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to aim。
Beezer Dorsch was staring squarely into the rounded mouth of an automatic … a massive weapon that he was viewing at closer range than ever before。 That 。45 was a living threat； for Beezer had heard it speak often during his recent career of crime。
Above the huge weapon were burning eyes； the only features that Beezer could see beneath the shading brim of a slouch hat。 Below was blackness that formed a shrouded shape。 Beezer saw cloaked shoulders； a thin…gloved fist that gripped the steadied gun。
Beezer's revolver slipped from his numbed fingers。 It thudded the floor beside the dish…laden table。 Slowly； his hands came up； while he stared at those eyes that seemed to paralyze him with their hypnotic spell。 Through a confused whirl of thoughts； Beezer Dorsch grasped the situation。
There was no man named Shaw。 Nor was there need to wonder why the person who used that name had learned so much of crime in Westford。 Stephen Ruthley and his lieutenants had over…looked the obvious； they had failed to connect the supposed investigator； Shaw； with the one person whose presence they had actual cause to fear。
The supposed Shaw was The Shadow。 The cloaked avenger was the being who faced Beezer Dorsch。 The Shadow had awaited Prescott Dunson outside the hotel； that was why he had been on hand； to protect the man whom Beezer had murdered。
The Shadow had not forgotten the letter that Dunson held。 He had foreseen that Dunson's killer might try to trap him。 The Shadow had arranged for it。 He had sprung a snare of his own。
The trap was reversed。 The Shadow； arch…enemy of crime； had taken Beezer Dorsch into his toils！
CHAPTER IX
THE LAW INVADES
THE SHADOW had arranged his trap with consummate skill。 Beezer recognized the fact； as he stared helpless。 Between the table and the corner； The Shadow had placed a floor lamp； he had tilted the shade upward so that its glare was focused on the room。
In a sense； The Shadow had employed the device which Beezer had used on two successive nights。 The lamp had the effect of a spotlight； the corner behind it； darkened in parison； was The Shadow's lurking spot。 The position of the lamp explained why Beezer had overlooked the corner when he passed it。
The crook had not recognized The Shadow's ruse。
The lamp's glare outlined Beezer's face； and the sight was not pretty。 It showed the mobleader's ugly profile； his scarred cheek and the knobby； ill…shaped nose that had won him his nickname。 Beezer's features were yellowish in the glow； the snarl that came from his gritted teeth would have befitted a rat。
The Shadow had stepped close enough for Beezer to see him distinctly； that move had been essential to The Shadow's plan。 His position enabled him to scrutinize Beezer closely； to form his own opinion of the ugly captive that he had snared。 A few brief seconds convinced The Shadow that he held the actual murderer who had given death to Prescott Dunson。
Beezer's face showed it。 So did his manner； for his attempt at bravado was a weak one。 The yellowish tinge upon Beezer's face represented the closest that the murderer could e to actual paleness。
Perhaps The Shadow already knew of Beezer's part。 The murderer could not tell； but he learned promptly that The Shadow had gained information concerning persons more important than this prisoner。 That became apparent when The Shadow spoke； his tone was an uncanny whisper that produced a shudder in Beezer's squatty frame。
〃State who sent you here！〃 ordered The Shadow。 〃Name all concerned in your present move！〃
It was a mand； not a question。 Beezer realized the full significance of The Shadow's words。 Chances were that The Shadow knew who had sent the killer here； Beezer could see trouble for himself if he lied。 The crook tried to snarl an answer； his voice was incoherent。 Quailing； he resorted to a whine。
〃I didn't put the finger on you；〃 he protested。 〃Honest； I wasn't sent to make no trouble！ It was on account of…〃
BEEZER stopped； knowing his whine to be useless。 An interruption rescued him； the sound was a cautious rap at the door of the room。 Beezer glanced nervously toward The Shadow。 Hidden lips issued a mand。
〃Answer it！〃 ordered The Shadow； his whispered tone low。 〃Tell your pals to join you！〃
Beezer gulped； then called hoarsely：
〃e in； you guys！〃
〃Move toward the table；〃 ordered The Shadow。 〃Keep your arms high！〃
Beezer obeyed while the door was opening。 He saw The Shadow step back behind the focused lamp。 Footsteps clumped inward from the door； one of Beezer's cronies questioned：
〃Did you croak him； Beezer？〃 There was no reply from Beezer。 The thugs stopped as they saw their leader； against the wall； his hands above his head。
They swung about； looking for an enemy； their hands tightened on their guns； then loosened。
Beezer's pals had heard a sinister whisper。 They stared toward the corner； like Beezer； they saw The Shadow。 He had stepped into the light； both his fists were equipped with automatics。 One 。45 held Beezer motionless； the other covered the two thugs。 They acted as Beezer had。 Two revolvers thudded the carpet together。
Pointing with his guns； The Shadow huddled the three mobsters together at the end of the room。 His unseen lips formed a mirthful whisper； as ominous as the strident laugh that crooks had heard earlier upon this night。 The meaning broke suddenly upon Beezer Dorsch； as he saw The Shadow put away one gun。 A telephone was in easy reach of The Shadow's free hand； his single automatic was sufficient to hold the clustered trio at bay。
〃He's going to give us to Maclare！〃 gulped Beezer。 〃The guy we tried to croak last night！ We're in Maclare's precinct； there ain't a chance for us when he gets us！
As he gave this news； Beezer started forward。 He halted at the threat of The Shadow's gun muzzle。 Neither of Beezer's pals had nerve enough to back him in a break for safety。 Beezer saw The Shadow reach for the telephone。 A second interruption halted the gloved hand。
Another knock was sounding at the door。 It became a violent pounding。 The Shadow knew that it was not the waiter； so did Beezer。 The murderer strained forward； itching to make a spring。 A loud voice sounded from beyond the door：
〃Open！ In the name of the law！〃
ONE part of Stephen Ruthley's game had； as yet； escaped The Shadow。 That was the big…shot's plan to make Beezer Dorsch a fugitive from justice。 Hearing the voice from the corridor； noting the ugly triumph that suddenly appeared upon Beezer's face； The Shadow caught the idea。
He knew that the man who had shouted for entry was not an officer from Lieutenant Maclare's precinct。 Outside were members of Kirk Borman's Flying Squadron； here to see that murder went through； prepared to cover the escape of Beezer Dorsch by pretense of a chase。
Instantly； The Shadow whipped out his second automatic。 Turning his shoulder toward Beezer and the pair of thugs； The Shadow covered them with one gun； while he jabbed the other toward the door。 Between two groups of enemies； he intended to hold unarmed men at bay； while he drove back invaders who would e with ready weapons。
As the door shoved inward； Beezer took a chance。 He snarled a mand to his pals； this time； they obeyed。 Thinking that Beezer was with them； the two thugs made a desperate dive for The Shadow。 Surging with full fury； they were upon him with a single bound。
The Shadow had only one course。 Fading toward the door； he fired as he dropped。 His bullets winged the thugs； sprawled them to the floor。 Beezer dropped with them； but his fall was a foxy one。 His pals had shielded him； Beezer still wanted them between himself and The Shadow。
That was scarcely necessary。 The Shadow had no more time to deal with Beezer。 Spinning toward the door； he whirled straight into a trio of policemen； who were clad in khaki； the distinguishing uniform of the Flying Squadron。 Had there been a bluecoat in their midst； The Shadow would have let that man dive away。 All； however； were khaki…clad。 Director Borman had chosen those uniforms； that crooks might know their friends。 The Shadow treated them alike。
His long arms were lashing； his heavy guns clipped heads beneath visored caps and sent the trio sagging。 In the corridor； The Shadow ripped quick shots at three more members of the Flying Squadron； winged one and sent the others diving for cover。 As The Shadow sprang past an elevator； the door clanged open； four members of the squadron saw him and charged。 They swung their revolvers； this time； The Shadow was in the midst of a slugging throng。
BACK in The Shadow's room； a shot was fired。 One of Beezer's wounded pals had taken a pot shot at Beezer himself。 It was in payment for his cowardice； in letting his pals bear the brunt of The Shadow's quick defense。
That shot went wide； it was Beezer who fired the next ones。 Savagely； the killer drilled both of his pals； sprawling them dead upon the floor； to leave no witnesses who might proclaim his treachery throughout the underworld。
Springing to the hall； Beezer arrived to see The Shadow wheeling away from four foemen。 Beezer dived for a stairway； The Shadow paused to deliver halting shots。 A khaki…clad foeman pounced upo