It was midnight. Martha Delmar was alone in her boudoir. Reclining in an easy-chair, she was trying to read a book. The effort proved unsuccessful. She laid the book aside, and her eyes wandered to the table, where two framed pictures stood.
One was a photograph of her father; the other of her fiance. Roland Delmar was dead.
Hubert Salisbury was in jail, awaiting trial on charges of robbery and murder.
Martha's face was sad; but as she stared tearfully at the pictures, a look of defiance came over her countenance.
She had suffered much, this girl, since that tragic night. Every friend in the world had deserted her. Even her relations — all distant cousins — had ignored her. The rich of Middletown had felt the failure of the County National Bank. In retaliation, they had ostracized Martha Delmar from their society. Two reasons alone kept this brave girl in Middletown. One was the recollection of her father; the knowledge that he was innocent of any wrong. The other was the plight of her lover; for Hubert Salisbury had no friend beside herself.
Bitter thoughts surged through the girl's mind. Strongest of all — for it was most recent — was the thought of her foolhardiness in giving an interview that afternoon. A reporter had baited her, that she might express her bitterness for all the town to read.
Why had she revealed her secret thoughts? Martha chided herself for the great mistake.
She thought of her wild appeal — her statement that she was anxious to call upon The Shadow for aid. The Shadow! On her last trip East, Martha had heard of that mysterious man. She had heard his voice, in fact, over the radio; but, like most of the public, she had merely supposed that she had been listening to an actor.
Yet the voice had haunted her; and when people had talked of The Shadow, Martha had listened. They told amazing stories of The Shadow — a personage clad in black, as dark as the night itself, who matched the guns of criminals with the sword of justice — who triumphed over the hordes of gangland. She recalled a small adventure in New York. On the outskirts of Greenwich Village, a man had accosted her and had tried to seize her pocketbook. Her cries had brought another man on the run. If The Shadow were only here in Middletown! Martha sighed as she realized the hopelessness of that wish. The Shadow could not be everywhere, superman though he might be. How could she expect him to come here, even though great crime might be rampant? His great work lay in New York.
Perhaps The Shadow might lend ear to her plea if she could only reach him. But that lone paragraph, printed only a few hours ago, would go no farther than the region about Middletown.
It would bring her only ridicule — not the help for which she longed.
Martha sighed wearily. She was very tired; but she could not sleep because of worry. She extinguished the reading lamp, and the room was dim, except for the glow of a single shaded lamp in a far corner. Martha lay her head against the back of the chair, and turned her half-closed eyes toward the open door.
Her eyes opened wide, and a sudden chill swept over her. Yet in that sudden qualm she was unable to make a motion, or resort to a single cry!
Standing in the doorway was a tall figure, clad in black. His long cloak was flowing from his shoulders. A slight fold revealed a dash of its crimson lining. His head was bent forward, and his face was invisible; for he wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat, turned down over his eyes.
Yet Martha fancied that she could see the eyes — glowing, burning eyes that gleamed from strange, featureless depths. The girl shuddered. Who was this strange apparition?
Then came amazing revelation. One name surged into Martha's mind. Whether this personage was actual, or a being of her imagination, there was but one who he could be.
The Shadow!
Unconsciously, Martha's lips formed the name. Her unspoken words could not escape the keen eyes that watched her. A low-whispered voice responded. It came from under the huge black hat.
"Yes. I am The Shadow."
Martha breathed a sigh of relief. The whole fantastic situation became real. She felt no fear. The presence of the unknown master of the dark inspired confidence. The girl knew that she had found a friend.
"I have tried to seek you," she said quietly, "but I did not know where you could be found."
"I am found where I am needed," responded the sibilant voice.
"I have need of your help," declared Martha beseechingly. "I have great need. You know what has happened — here in Middletown."
"I know."
"The man I love" — the girl's voice broke — "is under arrest — for murder!"
"He is innocent," came The Shadow's words.
"My father," continued Martha, "is dead. He — he was a suicide."
"He was murdered!"
The Shadow's calm, emphatic tone made the girl sit up in her chair. Wild-eyed, she stared questioningly toward the black-robed figure in the doorway.
Slowly, The Shadow advanced until he stood in the center of the room, tall and imposing, his arms folded before his body.
"You must not fear the truth," he declared, in a low, even monotone. "I cannot change the past. I can control the present. I can alter the future."
Martha nodded in understanding.
"Your father wrote a note before he died," said The Shadow.
"Yes," replied Martha. "I have it — here."
"Let me see it."
The girl arose. She felt no fear. The presence of The Shadow was a realization of her hopes. She went to the dressing table, opened the drawer, and brought out a sheet of paper. She turned directly toward The Shadow and approached him. She was almost face to face with the apparition in black when she stopped. Still, she could not see that hidden countenance. A black-gloved hand came slowly forward. It took the paper from Martha's hand. The girl saw the gleam of The Shadow's eyes. He returned the paper.
"I have seen a copy," The Shadow said. "It tallies with the original."
"It was written by my father," said the girl. "They say it proves he was a suicide—"
"It proves that he was slain!" declared the whispered voice. Martha sat down in the chair, and looked at the paper. The Shadow spoke, his words a virtual answer to the questions that were running through the girl's mind.
"The first paragraph," declared The Shadow, "is not indented. The second paragraph is. Yet the writing shows care and method. It proves that this is only part of your father's message. It is the last page. The first sentence is the continuation of a paragraph that began on the page before." Martha read the words: "I have contemplated suicide—" and realized instantly that The Shadow had struck the vital point.
"There was at least one other page," continued The Shadow. "Only this one was found. Someone took the remainder of the message. He wanted the death to be declared suicide — to cover murder." Martha Delmar nodded. Strangely enough, she had recovered quickly from the shock of learning that her father had been murdered. The thought of suicide had wounded her.
The fact that Roland Delmar had actually resolved to live came as a comforting thought.
"There have been two crimes in Middletown," said The Shadow. "I am speaking now of murder. Those responsible for your father's death are the ones who also killed Wellington and placed the blame upon Hubert Salisbury."
The voice paused thoughtfully.
"But those are not the only crimes. Murder was but incidental to the plotting that has reached this city. These men of crime have not yet completed their evil work. I shall thwart them!" The voice was sinister. Its shuddering tones awed the girl. Yet, despite the uncanniness of the scene, she knew that The Shadow was a friend. That fact banished fear.
"I shall turn their crimes against them," announced The Shadow, accenting each word with sibilant emphasis. "The truth shall be learned — and the innocent shall not suffer!" Martha could see the glowing eyes. She knew that the menacing glint was only meant for the foes of justice. To her, the eyes gleamed with warm friendliness.
"Be patient!" said The Shadow. "Justice shall prevail!" The girl realized that The Shadow was about to leave. She felt a sudden panic — a fear that she would lose his protecting influence.
"You are going—"
"Yes."
"You will return?"
"Yes."
Slowly, The Shadow drew the black glove from his left hand, to reveal the long, white fingers. Martha stared in amazement at the resplendent gem which she saw. Its marvelous changing hues were reflected clearly, even in the dim light.
"This girasol," said the spectral voice, "is the symbol of The Shadow. Few have ever known its significance. You are one.
"He who wears this stone — like which there is no other — is The Shadow. No matter what his guise may be, he is The Shadow. Tell none what I have told you!"
"I understand," said Martha breathlessly. "I shall remember. No one else shall know." As the girl stared at the gem, she lost all sense of material forms about her. The effect of the glowing jewel was hypnotic.
The figure of The Shadow seemed to melt into darkness. The white hand disappeared.
Only the changing girasol, with its hues of ultramarine and crimson, sparkled before her eyes.
The impression was fading. The glorious gem was melting away. Martha reached forward to clutch it. Her hands closed on space as the colors no longer remained.
The girl looked about her. She was alone in the room. Her eyes had retained the impression of the wavering colors, and she had fancied that The Shadow had remained.
Now all was like a dream. Only the paper in her hand stood as proof of The Shadow's presence. Had she imagined the singular conversation which had taken place?
It was possible that such was the case; yet Martha could not dismiss the semblance of reality. She was sure that The Shadow had been in this very room. She believed that he would aid her. She felt positive that he would return; that soon, again, she would see the mystic gem that was his token. Care and worry seemed very far away. For the first time since the tragedy that had swept so swiftly into her life, Martha Delmar found her mind at ease.
She was tired now; too tired to puzzle over anything until the morning. A comfortable weariness came over the girl as she made her way to bed. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep. The Shadow had spoken. The Shadow was gone. His presence had brought new hope to Martha Delmar.