mg.cityofcrime-第19部分

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iminary　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　e　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　e。　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。　Knowing　it；　The　Shadow　did　not　pause　to　fire　at　the　focused　light；　instead；　he　sprang　off　toward　a　front　corner　of　the　house；　getting　away　from　the　glare　in　an　instant。
　The　light　swung　about；　it　did　not　show　The　Shadow。　He　had　cut　in　back　of　thick；　intervening　shrubbery。
　Guns　began　to　bark；　bullets　whistled　through　foliage；　thudded　the　house　walls。　A　challenging　laugh　sounded　from　off　beside　the　house。　Raucous…voiced　crooks　shouted　harsh　epithets；　as　they　heard　The　Shadow's　weird　mockery。　They　fired　toward　spots　whence　they　thought　the　sinister　mirth　had　issued。　Their　bullets　were　wide　by　yards。
　No　one　could　place　The　Shadow's　laugh　in　blackness。　Those　who　tried；　merely　rendered　their　gunfire　useless；　as　The　Shadow　wanted　it。　The　real　tokens　of　The　Shadow's　position　came　when　automatics　tongued　streaks　of　flame；　straight　for　men　who　had　revealed　themselves　by　the　spurts　from　their　own　revolvers。
　Groans；　not　bullets；　answered　The　Shadow。　In　four　shots；　he　scored　two　hits。
　The　Shadow　was　on　his　way　again；　circling　off　through　darkness　while　his　enemies　fired　blindly。　A　loud　mand　was　issued；　it　was　in　Kirk　Borman's　voice。　The　police　director　recognized　the　futility　of　the　tactics　that　his　thugs　had　taken。　He　was　ordering　them　to　follow　a　better　method。
　Khaki…clad　thugs　spread　away；　toward　the　hedges　that　formed　the　boundaries　of　Woodstock's　property。　There　were　patrol　cars　in　the　avenue　and　on　other　streets。　Each　automobile　served　as　a　base；　men　with　flashlights　passed　from　car　to　car。
　Borman　joined　the　detectives　inside　the　house；　he　put　men　on　guard　at　each　door。　A　few　of　the　Flying　Squadron　lugged　in　the　pair　of　wounded　men　whom　The　Shadow　had　clipped；　after　that；　they　hurried　to　carry　out　Borman's　latest　orders。　Those　were　instructions　for　the　cordon　to　close　inward。
　
　
　SOMEWHERE　in　the　darkness　was　The　Shadow。　He　had　paused；　expecting　the　move　that　came。　It　suited　him；　for　his　intention　was　to　find　an　opening　and　depart　while　his　enemies　made　futile　search。　That　was　possible；　if　he　moved　at　the　right　time。
　Two　minutes　passed；　while　surrounding　men　crept　closer；　searchlights　began　to　sweep　from　patrol　cars；　like　a　barrage　above　the　head　of　the　advancing　men。
　Wisely；　the　men　in　the　cars　kept　the　lights　high；　hoping　to　disclose　The　Shadow　without　revealing　the　positions　of　the　men　who　closed　in　upon　the　cloaked　fighter。　The　Shadow　saw　his　opportunity　and　took　it；　close　to　the　ground；　he　moved　rapidly　outward；　just　before　a　flood　of　light　came　in　his　direction。　He　escaped　the　path　of　the　gleam。
　The　cordon　could　not　function　fully　until　it　tightened；　the　creeping　men　were　expecting　The　Shadow　to　lurk　until　he　neared　them。　One　lone　fighter；　sought　by　many；　would　ordinarily　have　let　the　circle　close　about　him。　The　Shadow's　tactics　were　different。　He　was　actually　on　a　line　with　the　closing　men；　beneath　the　gleaming　lights；　like　themselves。
　The　Shadow；　however；　was　moving　in　an　outward　direction。　Moreover；　he　had　chosen　the　simplest　path　as　the　one　that　would　be　least　guarded。　He　was　creeping　along　the　driveway　to　the　avenue。
　The　Shadow　was　almost　to　the　gate　before　he　was　discovered；　even　then；　he　was　noted　by　accident。　Reinforcements　had　e　up；　among　them；　men　on　motorcycles。　One　of　these　was　ordered　to　ride　through　to　the　house；　to　form　new　contact　with　the　police　director。　Obeying　instructions；　the　man　on　the　motorcycle　chugged　for　the　driveway。　As　he　took　the　curve；　his　headlamp　threw　a　glare　inward　from　the　gate。
　Squarely　ahead；　the　rider　saw　The　Shadow　rising　in　his　path。　The　man　gave　a　shout；　whipped　a　revolver　from　his　holster　as　he　applied　the　brake。　He　gained　no　chance　to　fire。　The　Shadow　was　launching　forward；　as　the　fake　cop's　gun　came　up；　The　Shadow　hurdled　the　handle…bars　in　a　long　plunge。
　The　Shadow's　left　arm　clamped　the　man's　shoulder；　as　the　fellow　spilled　to　the　gravel；　The　Shadow　came　with　him。　The　Shadow's　right　hand　clutched　a　。45；　it　was　poised　for　a　swing；　if　the　foeman　made　trouble。　No　blow　was　needed；　the　rider　struck　on　the　back　of　his　head　and　rolled　over；　just　away　from　his　toppling　cycle。
　The　Shadow　sprang　to　his　feet；　he　was　just　in　time。　The　cry　had　been　heard；　searchlights　were　flooding　toward　the　driveway。　Men　on　the　lawn　heard　shouts；　as　those　in　the　cars　spied　The　Shadow。　All　wheeled　about　to　begin　a　barrage。　Through　sheer　speed；　The　Shadow　escaped　them。　He　was　leaping　through　the　gate　as　the　fusillade　began。
　Guns　barked　from　the　patrol　cars；　but　the　bullets　were　scattered。　The　men　in　the　cars　had　the　double　task　of　keeping　The　Shadow　spotted　with　light　and　continuing　the　fire　until　their　panions　arrived。　They　were　not　equal　to　the　twofold　effort。　The　Shadow　was　across　the　avenue　before　guns　ripped　away　in　earnest。
　
　
　BOUNDING　into　his　old　roadster；　The　Shadow　pressed　the　starter。　The　motor　roared　as　he　sped　the　car　off　between　two　houses。　His　lights　blinked　into　view；　the　men　from　the　cordon　saw　the　roadster　careen　to　another　street；　headed　away　to　flight。　Shouting；　the　khaki…clad　thugs　boarded　their　patrol　cars　and　started　in　pursuit。
　The　Shadow　reversed　last　night's　procedure。　Though　pressed　by　swift　cars　and　motorcycles；　he　headed　into　the　city　instead　of　making　for　the　limits。　The　roadster　lacked　speed；　but　it　was　ideal　for　the　tricky　course　that　The　Shadow　took。　He　whizzed　the　small　car　around　the　sharpest　corners；　shot　it　through　driveways；　past　houses；　out　through　hedges。　Three　times　he　cut　back　upon　his　course；　like　a　hare　outrunning　the　hounds。
　Shots　ripped　every　time　pursuers　spied　him；