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Scowling； the lieutenant lowered his revolver and stepped out into the middle of the street。 His move was an order for his men to spread away and let the armed men from the hotel make a calm departure。
It was not until he had detached himself from his squad； that Maclare realized another purpose behind the ambush。 Hardly was the lieutenant standing entirely alone before a rasped voice called from a low roof top：
〃Get Maclare！〃
One man alone was marked to die； that was Maclare himself。 Crooks wanted the raiding lieutenant dead； they were contemptuous of the policemen who formed the squad。 Maclare； by his own action； had placed himself in the very spot that his enemies wanted。
Bluecoats； like crooks； heard the death order。 The cry electrified them。
They responded more quickly than the gloating thugs。 They were loyal to Maclare； the danger that threatened him was to be theirs。 Almost as one； the policemen raised their guns。 Some aimed blindly for the coal yards； along with Maclare； others wheeled about； to fire at men whom they could see。 Their targets were the massed thugs on the steps。
The scene was set for massacre。 The street looked like the stage of a theater； beneath the glare of a spotlight。 All eyes were focused upon Maclare； with the bluecoats clustering about him。 The patrol wagons； standing deserted on either side； were like the wings of the stage。 All was dim beyond those vehicles。
DURING these tense moments； an event had occurred offstage。 Unseen； a figure had e up to the far side of a patrol wagon； almost beneath the shelter of a coal yard fence。 Like an actor expecting his cue； this silent arrival had risen on the running board of a black Maria。 His head and shoulders projected above the wagon top； where they were outlined dimly by the fringe of a searchlight's path。
That head was topped by a slouch hat。 The shoulders were shrouded by a black cloak。 Two black…gloved fists projected from the cloak； each gripped the heavy handle of a 。45 automatic。 Those guns were leveled at the instant the hidden crook shouted the word to get Maclare。
As policemen leaped to Maclare's side； ready to die with their leader； that strange marksman loosed the fire of one gun from atop the black Maria。 His target was a large one； he picked the glass front of a blazing searchlight。 As his trigger finger tugged； a bullet ripped to its mark。 The searchlight vanished with a clatter of glass。
Crooks gazed toward the patrol wagon。 They saw no one； for the marksman had picked the nearer searchlight and was no longer in the edge of the glare。
But mobsters saw the next token that came from the blotted wagon top。 It was another stab of flame； loosed from the second automatic。
Another crash marked the finish of the second searchlight。 The street looked black； feeble lamplights and illumination from the hotel were pitiful at best。 They were pletely inadequate as an aftermath to the glare that had been so promptly extinguished。
From the sheltering patrol wagon came a sudden sound that belonged with darkness。 It was the strident burst of a sinister； mocking laugh； that brought alarm to every thug who was straining his eyes to offset the gloom。
Men of crime knew that taunt。 It was the laugh of The Shadow！
Black…clad master who battled evil； The Shadow was here in Westford； covering the very spot where slaughter had been ordered。 His first coup had been to deprive crooks of their most important weapons： those searchlights on the coal yard roofs。 With two strategic shots； The Shadow had equalized the battleground。
True； crooks outnumbered Maclare and his squad； they also had machine guns in readiness。 But the law had gained an ally whose strength could offset a score of foemen。 The Shadow was on hand； prepared for instant battle。
Again； the automatics spoke。 From his vantage point； The Shadow fired along the fence top。 Lieutenant Maclare shouted an order。 Policemen dived everywhere； firing as they took to cover。 Revolvers spat from the coal yard； machine guns began a hasty rattle。 Thugs at the doorways of the Mississippi Hotel came leaping down the steps； cutting loose with their revolvers。
Those mobsters in ambush fired for the area where Maclare and his men had clustered。 They fired uselessly； for the police had spread。 Those ing from the hotel sizzled futile shots in the direction of the patrol wagon。 They； too； were late。 The Shadow had sprung to the fence； e up to the top and slugged down a lone thug who was stationed on the flank。
All that carried menace were the machine guns； for they began to spray their fire。 There were two of them； clicking like typewriters from a roof top midway along the fence。 One rattling weapon ceased； as The Shadow blasted a fusillade at the gunners behind it。 He had picked them by the spurting fire。
CROOKS fired for The Shadow； but their shots were wide。 He had e up to a roof top； there； he ripped another barrage； that settled the men who handled the second machine gun。 Both weapons were silenced； everywhere； crooks were springing to the ground； to avoid the enfolding fire that The Shadow had begun。
By outflanking the foe； The Shadow had routed all but a few； they were the ones upon the very roof top where he had so suddenly arrived。
Three in number； those crooks leaped forward with swinging revolvers； hoping to beat down the fighter whose shape was vague before their eyes。 An automatic thudded against a skull； the other 。45 spat its singeing flame between the eyes of an attacker。 The third crook dived for the ground as his panions sprawled。
Meanwhile； Maclare and his squad had done gallant duty。 Flattened in the street； some had aimed for the fence and roof tops； while others had delivered quick fire toward the open doors of the hotel。 This choice had been a smart one； the officers who took it gained massed targets。 Thugs who had wasted opening shots at the patrol wagon were caught against the framed light of doorways。 Four sagged in quick succession。
Scattering crooks had paused to aim for the low roof where The Shadow had handled three foemen。 They blazed for that darkened spot； again to no avail。
The Shadow had dropped from the back of the roof； he was crossing the tracks of the railroad yard。 His quick shots clipped two marksmen who were firing at the roof。
A hoarse voice shouted from between two buildings。 It was the same leader who had issued the mand to get Maclare。 His new order was a mand for flight。 All thugs who were able； dashed for the street； crossed it and made off through alleys toward the front。 Others sprang back into the hotel。
Lieutenant Maclare shouted for pursuit。 Two of his eight men had fallen in the fight； leaving a pair to care for them； Maclare headed through the hotel； followed by the remaining four。
Inside； thugs were making for the front； Cassley and his detail let them go through。 Loud…whining sirens were announcing the arrival of the Flying Squadron。
Crooks should have found a new trap； but when Lieutenant Maclare reached the front door of the hotel； he witnessed a wild get…away。 The Flying Squadron； a score of men in pursuit cars and on motorcycles were ing in from the left。
Scattered crooks had converged to the right； there they were boarding an assortment of automobiles that were parked beside an old brewery。
As the Flying Squadron pulled up； Maclare bellowed the news and pointed past the brewery。 Promptly； the picked squadron took up the chase。
The brief delay had served the crooks。 Cutting through to another street； a dozen of them made a get…away； in three cars that contained four men each。
The three automobiles took different routes within the next few blocks； to split the pursuing squadron。 Maclare； fuming at the door of the raided hotel； heard the sirens fade in the dim distance。
THERE was a fourth car that had fled； it had taken a route of its own。
Rounding the brewery； this machine had followed a street that led across the railroad tracks； a block away from the Mississippi Hotel。 Swinging past a freight siding； the crooks…three in number…were greeted by shots from the shelter of a steel freight car。
Wildly； they fired in return。 Their bullets flattened on the steel wall of the freight car。 The driver； clipped by a slug from darkness； lost control and swung from the crossing。 His sedan jolted down a low embankment； slewed sidewise and crashed against a signal tower。
There was no stir within the car； when it halted。 Distant policemen heard the crash。 Footsteps racing upon sidewalks told that they were ing to witness the result。 One car…load of fugitives had been bagged； even though the other three had outraced the Flying Squadron。
Blackness moved from beside the freight car。 The purple light of a switch signal glowed upward to show a shrouded form； tall in its guise of black。
Gloved hands dipped mammoth automatics beneath the front of a flowing cloak。
Unseen lips voiced a grim laugh from the muffling front of an upturned collar。
Weird； chilling tones betokened the final stroke of the night's victory。
The sardonic mirth faded； as the cloaked figure passed from the purplish glow。
The battle was ended； The Shadow had left the field to the law。
OUT of darkness； The Shadow had arrived to deal with crime in Westford。
Into gloom； he had returned…after his efforts had saved the life of Lieutenant Maclare and a squad of officers。 Yet the chill of his eerie laugh seemed to hover； for that spectral tone had carried a touch that seemed to concern the future。
Like Lieutenant Maclare； The Shadow had recognized the significance of tonight's episode。 Fierce though the fray had been； it scarcely scratched the surface of the evil that lurked deep within this prosperous city。
Crime and death would be due again in Westford。 Here； evil was organized far beyond the extent that Lieutenant Maclare had guessed。 There would be need for more and greater effort before crime and corruption could be banished。
The Shadow knew those facts。 His appearance in tonight's battle was but proof that he had long been present in Westford； investigating the iniquity which held the city in its grip。
CHAPTER III
BEHIND THE SCENES
HALF an hour after the raid on the Mississippi Hotel； Lieutenant James Maclare arrived back at the first precinct station。 Muffled oaths and dull clatter greeted Maclare when he crossed the patrol room。 The sounds came from the cell room； where policemen had housed an assortment of hoodlums unloaded from the patrol wagons。
There had been many captures following the raid。 Cornered riffraff had thrown away their guns； to surrender； denying that they had carried weapons。
Practically all of these were men who had been inside the hotel at the beginning of the raid。
Lieutenant Maclare felt pleased as he took a seat at his desk and began to prepare a report。 Armed resistance had made the case against the prisoners a stronger one。 Maclare could see jail terms awaiting many of the participants。
Maclare's pleasure increased； when Sergeant Cassley knocked at the door to announce a visitor。 The arrival was none other than Kirk Borman； the police director。
Maclare was on his feet when Borman entered。 Tall； heavy of build； the police director was as much a fighter as Maclare。 Borman's face was sharp…featured； his lips showed a broad smile between his hooked nose and his pointed chin。 Advancing to Maclare's desk； Borman thrust a congratulating hand across the top； to grip Maclare's hand in a solid shake。
〃Fine work； Jim；〃 mended Borman； in a short…clipped tone。 〃You cleaned out a nest of bad eggs。 Carry on with it。 Go after the gilt…edged places in this precinct。〃
〃You mean the Club Adair？〃 queried Maclare。 〃That's one place I'd like to get； Kirk。 Lance Gillick has a gambling joint somewhere in back of that fancy night club front。〃
〃Go after it； tomorrow night；〃 ordered Borman。 〃Telephone me first； though。 I have two headquarters men watching things over there。 I'm going to drop in there this evening and look the place over for myself。〃
〃Lance Gillick will probably see you；〃 remarked Maclare。 〃If he does； he'll pass you a lot of smooth talk。〃
〃All the better；〃 decided Borman。 〃If he thinks I'm the man he has to dea