Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 186 by Maxwel l Grant

Author:Maxwel,l Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XI. DEATH BELOW

LOCKED with two thugs like Skate and Dingbat, The Shadow held advantages that his antagonists did not suspect. He had long ago trained himself to battles of this sort; and in actual experience, he had frequently utilized the many tricks he knew.

Thuggish fighters were all alike. Given odds in their favor, they used them recklessly. In certain ways, The Shadow preferred to handle two such foemen, rather than one. A pair would always behave true to form.

Skate and Dingbat were doing just that. Each was trying to clutch The Shadow with a free hand, and get a gun fist into play. The Shadow, both hands in sweeping action, was actually equalizing the struggle.

He had hauled a second automatic from beneath his cloak, and the way he sledged those big guns was a sight to be remembered. Back against the wall, he was slashing past the hands that grabbed for him, striking the gun fists of his foemen.

Guns blasted. Their shots were wide, including the ones The Shadow loosed. But the whine of bullets past their ears did not please the brawling mobbies. Stirred to new frenzy, they tried to batter past The Shadow's guns. That was when he grappled.

Whirling, he spun the two men about with him. On the outside of the circle, they were flung hard along the farther wall, as the reeling trio ricocheted against it.

Jolted, they lost their grip upon The Shadow. They came back for more, but not as promptly as they had at first. This time, one or the other seemed due for a blow from one of The Shadow's descending guns.

It was Enwald who spoiled the picture.

Wielding the bottle, Enwald had been trying to swing it over the heads of his pals to reach The Shadow.

That was one reason why the cloaked fighter had wheeled away from the far wall. Enwald's swings had come too close.

There was no calculating the fellow's strokes. Enwald wasn't of the thug type; he was a fighter who had an individual style. His drinks had handicapped his accuracy; but with that loss, he had gained an eccentric touch that was highly dangerous.

His blows might come in from anywhere, when least expected. The Shadow had to keep away from Enwald, for the present.

The sallow man was driving in again, before The Shadow could settle either Skate or Dingbat. Grappling with one thug, The Shadow reeled him against the other, who also came to grips. Again, the three were in a spin, The Shadow the center of it, before Enwald could smash home a blow.

Opportunity came The Shadow's way.

Close to that spinning path was the broken chair that Enwald had flung into the hallway. Stopping short, The Shadow hooked one foot against it. Past the glaring faces of Skate and Dingbat, The Shadow saw Enwald lunging forward with the bottle. A hard kick, a sideward shove—the thing was done.

The Shadow and his two adversaries were gone from Enwald's path but the chair was there. The sallow man tripped over it.

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