Shadow 024 - Six Men Of Evil 02-15-33, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

IT was an axiom in the bad lands that a meeting such as this was a sure forerunner of death. Boots Marcus, engaged only in wolfish battles with others of his ilk, had felt himself somewhat immune from The Shadow’s wrath.

But it was also known that the ways of The Shadow were mysterious. He seldom gave a reason when he struck. Hence, Boots Marcus, petrified by sudden terror, felt the sign of approaching doom.

A low, soft laugh came from The Shadow’s hidden lips. Whatever doubt Boots had entertained regarding the identity of this phantom being were now dispelled. That laugh carried an unearthly echo.

Boots had heard talk of The Shadow’s laugh. Now he had heard the chilling tones themselves. The gang leader shuddered.

“Go back to where you were,” came The Shadow’s voice, in solemn, whispered tones. “Sit down - by the window. I have questions to ask you.”

Boots Marcus obeyed mechanically. For the first moment since he had seen The Shadow, he felt a touch of relief. The eerie whisper was fearful; but its words at least offered a chance for parley.

“I ain’t done nothin’ against you,” began Boots, in a choking, fear-tinged tone. “What d’ya got against me? I ain’t never even as much as tried to buck The Shadow -“

A repetition of the laugh curbed the plea that Boots was making. The laugh was sinister now. Its foreboding tones made Boots decide that silence was in order.

“You have recognized me.” The Shadow’s words came in a weird monotone. “That is excellent. It will enable us to terminate our business promptly.”

The Shadow was approaching the gang leader. The automatic was directly before the eyes of Boots Marcus. The hard-boiled mobster quailed. Then The Shadow’s free hand was extended.

“Give me the envelope that is in your pocket,” demanded The Shadow.

Boots fumbled for the envelope and produced it. The Shadow took it from him. The envelope disappeared beneath the black cloak.

“Now those postal cards,” added The Shadow. “The cards with which you placed the one that you received tonight.”

Boots gasped as he realized that The Shadow must have entered immediately after Pasty had departed. The Shadow had seen the post card that went in the drawer. He had seen other cards lying there.

Still fumbling, Boots produced the post cards. He handed them, in a small bunch, to The Shadow.

Holding the cards within his gloved left hand, The Shadow, with a smooth, skilled motion, spread them so they formed a wide fan. He raised his hand so that he could look at the cards, and still watch Boots Marcus.

With one glance, he noted that the addresses of the cards were identical. Turning his hand over, The Shadow viewed the reverse sides. Every one of the cards bore the picture of a hotel in a different city.

With another short note of mirth, The Shadow slipped the post cards beneath his cloak. His automatic followed. With folded arms, The Shadow faced Boots Marcus.

The gang leader gasped. The Shadow had deliberately put away his weapon!

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