"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 040 - The Death Triangle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

From a forward position, the white-bearded man snapped backward and upward. With incredible
strength, he yanked Sparkles Lorskin's long, light frame from the chair. As the crook shot sprawling
across the table, Arberg's right arm extended as a rigid bar upon which Sparkles fell.

With a mighty twist of his body, the amazing old man swept his arm on a long arc, and sent the crook
hurtling across the room directly toward the spot where Mitts Cordy stood.

The whole maneuver was an amazing one. A jujutsu thrust, which depended upon strength as well as
skill, it brought the fierce old man face to face with Mitts Cordy and the quartet of invaders.

The bitter tones of a mocking laugh burst from Arberg's beard. That blast of merriment betokened the
true identity of the visitor. This was not Johan Arberg, a frail old man. This being who had sprung into
action was The Shadow - the enemy whom all the hordes of gangdom feared!

AT times, the very appearance of The Shadow was sufficient to cow the most hardened mobster. But
when action occurred, the instinct of self-preservation was sufficient to bring a counterthrust. In this crisis,
Mitts Cordy acted with all the venom that was in his nature.

The gang leader had already covered the white-bearded visitor. As Lorskin's body came through the air;
as The Shadow whirled and emitted his identifying laugh, Mitts Cordy fired. Quick with the trigger, he
accomplished the rare feat of beating The Shadow to the first shot.

With his quickness of action, however, Mitts was forced to change his aim. The gang leader, in
side-stepping Sparkles Lorskin's body, had turned the muzzle of his revolver from the white-bearded
man. It was during the quick return swing that Mitts loosed his shot.

The Shadow, in his unfamiliar white-bearded garb, was still in motion. Mitts Cordy's bullet whistled past
The Shadow's shoulder. The gang leader pressed his finger to the trigger for the second shot. It never
came.

The Shadow's automatic delivered its explosion. Momentarily delayed for perfect aim, the shot reached
its mark. A hideous look appeared upon Mitts Cordy's face. The gang leader crumpled. The revolver
dropped from his right hand. Clasping both hands to his breast, Mitts sprawled forward upon Sparkles
Lorskin, then rolled sidewise and lay flat upon his back.

The eyes of The Shadow did not follow the gang leader's demise. Even while Mitts Cordy's gun was
dropping to the floor, the master fighter opened a swift attack upon the mobsters who stood beyond the
door.

Mitts Cordy's fall had cleared the way for action. Ready revolvers were coming up. Trigger fingers were
in action. But The Shadow, who had cleared the path for this new fray, was a fighter who dealt in split
seconds. Into the massed quartet before him, he opened a leaden hail from his powerful automatic.

The roars of the .45 resounded with thunderous repetition. Three shots went forth from that mighty
weapon ere a single revolver responded.

The first answering report came from a staggering mobster. The man's bullet went wide. The second
bullet was dispatched by the rearmost gangster, who fired hastily as he turned to dive for shelter. The
gunman failed to reach his mark. He screamed, an instant later, as The Shadow delivered a shot that
winged his shoulder.