The Shadow 191 by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WESTWARD through hilly Pennsylvania country, then southward into Maryland - at all stages, the chart plucked usable roads out of a maze of highways. It was in Pennsylvania, however, that the chart showed a definite change.

From there, down into the Blue Ridge country, it no longer listed regular stopping places. It simply named spots where cans of gasoline could be found, buried for emergency use; it named towns where the travelers could stop for food or repairs without attracting too much attention.

But none of those places was guaranteed as safe. It was a case of using good judgment.

The car finally reached a small cottage nestled in the Maryland hills, away from a road. The place looked abandoned, until the arrivals entered it. They found the house stocked with food and supplied with cots.

Tired crooks were stretching on the cots, when Clicker rasped instructions.

“Before you guys grab some shuteye,” he told them, “we’ll have a look at the swag. Wait a minute - don’t all jump at once! One guy’s got to watch the door of this -”

Cliff interrupted by stationing himself at the door, a drawn gun in his hand. The others perched on their cots, watching Clicker open the metal dispatch box.

“This junk comes first,” sneered Clicker, taking a flattened hat and a tight-rolled cloak from the box. “I picked it up while I was doing some shooting tonight. Maybe you guys can figure who it belonged to.”

Mobsters were agog. Their voices overlapped, as they hoarsed the name:

“The Shadow!”

“Yeah, The Shadow!” Clicker’s tone was contemptuous. “A lot of saps thought he never could be rubbed out. That was about as funny as the Feds thinking they could croak me!”

Amid approving mutters, Clicker draped the cloak over his own shoulders. Seeing his leering face above the black collar, the crooks showed high glee. They weren’t surprised that Clicker had knocked off The Shadow. Noted for his immunity to bullets, Clicker was the one man who could do it.

Picking up the hat, Clicker tugged it down over his head; its brim deflected the light and hid his face. The crooks were pleased by this impersonation of The Shadow; they laughed when they heard Clicker’s voice come from obscuring darkness.

“I got some surprises for you,” rasped the speaker. “First, there’s no swag, because the job went sour.” With a push, he knocked the dispatch box from the table where it lay. Crooks stared amazed, when they saw that it was empty. “Next, I didn’t croak The Shadow -”

Thugs looked up, amazed to hear Clicker belie his former statement. They saw deft hands come from the folds of the cloak, bringing out a brace of automatics. Then they were listening to a voice that actually went with that garb of black. It was a sinister, throbbing mockery - The Shadow’s own!

“There wasn’t a chance for Clicker Lordon to get The Shadow,” announced the black-clad speaker, “because Clicker is still in Chicago. He is there to stay, for a very good reason. Clicker is

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