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tion。
Automatics tongued from blackness； stabbed flame picked out crouching hoodlums。 As snarling fighters spun about； they heard yells from their crippled panions。 The Shadow had first located thugs amid the darkness。 His first shots counted。
〃The Shadow！ Get him！〃
As a mobleader roared the mand； thugs sought to obey。 Twenty against one； they had their opportunity； they would spot The Shadow if he fired again。
They did not realize the purpose of The Shadow's opening shots； they did not guess that he had withdrawn for the moment。 Those shots had been a signal。
An instant later； floodlights glared from the beleaguered mansion。 Crooks were bathed in the brilliance that came from upper windows。 The Shadow had applied the very method that crooks had found so useful in the past。 His agents had set up searchlights； ready to use them when the signal came。
Crooks were as bewildered as Maclare's bluecoats had been； that night at the Mississippi Hotel。 Wildly； they turned toward the house。 Remembering The Shadow's marksmanship； they fired for the floodlights。 The brilliant orbs remained unshattered。 These searchlights were equipped with bulletproof glass。
Rifles crackled from below the brilliance。 The Shadow's agents were at the ground floor windows； clipping the savage hoodlums who fired back in vain。 Like wild tribesmen； thugs started for the house； thinking to dislodge The Shadow's agents with wide…aimed bullets and curdling yells。 The rifles crackled on； at close range。
Crooks sprawled； as they kicked up the earth； others broke。 They dashed for the limits of the lighted ground； followed by steady shots。 Reserves； the ones posted to watch for The Shadow； came up with encouraging shouts； for they were blanketed by night。 They were met by another fire： The Shadow's own。
The attack was ended。 Those thugs who could； went scattering into the night。 The Shadow's strident laugh resounded； it added impetus to the speed of the survivors。 It was a signal also； at the sound of the weird call； the searchlights were suddenly extinguished。
TO fleeing crooks； the darkness brought new dread。
Pursuers might be anywhere； everywhere。 Each thug who fled fancied himself the only one who had escaped； for more than half the horde had sprawled upon the turf。 The same had happened with the cluster of reserves； The Shadow had driven bullets into their very midst。 Some thugs found cars； they sped away from beyond the cottages； heading away from the direction of Westford。 The others took to the brush； making the best time that they could on foot。
The Shadow had classed these toughs as mass fighters only。 They had behaved in typical fashion； once their attack had bee a rout。 New silence dominated the mansion； then； from a space in front； came a hoarse whisper。 It was 〃Hawkeye〃； he had e out to join The Shadow。
The cloaked chief answered。 He gave Hawkeye new instructions。 Hawkeye slid back to the house。 Soon men came stealing outward through the darkness。 They were The Shadow's agents； ready for new battle。 The first had taken less time than the limit The Shadow had set。
Choosing the banks along the dirt road； The Shadow's agents waited。 Their chief had gone somewhere ahead； again they listened for his signal。 Lights appeared； police cars and motorcycles came in caravans all manned by the khaki…clad thugs who called themselves the Flying Squadron。
The Shadow waited until the last car was abreast of his position。 Again； his strident laugh rang forth。
Cars halted at the startling cry。 Automatics tongued an opening message。
Fake cops wheeled about； aimed for the spot whence the shots had issued。 Again； The Shadow was gone； but his agents took their cue。 From the sheltering embankment； they ripped away with automatics； raking the whole line of the halted squadron。
Bullets winged tires； windshields。 They found the occupants of cars。
Khaki…clad men dived from their machines； left their motorcycles and scattered on foot。 This time； floodlights were unneeded。 The cars and motorcycles of the unsuspecting squadron were targets enough。
From the rear； The Shadow pummeled shots along the road。 Uniformed crooks ran ahead； hoping to join the thugs who had once formed a vanished cordon。 The Shadow's aids pursued； keeping along the banks； they harried the newly routed horde and drove them off into the darkness。
Those scattered men would not soon return。 When they did； they would find their cars useless。 Again； The Shadow and his half dozen agents had routed more than a score。 The Shadow's agents held together； their task acplished； they were returning to the house； to hold it in case enough enemies rallied to attempt invasion。
THERE was one car that had remained unscathed throughout the fray； for the simple reason that it had been left alone。 This automobile had e up behind the others。 It had stopped at the mand of a man in back。 It was Director Borman's official car。 Borman had told his chauffeur to wait。
Fuming； Kirk Borman recognized all that had happened。 The pick of his Flying Squadron had been ambushed。 He wanted to get back to town again； to summon other details； particularly the group that he had left idle at Judge Benbrook's house。 With a growl； Borman told the chauffeur to swing the car about。
The chauffeur obeyed； as he swung the big car past the verge of a ditch； blackness rose from the fringe of the headlights。 The chauffeur alone saw it； he yanked a revolver and jabbed it from the window。
A slugging fist came through； swinging an automatic。 The chauffeur's cap was bashed down over his head； the man tilted sidewise； he sprawled to the roadway as the door yanked open。
Kirk Borman made a leap for the front seat。 A black…cloaked avalanche came in from space。 Springing past the steering wheel； The Shadow met the fighting police director； gloved fingers found their hold on Borman's neck。 The police director slumped to the floor by the rear seat。
The Shadow picked handcuffs from a pocket in a rear door。 They were useful items in a police director's car； The Shadow had noted them when he had ridden with Borman； in the guise of Trig Callister。 He put the bracelets on the director's wrists。 Borman offered no struggle； he was still gasping for air。
Leaving Borman sprawled in back； The Shadow dropped behind the wheel。 He stepped on the gas； shot the big car back toward town。 The tires jounced along the bumpy road； while Borman bounced helplessly about in back； striking his head against the seat and the doors； experiencing new grogginess every time he started to recover。
One laugh of triumph from The Shadow's hidden lips； then the cloaked victor maintained silence。 Sooner or later； he would meet roving units of the Flying Squadron。 They would let him pass； recognizing the police director's car。 The Shadow was traveling far ahead of any reports that would e from the battle ground where he and his agents had dealt with thugs and false upholders of the law。
In effecting his capture of Kirk Borman； The Shadow had topped off a well…planned campaign。 He had known that his presence would bring the police director to the scene outside of Westford。 The Shadow had counted upon this captur