Maxwell Grant - The Man From Shanghai

The Shadow looked toward Major Rowden. He saw that the emissary from China had shaken off the effects of the tear gas. Major Rowden had drawn a revolver, to cover the thugs who were still choking on the floor. Peju, too, was fit for action. The Siamese, though blinking, was probing the floor to gather up the guns that the crooks had dropped.

The Shadow boarded the elevator with his agents. As Harry clanged the door, they heard another elevator door open. The police had reached the penthouse. Cliff pulled the lever, to drop the elevator groundward. The Shadow ordered a stop at the second floor. He knew an outlet from there, that would avoid the lobby.

Outside the Maribar Hotel, police were forming their cordon. The Shadow’s work was done; the rest belonged to the law. Major Rowden could explain the cause for crime; the reason for the mystery chest that was weighted heavily with lead, to carry gas instead of gold.

Harry and Cliff gained the taxicab, waiting behind the hotel. The Shadow stood alone upon the street, watching the approach of a patrol car. He sidled to a passage beside an old garage; there he stood, while the passing lights failed to display his motionless form.

A laugh from darkness made the patrol car stop. The officers blinked, wondering from where the taunt had come. There was something uncanny in that note of victory that seemed to issue from a space beyond.

The mockery told The Shadow’s departure – his triumph over the insidious schemes of Kenneth Malfort.