The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1927-11-18
CHAPTER I
The Shadow of the Bat

pounding a heavy fist on table. The
detectives he beloved the words at
looked at the floor. They had done
their best and failed. Failure meant
resignation" for the police chief, re-
turn to the hated work of pounding
the pavements for them-they knew II.
and, knowing it, could summon no ges-
ture Of bravado to answer their
chiefs. Gunner, thugs, hijackers, loft
robbers, murderers, they could get
them all In time-but they could not
get the man he wanted. .
"Get him-to HI with the expense
I'll give you carte blanche-but get
him." said a kaggard millionaire in
the sedate inner offices of the best
private detective firm in the country.
The man on the other side of the desk,
man-hunter extraordinary, old servant
OF government and state, sleuth-hound
without a peer, threw up his hands
in a gesture of odd hopelessness. at
isn't the money, Mr.. de Courcy-Pd
give every cent I've made to get the
man you want-but can't promise
you results-for the first time In my
life" The conversation was ended.
"Get him? Huh! I'll get him
watch my smoke!" 1t was young am
bition speaking in certain set of
rooms in Washington. Three days
later young ambition lay in a New
York gutter with bullet in his heart
and q look of such horror and sur
prise on his dead face that even the
ambulance doctor who found him felt
shaken. "We've lost the most prom
Using man I've had in ten years." said
his chief, when the news came in. He
swore helplessly, 'rD-n the luck!"
"Get him-get him-get him-get
himI From thousand sources now
the clamor arose-press, police and
public alike crying out for the capture
of the master-criminal of century
lost voices bounding a specter down
the alleyways of the wind. And still
the meShes broke and the quarry
slipped away before the hounds were
well on the scent-:leaving behind a
trail of shattered safes and rified jew
ell cases-while ever the clamor rose
higher to Get him-get him-get-"
Get whom, in Gods name-get
what? Beast, man or devil? A spec
ter-a flying shadow-the shadow of
a Bat. ...a
From thieves hangout to thieves
hangout the word passed along STIR
ring the underworld like the passage
of an electric spark. There were
bright stars and flashing comets in the
world of crime-but this new planet
rose with the portent of an evil moon.
The Bat-they called him the Bat
Like a bat he chose the night hours
for his work of rapine-like bat he
struck and vanished, pouncingly,
noiselessly-like bat he never
showed himself to the face of the day.
He'd never been in stir-the bulls had
never mugged him-he didn't run with
a mobile played a lone hand and
fenced his stuff so that even key the
Fence couldn't swear he knew his face.
Most lone wolves had a mol, at any
rate-women were their ruin-but if
the Bat had a moll, not even the
grapevine telegraph could locate her.
Rat-faced gunner in the dingy back
rooms of speak-easies muttered over
his exploits with bated breath. In
tawdrily gorgeous apartments, where
gathered the larger figures, the pro-
consuls of the world of crime, cold,
constituencies brains dissected the
work of a colder and swifter brain
than theirs, with suave and bitter
envy. Evils Four Hundred chartered,
sand invisible tentacles to clutch at
shadow-to turn this shadow and its
distorted genius to their own ends.
The tentacleS recoiled, baffied-the
Bat worked alOne-not even Evils
Four Hundred could bend him into a
willing instrument to execute anoth-
erS plan.
Where official trailer and private
sleuth had failed, the newspapers
might succeed-or so thought the dis
illusioned young men of the Fourth
Estate-the tireless foxes, nose-down
on the trail of newS-the crackers who
never gave up till that news was run
to earth. Star-reporter, leg-man, cub,
veteran gray in the trade-one and all
they tried to pin the Bat like caught
butterfly to the front page of their
respective journals-soon or late each
gave up, beaten. He was newS-big-
ger news each week-a thousand tick
ing typewriters clicked his adventures
the brief, staccato recital Of his ca
reer in the "morgueS" of the great dali
lies grew longer and more incredible
each day But the big newS-the
scoop of the century-the yearned-for
headline, "Bat Nabbed Red-Handed,"
'Bat Slain in Gun-Duel With Police
still eluded the ravenous nav of the
linotypes. And meanwhile the red
scored list of his felonies heightened,
and the rewards offered from various
sources for any clue which might lead
to his apprehension mounted and
mounted till they totaled a small for
tune
Columnists took him up-played
with the name and the terror-used
the name and the terror as starting
point from which to exhibit their own
particular opinions on everything from
the immortality of the soul to the mer-
its of the Lucy Stone league. Minis
tiers mentioned him in sermons
cranks wrote fanatic letters denounc-
ing him as one of the seven-headed
beasts of the Apocalypse and fore
runner of the end of the world-a
popular revue put on special Bat
number wherein eighteen beautiful
chorus-girls appeared masked and
hi h in, "a