The Shadow 273 by Maxwell Grant

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

THE startled truck driver saw the victim receive the clutch of hands that bent his arms behind him. A sallow mugger produced a button knife and flipped a blade point to the man’s throat. A pleading voice changed to the chatter of teeth, when the victim heard his captors say to shut his mouth unless he wanted his throat open. With practiced skill, the muggers went through the man’s pockets, taking everything of value, while the truck driver did not dare to stir.

Having caused Pell’s death, the truckman didn’t want to add another tragedy. He was sure that if he tried to chase the muggers, they would slay their victim before turning to a new attack.

All the while, those sirens were getting closer!

Their prey properly plucked, the muggers kicked his feet from under him and left him floundering in the street. Murder wasn’t part of their line, when a victim didn’t fight. Stuffing the man’s money in their pockets, they started running northward up the avenue, passing the truck where the driver huddled, clutching a big monkey wrench.

That was when the driver yelled, hoping his shout would be heard by the cars that were almost at hand. The muggers turned, intending to gang the trucker, when they heard a sound that gave them chills of their own.

The laugh of The Shadow, coming from the darkened street that led to the river!

With mad accord, the muggers dashed along the avenue, spurred by the laugh that still pursued them. They were sighted by police cars swinging a corner and the vehicles took up the chase, with one exception. The last of three cars halted, signaled by the truck driver, who was over beside the mugging victim, helping the bewildered man to his feet.

Three streets farther up the avenue, the muggers were turning toward the river. Police cars roared after them, thinking the fugitives could be boxed at that dead end. But when the first car halted at the river bank, there wasn’t a sign of any muggers. Three in number, they had timed their dash to a perfect getaway.

How long that perfection could have lasted was a question. The cops kept flickering flashlights toward the river, thinking the muggers might have jumped there. But the mucky waters showed no trace of swimming forms, nor did doorways reveal any signs of lurkers. Perhaps the police might have begun to look in the right direction, before it was too late, but that was rather doubtful; nevertheless they became alert enough when all was pointed out to then.

First came a weird laugh, from somewhere back along the water’s edge. It was The Shadow’s mirth, for he had gone back by his street and had climbed the high fence just past the cement trapdoor. Suspecting that muggers, like Apaches, would have a way out, The Shadow wanted a preview of it and had gained one.

Following the laugh, The Shadow delivered a pistol shot. Police not only heard, but saw it, for they had turned at The Shadow’s call.

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