IT was late the next afternoon. Two men were in a small boat near the drawbridge. They were dragging a channel. A policeman, on shore, watched their work.
The wrecked speedster had been removed. Still, the police vigil was maintained. The dragging had begun in the morning, when the first watchers had been relieved.
It was a gloomy, cloudy day. Darkness was arriving prematurely. A damp fog was settling above the channel. The opposite shore was invisible in the haze.
Two hands appeared between the pilings that supported the inner edge of the bridge. They were long, thin hands that appeared white and weak.
A haggard face came through the opening. Two sharp eyes glanced along the bank of the channel. They saw the broad back of the man in uniform.
A figure emerged from the pilings. A man swam slowly toward the far side of the bridge. Coming noiselessly, he reached the bank and dropped out of sight.
The man’s hiding place had totally escaped the search of the police. He had reached it through the water, picking a spot where the bank sloped behind the pilings and formed an artificial cave beneath the approach to the bridge.
The man climbed the bank beyond the bridge. He was scarcely visible in the thickening fog. He dragged himself wearily toward the highway, then turned and moved slowly along the bank away from the bridge.
He found a small, leaky rowboat. After a quick glance in all directions, he entered the boat and began to row it noiselessly across the channel. He passed by an anchored barge, silently and almost invisibly.
There was no sound — not even the dripping of his oars.
The rower rested; then resumed his progress. He reached the opposite shore. He turned back to the highway and came to a cigar store. A sign on the door said “Telephone Booth.”
The man peered into the store. The one clerk was busy with a customer. The man slipped through the door and entered the telephone booth unobserved. The clerk did not notice his presence until he noticed the closed door of the booth.
NEITHER Herbert nor Otto would have recognized the man who was telephoning. He bore but little resemblance to the visitor who had pretended to be James Michaels of Chicago.
Pale, wet, and bedraggled, his air of dignity was gone. He seemed a weary, furtive man; yet, despite his condition, he looked younger than the elderly personage who had visited the home of Wilbur Blake.
The man called a taxicab office. He summoned a cab, giving the address of the cigar store. He learned that a cab would arrive in ten minutes.
He waited in the booth until he saw the clerk step to the rear of the store. Then he slipped silently to the street, dropping a coin for a copy of the Morning Monitor as he went out.
The cab arrived and the driver entered the store. He was surprised to find no passenger. Returning to his cab he saw a face at the window. It was partly obscured by an opened newspaper.
“I was waiting outside,” said a quiet voice. “Drive me into the city. I shall give you the address later.”
The taximan obeyed. He sped along the highway and crossed one of the mammoth bridges that connect Manhattan with Long Island.
“Turn left,” came the word from the back of the car, as the cab reached an avenue. The driver obeyed.
Twenty blocks on, the cab was stopped by a traffic light. The driver thought this was the time to learn his passenger’s destination. He put his head through the partition, but saw no one. With an exclamation of anger, he leaped from the cab and opened the back door.
His passenger had gone. The car was empty. A flat object was visible on the rear seat. The cab man picked it up. It was a damp, flabby ten-dollar bill.
Ten blocks back, the man came out of a dilapidated house situated on a side street. He seemed entirely different from the water-soaked individual who had taken the taxi near the drawbridge.
He was clad in a dark suit. Upon his shoulders rested a loose black cloak. His face was lost beneath the brim of a large, black felt hat. He turned and walked along the street, scarcely noticed by those who passed. A soft, chuckling laugh escaped his lips and echoed from a doorway as he passed.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
THE man in the black cloak had undergone a remarkable transformation. He was no longer weary. Only a slight limp remained as a token of his crash in the speedster. The effects of his long, cramped hiding had disappeared.
He made a startling figure as he passed the lights of the avenue, his great, grotesque shadow forming an uncanny blot upon the pavement.
A short while later, the same man in black appeared in front of Rodney Paget’s apartment house. The Shadow entered the building unobserved, and rode up in the automatic elevator.
He stopped at the door of Paget’s apartment and silently inserted an oddly shaped key. He opened the door noiselessly and stepped into total darkness. The door closed behind him.
Then there was silence. Alert, The Shadow was listening. He seemed to sense the presence of some living being. He moved across the room, so noiselessly that no ear could have heard him.
There was a slight click as his hand pulled the cord of a lamp. The light revealed a man against the opposite wall — a grim-faced man whose eyes were intent upon the door. The fellow turned in amazement to stare into the muzzle of The Shadow’s automatic.
A soft laugh came from beneath the hat. The man by the door sullenly raised his hands. The Shadow moved toward him; then turned quickly as another man leaped from the corner of the room and fell upon him.
“Get him, Fritz,” hissed the man at the door, as he leaped toward the strugglers. “No gun! No noise!”
“I’ve got him, Bart,” came the triumphant answer. The attacker’s hands were gripping The Shadow’s throat.
Then came an astounding change. Slender white hands came from the cloak. The Shadow caught his opponent’s wrists. Dropping toward the floor, The Shadow swung Fritz headforemost. He used the man’s wiry body as a giant club.
The human weapon descended with terrific force against the fellow called Bart. The Shadow arose and laughed softly. His two antagonists lay on the floor before him.
Fritz was completely dazed. Bart was only partly stunned. The Shadow removed the man’s belt and bound his hands behind him, firmly and with amazing speed. He used a handkerchief to gag the man’s mouth.
Then he turned his attention to Fritz. The man wore no belt, so The Shadow used his suspenders.
Leaving his helpless victims, The Shadow commenced a quick search through the room.
He acted with the air of one who was familiar with the place. Papers, drawers, books, and other articles were quickly inspected. The Shadow seemed to be checking a previous search.
He left the room and turned on lights throughout the apartment. His eyes were looking everywhere. He stopped suddenly in the little alcove. Something caught his eye.
He stepped to the window shade. There were blotchy marks at the left side of the rolled-up blind. There were similar marks at the bottom of the shade. Visible only to a keen eye, they had attracted The Shadow’s notice.
THE white hands were at work. Within a few seconds, the left hand found the secret catch and the right hand drew down the shade. As the papers which Paget had hidden fell toward the floor, The Shadow plucked them from the air. He began a quick perusal of the document.
The dust-covered fingers of Rodney Paget had left the marks that had betrayed his ingenious hiding place. The Shadow’s previous search had failed, but, firm in his belief that Paget still possessed the document he wanted, The Shadow had succeeded through the aid of a trifling clew!
The figure in black stood firm and motionless. The Shadow was completely absorbed in the revelations which he was now gaining. His perusal was rapid but careful. He finished the reading. His hands slipped the papers beneath his cloak. Then he raised the empty blind and locked it in place.
His hand produced a watch. He turned and left the alcove.
In the outer room, The Shadow stood above his bound victims. He appeared as a man of destiny. He was lost in deep, concentrated thought.
The men on the floor wondered. They feared the presence of this mysterious being; they dreaded what might happen.
To their astonishment, The Shadow ignored them. The strange man in black came suddenly to life. He moved rapidly through the apartment, extinguishing lights behind him. The living room was plunged in darkness.
Leaving his victims to their own uncomfortable thoughts, The Shadow opened the door of the apartment and disappeared from view. The only memento of his presence was the sound of a mocking laugh that came through the closing door.
It was a long, taunting laugh that echoed after he was gone. It chilled the hearts of the men who lay bound upon the floor. For the laugh did not bring back thoughts of the events that had just transpired. It seemed to presage events that were yet to be!