Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 111 by Maxwel l Grant

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

CHAPTER XV. FOILED HOUNDS

ONE factor favored The Shadow. Though trapped, he had been found by men who were not of a criminal sort. Director Borman, knowing that Adam Woodstock's body was to be discovered, had used smart policy. He had sent ordinary detectives into the contractor's house; men who had long been on the Westford force. He had decided that their preliminary reports would be better than those of the outsiders who formed the Flying Squadron.

As yet, The Shadow had not clashed directly with any of the city's loyal police. Bluecoats had joined the khaki-clad squadron men in last night's chase; but The Shadow had been speeding away when the regular police took up the chase. Hence, he was an unknown factor to the real supporters of the law in Westford.

These headquarters men were like the police of Lieutenant Maclare's precinct. They were capable, but slow-witted. Director Borman preferred such officers. The Shadow knew that fact; he took advantage of it. Despite his trapped position, he saw chance for a quick getaway.

As usual, The Shadow did the unexpected. His natural course lay downward; but he spurned that route.

His prompt decision was based on the fact that men were better prepared below; moreover, there was no way to guess instantly their number. Above were but two men; they were in the throes of a second surprise, for they had just found Woodstock's body. They did not expect The Shadow to come in their direction.

That direction, however, was the one that The Shadow chose; and he took his course with amazing speed. Wheeling on the stairway, he came upward with long bounds, swinging his arms high; each hand held an automatic. The detectives were drawing guns; but they ducked as The Shadow came upon them.

Sweeping his arms sidewise, The Shadow carried the pair half across the hall.

He was clear of the light from below. The startled dicks were sprawled; despite the fact that The Shadow avoided damage with his sweeping blows. One headquarters man took the back of a gloved fist upon the chin. That swing, weighted with an automatic, was a knock-out punch.

The other detective swung at The Shadow, missed him in the darkness and fired two wild shots at nothingness. A swinging forearm staggered him to the top of the back stairs, where he did a downward dive, into the arms of men who were dashing upward.

The Shadow sped down the front stairway, turning the landing just as the flashlight stabbed in his

direction. A detective fired two useless rounds. The Shadow was gone before the fellow tugged the trigger.

THE SHADOW had made a perfect start; but he knew that it was but preliminary to the struggle that was to come. Revolver shots had been heard outside; shock troops were prepared to answer the alarm.

As The Shadow hurled the front door open, a spotlight glared full upon him. The shouts that went up were delivered by hoarse-voiced members of the Flying Squadron.

Nearly a third of that outfit was on hand. Those sharp-shooting thugs were dangerous with their guns.

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