"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 260 - The Money Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

thought was Wip, on the far side of the street.

Before Emmart could fire, Bert saw his companion's mistake. That crouched man across the way wasn't
Wip. The fugitive couldn't have traveled that far. Besides, there were other crouches like him, rising from
other vantage spots. In the glare of the red light that marked the fire exit, Gregg Emmart was a perfect
target for gunners who were backing Wip's foray into Brune's apartment.

Valiantly, Bert Cowder gave rescue. Out through the window, he gripped Emmart, spun him full about
and tried to hurl him back to safety. Emmart's gun popped a few shots in the air, whereupon the
headquarters man combined anger with stupidity as be tried to slug at Bert. Amid that fracas between
friends, rising gunners opened fire.

Bert Cowder was their target now, for his broad body was shielding Emmart's thinner form. Bullets
clanged the fire escape, other slugs bashed the brick wall. Bert was lurching Emmart back to safety
despite the fellow's foolish opposition. It was heroism on Bert's part, the sort that promised his own
doom. Those marksmen below were getting the range. One bullet scorched Bert's shoulder, another
singed his derby hat. A few more would have spelled his finish.

Those deadly shots never came. At that moment, other guns burst loose below. Their powerful roar
drowned the barks of revolvers. A brace of .45 automatics were in the fray, their targets the members of
the gun crew who were seeking Bert's death. The rip of those fresh guns was, in itself, a symbol of their
owner, but this new fighter left no doubt as to his identity.

Accompanying the roar of the big automatics came a challenging laugh, telling men of crime that their
nemesis had arrived. To ignore that defy could mean death, backed as it was by guns unerring in their
aim. With one accord, every crouching marksman turned.

Such victims as Bert Cowder and Gregg Emmart could only be forgotten at a time like this. Killers were
banded in a common effort to meet an uncommon enemy whose case couldn't wait.

Crooks were faced by their arch-foe, The Shadow!

CHAPTER III. TRAIL TO WEALTH
DARING, almost foolhardy were The Shadow's actions as his fight began. He, the master of darkness,
was actually seeking light, making himself an open target for his foemen. A living blot, detaching itself
from night, came spinning beneath the glow of a street lamp across the street from Brune's apartment,
tonguing gun flames that sought no individual targets.

Crooks were firing as the whirling shape halted, disclosed itself momentarily as a figure cloaked in black,
then reversed its course with a sudden shift that blended into darkness. Half a dozen guns ripped away at
the momentary target; some were hasty, the others late. In reward for his daring, The Shadow went
unscathed, as his fierce laugh proclaimed.

Weird, that chilling tone! As if the fighter who uttered it had stood a hail of bullets without feeling their
piercing power!

Uncanny, indeed, the strategy that The Shadow used. He'd seen Bert's frantic effort to save Emmart's
life; with it, the inability of the crouching gunners to pick a target with their opening fire. Since they'd
gained Bert's range at last, the only course was to hoax them into dropping that advantage; so The
Shadow had banked that they'd miss him with their first fire, as in the case he witnessed.