"Yes, this is Glade," said the lawyer. "He is here… The man I expected… All will be well… Yes, he has listened to my terms… I shall see you before midnight… At your home… Be careful and ready. You know the plan."
Tremont hung up the telephone and looked at The Shadow. He was positive that his enemy did not know who had called.
Tremont had weighed the situation carefully. He knew that he was covered; that Orlinov had been watched. But Savette, he felt sure, was too well secluded to be suspected of complicity by The Shadow.
"You have heard," declared Tremont boldly. "Now let me hear your answer."
A soft, shuddering laugh came from the man in black. More terrifying than his presence alone, the mockery of The Shadow broke Glade Tremont's nerve. The lawyer sensed that he had overplayed his hand.
"I know your ways," came a whispered, sinister voice. "I have dealt with crooks like you before." Instinctively, Tremont quailed as The Shadow spoke. He saw his plans fading away.
"I know who called you," continued The Shadow. "Savette is your accomplice. In all probability, he has a coded dispatch to send to Orlinov, in case you do not appear at his home."
The Shadow laughed again, and his tone, though louder, did not emanate from that room. It caught the echoes of the wall. It reverberated, and Tremont's eardrums throbbed with the ghostly sound.
"Tonight," declared The Shadow, "Glade Tremont will appear at the home of Doctor Savette. Later, Glade Tremont will go to Glendale and order the release of Clifford Marsland.
There, in addition, Glade Tremont will end the schemes of terror that now exist.
"You doubt my statement? That is because you do not understand my methods. Look!"
With his left hand. The Shadow swept away his slouch hat and brought down the collar of his cloak. His head was fully revealed.
Staring at the disclosed face, Glade Tremont gasped. He was looking at himself — his own features as clearly portrayed as though he had been staring in a mirror.
The lips of the false Glade Tremont moved. The Shadow was speaking again but his voice was a perfect imitation of the lawyer's tones.
"I am Glade Tremont!" declared The Shadow. "I am the man who will act tonight!" As he heard that voice, the real Glade Tremont wilted in his chair. He had sought to combat The Shadow. He had planned, but he had failed.
The master crook slumped helplessly. He saw death now — death that he could not escape.
With keenness that out-rivaled all the schemes of Tremont, and his companions, The Shadow had found a certain way to foil the methods of the band of fiends.
Savette would be duped! Orlinov would be duped! The game was ended! But Tremont, cowering, thought only of himself. The Shadow's eyes were flaring through his masklike face.
They boded no good for Glade Tremont.
Chapter XIII — The Shadow's Flight
Glade Tremont was in The Shadow's power. Until now, the man of the dark had played a waiting game, never once revealing his hand. From the start, he had realized that he was dealing with a new game of crime.
He had divined that all the evidence against the crooks was hanging by a single thread — ready to be dropped into oblivion. Released of their burden, Tremont, Savette, and Orlinov would be beyond the law.
Now, thrusting from the dark, The Shadow had checkmated the first of the terrible three.
He was master of the situation. As Glade Tremont, he might deceive the lawyer's crafty confederates. But to do this, he must leave this house.
Divested of his cloak and hat, The Shadow could easily pass Biff Towley at the outer gate. But he must first eliminate Glade Tremont.
That was why the lawyer cringed with fear. He did not expect The Shadow to fire a shot — such might be interpreted as a signal by the men outside. But the lawyer did expect to die by The Shadow's hand. A blow from that heavy automatic — a thrust with an unseen knife — powerful fingers clutching at his throat — these were the harrowing thoughts that entered the cowed lawyer's mind. The Shadow, however did the unexpected. Calmly, he drew his cloak about his shoulders. His slouch hat once more covered his features. The false visage of Glade Tremont was concealed from view. What was The Shadow's purpose?
Gradually, it dawned upon Tremont that the man in black intended to take him from this place. The wisdom of such a course was apparent. A dead body, hastily concealed, might be discovered, particularly if Biff and his henchmen entered the house for any reason at all.
Furthermore — the thought brought a faint hope to Tremont — The Shadow might have a use for his captive. That was it! Tremont's wavering pulse beats quickened. The Shadow would take him away — off to some hidden lair, to hold him there a hostage as Cliff Marsland was held at Orlinov's. The checkmate would be stalemate. Neither side could move.
Tremont did not relish the situation; at the same time, he realized that the plans of his associates would go on, uninterrupted.
Tremont was none too sure of Savette and Orlinov. Crook like, he, himself would have been willing to sacrifice a companion for his own good. He fancied that Savette and Orlinov would do the same. What if The Shadow should kill Glade Tremont? They would retain the upper hand. Tremont cursed himself for his folly in coming here.
The Shadow's automatic seemed to beckon. Weakly, Tremont arose and moved in response to the command. The black-gloved hand that held the automatic was close to Tremont's body. The barrel of the gun was against the lawyer's ribs.
Tremont trembled as he sensed the touch of the metal. Quivering, he walked from the room, crouching low at The Shadow's whispered order.
Well did Tremont know the repute of The Shadow. He knew that the mighty hand would not falter in the face of danger. A shot, now, would not be to The Shadow's liking; nevertheless, that weird personage would not hesitate to use his gun if his commands were disobeyed. The Shadow did not fear the hordes of gangdom.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Here, The Shadow's hissing whisper formed one word:
"Stop!"
Tremont obeyed. He listened while The Shadow spoke low and with emphasis. The command was plain. Tremont was to leave and enter his car; to wait there for The Shadow.
It was the man in black who opened the door. Standing in the gloom, his automatic still a threat, he watched Glade Tremont walk from the house. Then his tall form flitted through the opening. The door closed almost as if the lawyer himself had shut it.
Tremont descended to the drive. His footsteps crunched upon the gravel. The step of the car creaked as he entered the automobile.
He could not see The Shadow — in fact, Tremont dared not look behind him. He entered the car on the side opposite the driver's seat. As he shut the door, he stared past the wheel. He saw the opposite door closing softly.
The Shadow had tricked him! Instead of keeping him covered, The Shadow had silently flitted past the car to the other side. Noiselessly, invisibly, he had entered. Tremont could see only a mass of black. It indicated The Shadow — behind the steering wheel of the car!
The starter purred. The motor throbbed. The lights of the car came on — with the exception of the dash light. The two men in the car were invisible.
Tremont sensed the boldness of The Shadow's plan. If anyone had been seen, it must have been Tremont himself. With the car pulling away openly, Biff Towley might be deceived into thinking that Tremont was leaving of his own accord, at the wheel of his coupe.
Tremont suppressed a groan as he realized his hopelessness. Why should Biff suspect that anything was wrong? He and his hounds of the underworld had been watching this house all evening. Only Tremont had been seen to enter. They did not suspect the presence of The Shadow!
Deliberately, The Shadow drove Tremont's car to the circling end of the drive. He swung the wheel; then backed the car and started it forward. He headed out along the drive, toward the safety of the street. Tremont was too alarmed to move. He was being shanghaied in his own automobile, and he could not prevent it!