〃Don't get far inside the front door； Cassley；〃 Maclare advised。 〃We want them to e through the back。 Director Borman is sending the Flying Squadron。
They'll show up about ten minutes after we strike。 The Flying Squadron will roll up on the front street。 After that； you can let anybody go out through the front door。 Remember： put up a big show。 We've got a right to arrest anyone who es out the back while you're inside。 We'll charge them with resisting arrest。〃
Cassley and his men marched away。 Maclare moved the remainder through an alleyway； then along an ill…paved street that was flanked on the right by coal yards； with the railway tracks beyond。 As he and his men stationed themselves in back of the decrepit Mississippi Hotel； two darkened patrol wagons coasted into view。 Officers opened the doors of the black Marias； stood beside them； ready for the surge that was to e。
Tense minutes passed。 A police whistle shrilled from the front street。
motion began within the old hotel。 Until that moment； it had been a quiet…looking frame structure； its dim windows silent except for the jerky music of an overloud player piano。 But the whistle blast that marked the beginning of raid was like a spark igniting dynamite。
Shouts burst from the hotel。 Tables clattered； lights blinked on and off。
Gunfire sounded； heavy footsteps pounded。 Doors ripped open at the back of the building； the vanguard of a horde of hoodlums appeared。 As three men leaped from rickety steps。 Lieutenant Maclare snapped a mand to his main squad：
〃Take them as they hit the street！〃 The bluecoats spread； fanwise。 With Maclare in the center； they closed upon the back doors of the hotel。 The first fugitives dropped against the steps； raising their arms in surrender。 Footsteps told that more were ing； Maclare and his men were ready to bag them the instant that they arrived。
Then came the unexpected。 From the low…roofed buildings of the coal yards； searchlights poured a sudden glare that made the street like day。 Huge beams of light showed the entire squad of police； flat…footed on the sidewalk； against the paintless back wall of the hotel。
Maclare； swinging about； stood scowling from the center of his raiders。
Snarled oaths sounded from fences and roofs； delivered by thugs who were out of sight behind the searchlights。 A harsh voice barked an order。 Revolvers crackled from the darkness。 There was a sharp rattle； the opening outburst of a machine gun。 It ended almost instantly； for the trigger man had started it too soon。
That warning sound told how hopelessly the police were trapped。 Crooks had surprised the raiders。 Hidden in ambush； men of crime were equipped to wipe out Lieutenant Maclare and his entire squad at an instant's notice。
CHAPTER II
SCATTERED HORDES
THE menace of the situation was but partially grasped by Lieutenant James Maclare。 He and his men had faced about； they were blinking at the blinding searchlights。 None had been hit by the first revolver fire； the machine gun had stopped without delivering death。
It occurred to Maclare that ambushed crooks had intended no more than a warning； that they were afraid to deliver heavy fire because their own men were ing from the hotel。 Looking about； Maclare saw that a dozen fugitives had arrived； but they were no longer in flight。 They were a leering； contemptuous throng； massed upon the back steps of the hotel。
Like the thugs behind the searchlights； these crooks had the police covered。 The inference seemed plain to Maclare。 If the police stood by and let the crooks from the hotel make their get…away； there would be no massacre。
Maclare was partly right in this conclusion。 He was to learn later just how far he was wrong。 Sizing the situation； the lieutenant realized that he could not count on aid from Sergeant Cassley； he knew also that the Flying Squadron would not arrive for ten minutes。 Much though he hated to see crooks gain their way； Maclare could not forget the welfare of his men。 He saw no use in allowing the slaughter of his squad。
Scowling； the lieutenant lowered his revolver and stepped out into the middle of the street。 His move was an order for his men to spread away and let the armed men from the hotel make a calm departure。
It was not until he had detached himself from his squad； that Maclare realized another purpose behind the ambush。 Hardly was the lieutenant standing entirely alone before a rasped voice called from a low roof top：
〃Get Maclare！〃
One man alone was marked to die； that was Maclare himself。 Crooks wanted the raiding lieutenant dead； they were contemptuous of the policemen who formed the squad。 Maclare； by his own action； had placed himself in the very spot that his enemies wanted。
Bluecoats； like crooks； heard the death order。 The cry electrified them。
They responded more quickly than the gloating thugs。 They were loyal to Maclare； the danger that threatened him was to be theirs。 Almost as one； the policemen raised their guns。 Some aimed blindly for the coal yards； along with Maclare； others wheeled about； to fire at men whom they could see。 Their targets were the massed thugs on the steps。
The scene was set for massacre。 The street looked like the stage of a theater； beneath the glare of a spotlight。 All eyes were focused upon Maclare； with the bluecoats clustering about him。 The patrol wagons； standing deserted on either side； were like the wings of the stage。 All was dim beyond those vehicles。
DURING these tense moments； an event had occurred offstage。 Unseen； a figure had e up to the far side of a patrol wagon； almost beneath the shelter of a coal yard fence。 Like an actor expecting his cue； this silent arrival had risen on the running board of a black Maria。 His head and shoulders projected above the wagon top； where they were outlined dimly by the fringe of a searchlight's path。
That head was topped by a slouch hat。 The shoulders were shrouded by a black cloak。 Two black…gloved fists projected from the cloak； each gripped the heavy handle of a 。45 automatic。 Those guns were leveled at the instant the hidden crook shouted the word to get Maclare。
As policemen leaped to Maclare's side； ready to die with their leader； that strange marksman loosed the fire of one gun from atop the black Maria。 His target was a large one； he picked the glass front of a blazing searchlight。 As his trigger finger tugged； a bullet ripped to its mark。 The searchlight vanished with a clatter of glass。
Crooks gazed toward the patrol wagon。 They saw no one； for the marksman had picked the nearer searchlight and was no longer in the edge of the glare。
But mobsters saw the next token that came from the blotted wagon top。 It was another stab of flame； loosed from the second automatic。
Another crash marked the finish of the second searchlight。 The street looked black； feeble lamplights and illumination from the hotel were pitiful at best。 They were pletely inadequate as an aftermath to the glare that had been so promptly extinguished。
From the sheltering patrol wagon came a sudden sound that belonged with darkness。 It was the strident burst of a sinister； mocking laugh； that brought alarm to every thug who was straining his eyes to offset the gloom。
Men of crime knew that taunt。 It was the laugh of The Shadow！
Black…clad master who battled evil； The Shadow was here in Westford； covering the very spot where slaughter had been ordered。 His first coup had been to deprive crooks of their most important weapons： those searchlights on the coal yard roofs。 With two strategic shots； The Shadow had equalized the battleground。
True； crooks outnumbered Maclare and his squad； they also had machine guns in readiness。 But the law had gained an ally whose strength could offset a score of foemen。 The Shadow was on hand； prepared for instant battle。
Again； the automatics spoke。 From his vantage point； The Shadow fired along the fence top。 Lieutenant Maclare shouted an order。 Policemen dived everywhere； firing as they took to cover。 Revolvers spat from the coal yard； machine guns began a hasty rattle。 Thugs at the doorways of the Mississippi Hotel came leaping down the steps； cutting loose with their revolvers。
Th