"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 126 - Treasure Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

there, ready for action.

They heard a wild shout from within the cab. They saw the sprawled figure of Cranston on the top. Their
guns swung. They were the cover-up crew, stationed near, to insure the cab's flight.

The Shadow had no chance to meet this opposition. His position gave him no opportunity to shift. He
took the only course that offered. Gunmen howled as they saw his fashionably clad figure roll quickly
toward the right side of the cab top. As revolvers barked and a machine gun ripped, The Shadow was
dropping headlong to the curb, the cab a barricade between him and the death crew.

Crooks could not fire through the cab windows. The man whom they sought to cover was inside. The
murderer, in turn, was too late to guess The Shadow's move. Before he could swing to the window on
the right, the figure of Cranston had dropped below it.
As the touring car whizzed past, the murderer took another course. He shoved open the door on the left;
slammed it shut behind him. Diving among the tangled cars ahead, stooped low as he scurried, he came
to a stalled cab at the very front. He leaped aboard it, jabbed the driver with his gun.

All that was holding up that hackie was a fender, locked with another car. The gun muzzle made him
forget the detaining factor. The cab whipped away, ripping its own fender along with the other. It took
the next corner at full speed and rattled into the clear.

The Shadow did not see the murderer's departure; but he heard the door slam. He leaped to the rear of
the stalled cab, to open fire at the touring car. Thugs saw the white shirt front of Cranston's attire; but
they missed their chance to open fire. The fighter whom they took for a high-hat meddler was quicker
with the trigger.

The Shadow's bullets whined among the hoodlums, clipping the machine gunner and the pal beside him.
The driver stepped on the gas, while the others fired wild, hopeless shots from their departing car.

The Shadow aimed for a rear tire; but could not fire. A sudden veer to the left carried the touring car
beyond a parked automobile.

POLICE cars were shrieking their approach along the avenue. The touring car swung left at the corner,
to flee southward on the avenue. The Shadow saw other cars speed after the thuggish crew. Then came
a pouring of cars along the side street. The first was a patrol car, with Commissioner Weston in it.

"Thank Heaven, you're safe!" exclaimed Weston, as he pounded The Shadow's shoulder. "What about
the murderer - the fellow who tried to kill us?"

"He escaped," was Cranston's calm reply. "The gang covered his dash to another cab ahead."

The driver of the cab the murderer had first been in, stumbling from the front seat, heard Cranston's
statement and nodded. The hackie recognized the police commissioner and mumbled his apologies.

"I couldn't do nothin' else, commissioner," he explained. "How it all happened, I don't know. There was
an old-lookin' guy told me to drive him to the Cobalt Club an' wait there. I was kind of dozin' while I
waited. Next thing, a gun was poked against my neck -"

"We understand," interrupted Weston, brusquely. Then, to The Shadow: "I know the identity of the man
who fired the shots. He claimed to be a friend of yours, Cranston."