on the question of settling The Shadow. In his turn, the man with the gun preferred to use it at
close range.
As a result, the three sprang down from the wall the moment that The Shadow wheeled from the
flashlight beams. Their triple weight hit the high end of the door and turned it into a springboard. The pile
of pipes served as the fulcrum that sent the near end flying upward, with The Shadow on it!
Catapulted by the improvised teeter, The Shadow zoomed right between the sweeping arms of the
gigantic robot. This time, the hooking hands didn't even skim The Shadow's cloak. Like the star
performer of an acrobatic troupe, The Shadow was scaling the wall, over the heads of the foemen whose
springboard jump pitched him to that realm of safety.
So fast did The Shadow go, that a pair of flying knives found the space where he had been. Those blades
glanced from the turret body of the robot, while the slugs from a barking revolver flattened themselves
upon the same impregnable target. Amid that brief interlude, the steel monster did not miss a stride.
The robot's next clump brought it against the raised end of the door, which telescoped into kindling.
Those great arms took three figures in their next huge sweep and bashed them into one mangled mass
that gave a unified shriek.
Sprawled beyond the wall, amid a pile of boxes that the thugs had used for a ladder, The Shadow heard
the combined cry go as dead as the men who uttered it. Then, before he could reach his feet, The
Shadow was met by a spray of bricks as the robot hit the wall and crunched it.
Flattening backward on his elbows, the cloaked fighter saw the robot tower through the gap and stop
short. There was a muffled whir and the metal monster did an about turn. From its spreading hands fell
lifeless bodies that were buried promptly by an avalanche of bricks, caving into the space that the robot
left.
The steel destroyer was returning to the street, to resume its duty as mechanical bodyguard to its master
and inventor, Professor Adoniram Durand.
UNSTEADILY, The Shadow arose. His flying trip across the wall had jarred him, and the flay of
brickbats wasn't a pleasant aftermath. In fact, The Shadow had lost his sense of direction, for he
blundered into the sides of the new alley where he found himself. He finally decided to choose the easiest
route out which was toward the street from which the muggers had come.
Windows were popping open; people were calling back and forth when The Shadow reached the street.
But no one saw the cloaked shape that reeled along in darkness.
Moe's cab wasn't anywhere around, because The Shadow had dispatched it to another destination. He
had a general idea where Professor Durand was going, though he didn't know the exact address. So The
Shadow picked his course on foot, almost oblivious to the faint whine of police sirens that were
converging back toward the area that Durand and the robot had already left.
All the while, The Shadow's mode of progress was becoming more like his accustomed glide. The same
instinct that guided his footsteps was pulling him out of his dazed state. Steadying himself at corners, he
kept looking for Durand and the robot, without success, until from a neighboring block he heard a faint
clump-clump.
Immediately, The Shadow was on the trail of the metal terror that had so nearly conquered him. Oddly,
the sound became elusive as The Shadow approached it, until it was gone entirely. Coming to a corner,
The Shadow looked one direction and saw a parked truck, its lights out. Turning at a right angle, he
spied a stooped figure entering a doorway halfway along another block.
The stooped man was Professor Durand. Steadying, The Shadow headed for the door in question,
keeping a sharp lookout.
Reaching the door that Durand had entered, The Shadow found that it was unlocked. Unless the robot
happened to be telescopic, it couldn't have preceded Durand indoors; therefore, The Shadow decided
that any lurking trouble would be provided by the professor himself. The Shadow drew an automatic as
he entered the door.
THE place looked innocent enough. It was just an old house, poorly furnished and apparently very
sparsely occupied. What The Shadow entered was a dimly lighted hall, that boasted only a hat rack and
a chair. There were doors alongside the hall, adorned with cobwebs, proving that they hadn't been
opened in weeks or months.
Obviously, no one was living on the ground floor. As further proof, The Shadow noted that the dim light
came from the top of the stairs. There were creaks on the floor above, indicating that Durand had gone
there without his robot, which probably would have crunched right through the stairway if its master had
sent it on ahead of him.
The Shadow wasn't as swift as usual in climbing the stairs, but his ascent was silent. Moreover, he was in
time to spy Durand, because the professor was detained by a locked door at which he had stopped to
rap.
The door was just opening when The Shadow arrived at the stair-top, and his old speed returned while
Durand was entering and shutting the door. Just as the door closed, The Shadow reached its corner and
gave his cloak a sweep. The hem of the black garment flicked into the door edge and tangled with the
closing latch.
Half a minute later The Shadow was inching the door open, thanks to the bunched cloth that retarded the
latch. Durand and another man were seated in a little room furnished like an old-fashioned parlor.
The other man was a bit younger than Durand, but his face was haggard. Whether his pallor was due to
illness or merely nerves, was difficult to tell. Even Durand, who apparently knew the man quite well, was
having trouble in analyzing his state.
Durand was saying, "Tell me, Talman, how soon will you be able to return to work?"
Talman spoke in a wheezy tone. "I don't know," he said. "You see... the doctor -"
"You told me all about the doctor," interrupted Durand. "I was here only a few days ago. Remember?"
Talman's nod showed that he remembered; but his manner was more nervous than before, something
which Durand did not fail to notice.
"You seemed very worried then, Talman. So worried that I thought you might be getting delirious. You
know, in a delirium, a man sometimes repeats things he shouldn't - such as giving the details of somebody
else's invention!"
Talman licked his dry lips. He forgot his wheeze as he exclaimed:
"No, no, professor! I wouldn't -"
"Of course you wouldn't," soothed Durand. He reached over and clapped his hand on Talman's shoulder.
"Why, I've trusted you for years, Tim. That's why I brought you a little bonus."
Laying his newspaper aside, Durand brought the wallet from his inside pocket and began to count the
money slowly. Talman was staring with an avaricious glint in his watery eyes, when Durand remarked:
"Tell me when it's enough, Tim."
"Enough?"
"Yes. In proper proportion to the amount that Rodney Moyne paid you."
Frantically, Talman pushed Durand's money aside. Coming to his feet, Talman remembered his wheeze
as he started to pace across the room, protesting all the while that he'd never seen or even heard of
Rodney Moyne. At the finish, Durand shook his head.
"You've heard of Moyne," said Durand. "He was one of the men that I sent Zarratt to see. Moyne said
he'd finance my invention, but only on his own terms. So Zarratt and I crossed him off the list."
"But I wasn't there -"
"Yes, you were, Tim," interposed Durand. "If you don't believe me, I'll phone Niles Zarratt -"
Talman stammered that it wouldn't be necessary to call Zarratt. He'd just recalled the incident in question.
In the same breath, Talman wheezed that he was still loyal to Durand. Apparently convinced, Durand put
away his money, smiled, and thrust his hands into his overcoat pockets.
Talman misunderstood the motion. Madly, he sprang to a desk, yanked open the drawer and pulled out a
gun.
Durand pounced over, twisted the fellow's wrist and wrenched the weapon away. With one hand,
Durand shoved Talman to a chair; at the same time, Durand's other fist tightened on the gun.
By then, The Shadow's own gun was drawn. If the professor intended to kill Talman, The Shadow was
prepared to prevent the deed, whether Durand was justified or not. But Durand promptly relaxed and
tossed the gun into a chair. So The Shadow relaxed, too, by cloaking his automatic.
Durand could afford to ease; not so The Shadow.
Hardly was The Shadow's gun away before the pressure of a muzzle poked beneath his elbow. The
Shadow turned, almost expecting to see the robot monster looming beside him, a gun in its metal fist.
What The Shadow viewed was anything but monstrous.
On the other end of the revolver was a girl, whose determined expression detracted nothing from her
charm. Her eyes, however, had a glint as steely as the gun; her tone was low, but sharp, as she ordered
The Shadow to step back from the door.
Professor Adoniram Durand was having more than his share of protection this evening. He had begun
with The Shadow as a guardian, switched to a mammoth robot, and had finally wound up under the
escort of a blonde!
CHAPTER III. MURDERER'S FLIGHT
THE SHADOW did not have to ask the girl who she was. He knew that professor Durand had a
daughter named Sheila, and the blonde could be none but she. The girl's eyes were narrowed in the
fashion of Durand's, and they were merely an index to the family relationship.
Sheila's features had the aristocratic mold that characterized her father - the same high nose and firm lips.
But whereas age and long experience had given Durand's visage the semblance of a mask, the girl's face
was fresh and natural. The Shadow observed something else.
In back of Sheila was another stairway, leading up and beyond a solid wall. Very obviously the girl had
been waiting in that unnoticed nook until her father arrived. Therefore, it was unlikely that she knew
anything about Durand's adventures on the way here.
The Shadow resolved to gamble on that factor.
Voices were rising beyond the door. Durand was denouncing Talman as a thief and a traitor.
In return, Talman's voice was reaching a frantic scream, high-pitched with denials. So earnest were both
Durand and Talman, that neither guessed what was happening outside the door.
There, Sheila's eyes were probing for some sight of The Shadow's features, hidden beneath the brim of
his slouch hat. All that the girl could see was the upturned collar of The Shadow's cloak, hiding the
portion of his face that the hat brim did not shield.
One of The Shadow's raised hands made a gesture toward the door. Timed to another of Talman's
denying shrieks, The Shadow spoke in a whispered tone:
"You can hear for yourself, Miss Durand. Talman is threatening your father. I came here to protect
Professor Durand. Thus you are making a great mistake."
The girl hesitated, which proved that she knew nothing about Durand's use of the robot as a convoy.
Indeed, Sheila would have taken The Shadow at his word, but for a change in Talman's tone. The
accused man was weakening, pleading with Durand to listen, promising that he would tell the whole truth.
Above Talman's voice came Durand's, firm and masterful, saying he would listen.
Sheila spoke. Her words were as accusing as her father's, and were directed to The Shadow.
"My father needs no protection," the girl asserted. "He has nothing to fear from a weakling like Talman.
You can hear for yourself."
"You can see for yourself," spoke The Shadow. "Eyes can learn more than ears. Look into the room and
you will view the real menace that threatens your father!"
Sheila's eyes gave a quick dart toward the door.
"Beyond Talman you will see an inner door," continued The Shadow. "It leads to another room. From
that door, a revolver is covering Professor Durand, ready to fire the moment that Talman breaks down!"
Sheer bluff, The Shadow's statement. He had noticed the door he mentioned, but it was tightly closed.
Nevertheless, his ruse was a good one. Knowing that Sheila's concern for her father was great, The
Shadow was supplying the perfect diversion. Should the girl forget The Shadow, if only briefly, he would
be able to seize her gun before she used it.
Sheila caught herself in time. About to turn to the door, she shifted, so that she could look across The
Shadow's shoulder, past his raised arm, at the same time keeping him covered. She didn't realize that
she'd be putting her gaze out of focus thus giving The Shadow part of the opportunity he wanted.
Not enough for The Shadow to grab the gun as he wanted, but sufficient for him to knock it aside.
Unwillingly, The Shadow was forced to switch his own plan, that of handling Sheila silently, to that of
ridding himself from his present predicament at cost of breaking up the conference between Durand and
Talman.
To The Shadow it was a foregone conclusion that Durand and Talman would forget their argument if they
heard Sheila's gun start shooting in the hallway. Still, it was the only way, so The Shadow inched his
elbow downward, intending to knock the muzzle away from his body.
BEFORE The Shadow could deliver the elbow jog, Sheila rendered the move unnecessary. With a sharp
gasp that widened her eyes along with her lips, the girl whipped the revolver clear of The Shadow and
thrust the weapon toward the opening at the door edge. Her eyes reflected the same horror that her gasp
proclaimed.
The girl was totally forgetting The Shadow; so totally that it was plain she must believe the things he had
stated. His back toward the door, The Shadow couldn't see what Sheila saw, but he needed nothing
more than his present view of the girl's face.
In a trice, The Shadow took over.
With one arm, he hooked Sheila's passing gun hand and jarred it upward so sharply that the revolver left
the girl's grasp. Catching the barrel of the flying weapon, The Shadow didn't waste time juggling it.
Instead, he simply flipped it over the banister of the lower stairway, and with the same sweep sped his
hand beneath his cloak to draw an automatic.
Spinning about, The Shadow used his other hand to propel Sheila the other direction. Landing back on
her elbows, the astonished girl found herself a dozen feet from the doorway, through which The Shadow
was already driving, pushing the door ahead of him with a shove of his automatic.
With the very start of that surge, The Shadow saw the proof he expected. The bluff that he had given
Sheila was fact. From the door of the inner room, at an angle behind Talman, a revolver muzzle was
projecting, trained directly upon Durand!
There was plenty of clatter to The Shadow's entry, and with good reason. He wanted to do more than
startle Durand and Talman. His purpose was to attract the attention of that unseen marksman beyond the
far door.
The Shadow succeeded.
Sight of The Shadow, fully caparisoned in black and brandishing a huge automatic, was quite enough for
the prospective murderer who lurked in Talman's inner room. The aiming gun swung from Durand and
centered on The Shadow, all in a twinkling.
But the gun muzzle didn't twinkle.
It blasted with a fiery cough meant for The Shadow, a spurt of deadly flame that would have delivered a
knifing bullet into any ordinary fighter unwary enough to dare the hidden killer's aim. Had it stabbed
twice, it might have clipped The Shadow; but once was not enough.
The Shadow wasn't trying to jump the distant gun. His surge was turning into a low, long dive, the
moment he was through the doorway. The hidden assassin didn't realize that The Shadow's sprawl was a
split second ahead of the gun shot. Thinking that he had winged The Shadow, the unknown swung his
revolver back toward Durand.
摘要：

THEROBOTMASTERMaxwellGrantThispagecopyright©2001BlackmaskOnline.http://www.blackmask.com?CHAPTERI.TERRORSTALKS?CHAPTERII.THEDOUBLETRAP?CHAPTERIII.MURDERER'SFLIGHT?CHAPTERIV.CRIME'SQUESTION?CHAPTERV.THEROBOTTEST?CHAPTERVI.THECOMPROMISE?CHAPTERVII.THEROBOT'SREVENGE?CHAPTERVIII.PARTEDTRAILS?CHAPTERIX.O...

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