"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 083 - Man from Scotland Yard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

upward and sent the one-legged foeman clattering across the floor.

Revolvers burst anew. The automatics answered. The Shadow had found the vantage point he wanted.
There were full barrels beneath Dory's counter. They served as a bulwark against bullets. His guns upon
the counter level, The Shadow blazed responding shots.

Attackers broke. They had not counted upon conflict with a vengeful, sharp-shooting foe. They valued
their hides too much to keep up the quarrel on behalf of Sailor Martz. Wild with desire for escape, the
armed men followed the noncombatants who had already scurried through the doorways to the streets.

Sprawled figures told of The Shadow's prowess. The cloaked fighter had not aimed to kill. He had
dropped his adversaries with quick, clipping shots; his wounded foemen were crawling toward the doors
that offered escape.

There was one exception. Sailor Martz, half doubled in agony, was picking up his knife. His bleary eyes
were looking toward the landlubber whom he had failed to slay. He was out to get that victim at any
cost.

The dark-faced man had risen also. Grogginess ended, he was ready to pounce forward the moment that
Sailor made a move. The Shadow watched the coming drama. He knew that the full advantage lay with
the man whom he had saved. Sailor Martz surged crazily forward; the landlubber caught him and sent
him staggering back.

Then came a shrill interruption from the doorways through which escaping rogues were diving. Police
whistles told the entry of the law. Ruffians came staggering back; plainclothes men piled down the steps
into the underground dive.

Cardona's raiding squad had arrived. They had caught men who were seeking flight, not fight. The police
were just in time to make a complete round-up of the scattering customers from Dory's dive.

THE SHADOW dropped behind the counter. His whispered laugh faded. His work had been
accomplished. He had come here tonight to back the law. He had entered only because a crisis had
arrived before the raid. He had wounded Sailor Martz. The man was helpless. The law could have him.

But the law was due to blunder. Sailor Martz had sagged to the floor under the pressure of the
landlubber with the dark-hued skin. A bulky plainclothes man bounded forward; the dark man swung
about to speak.

The dick placed a hard punch to the dyed jaw. The landlubber crumpled. Half recovering, he came up;
another plainclothes man sprang in and clubbed him. Together, the two officers dragged their limp victim
to the door.

Sailor Martz came to his feet. He swayed a moment; then grinned in sickly fashion. Unnoticed by the
raiders, he turned about and staggered through the inner door that led to the adjoining house.

Clattering footsteps now sounded on stone. The raiders had done most of their work outside; they were
dragging out the last of their prisoners. Joe Cardona appeared in the side doorway; looking about, the
raid commander saw that the work was complete.

But Joe did not spy the figure that rose hazily behind Dory's counter. That spot was out of the light. The