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

dozen reserves, all were springing at Dory's beck to aid Sailor Martz. The leading attackers caught the
landlubber before he could swing the bottle.

Twisting fiercely, the lone man yanked clear. He swung the bottle like a cudgel. He cracked the skull of
one assailant and smashed the bottle upon the capped pate of a second. Diving out front the corner, he
grabbed up a chair and swung it into the ranks of the foe.

Knives flashed. Revolvers came into view. Three men surged forward. The landlubber staggered as a fist
reached his jaw. Sprawling against the wall, he looked up to see Sailor Martz diving straight for him.
Sailor's face was venomous; his right hand was driving downward with a long-bladed knife.

Others stopped stock-still to let Sailor snag his prey. Death loomed with seeming certainty for the fighter
who had sagged beneath the force of numbers. Sallow lips pressed firmly shut as the eyes above them
saw the descending blade which the half-groggy victim could not stop.

THEN, from amid the chaos of commotion came a thunderous roar from an unexpected quarter. The
burst of an automatic spelled a new entrant into the one-sided fray. Sailor Martz's upraised body doubled
backward instead of forward. With a wild scream, the would-be assassin staggered sidewise; his fist
opened and his brandished knife clattered to the floor.
A fierce laugh broke the silence that the gunshot had brought. Hard-faced men wheeled about, fuming
oaths as they whirled toward the direction of that sinister mirth. Facing the interior door of the dive, they
saw the marksman who had crippled Sailor Martz.

A cloaked figure had emerged from the darkness of that inner doorway. Gloved fists projected from the
folds of his sable-hued garb. The brim of a slouch hat concealed the features above the cloak, save for a
pair of burning eyes that challenged all.

The Shadow had arrived upon the field of fray, to snatch a helpless victim from the toils of murderous
men.

CHAPTER III. THE RAID
THE denizens of Dory Halbit's dive were not of mobland's ilk. Yet these ruffians who had aided Sailor
Martz were cutthroats in their own right. To them, the name of The Shadow might be hazier than it was
to crooks of the underworld; that fact only made this squad of murderers more dangerous.

Crooks had faded often at The Shadow's advent. Rats of crime knew the menace of The Shadow. This
crew lacked such information. They saw The Shadow as an unexpected intruder who had balked them of
a kill.

Revolvers crackled as knife-wielding fighters charged forward, driving low. Under a high barrage, the
men with dirks were aiming for the intrepid stranger who had come from blackness. They, like Sailor
Martz, were to learn The Shadow's power.

Doubling to the floor, The Shadow sprang straight against the attacking ranks. Bullets whizzed above
him, aimed too high and too late. Mighty automatics belched flame into the phalanx of knife-armed men.
Snarling rogues sprawled to the cement floor.

One wounded assassin caught himself and sent a blade whizzing through the air. His stroke was late. The
Shadow had whirled from the charge. Diving along the wall, he gained the bar where Dory Halbit was
stationed. The brawny proprietor sprang forward to stop the sweeping figure. Gun-fisted hands shot