There, the figure of The Shadow merged with gloom. Nothing remained but a projecting splotch of blackness upon the floor. That spot was motionless when Unger entered, carrying a revolver in his hand.
The attendant had evidently decided to inspect the third-floor room as Hurley Adams had suggested.
Coming up the stairs, he had caught the sound of the dropping book. He was here to investigate.
Stare as the man did, in all directions, he saw no sign of a living person. His eyes spotted the telephone book, and Unger grinned. Probably it had fallen from the table, merely by accident. The attendant turned to leave; then, as an afterthought, decided to look at the windows.
He chose the alcove where The Shadow had gone! By freakish chance, he headed directly to the spot where the splotch of darkness lay upon the floor. Unger did not see The Shadow, but it was inevitable that he should come across him.
Once again, chance played a strange part. Unger, satisfied with his inspecting glances, sensed no danger.
Idly, he flipped the gun in his hand, about to put the weapon in his pocket. It nearly slipped from his fingers, and, as he caught the revolver, Unger’s gaze lowered. He found himself staring directly into a pair of blazing optics that flashed from a mass of darkness.
THE man acted quickly. His revolver was in his hand. It required but a fraction of a second for his finger to grip the trigger. Unger, however, did not act with the swiftness of The Shadow. Before he could fire, the lawyer’s servant felt a quick grasp upon his arm. A figure of blackness shot forward from the gloom and fell upon him.
Instinctively, Unger wrested away from The Shadow’s spring. The man freed his body, but he could not pull his wrist clear from the grasp that had caught it. A tall, wiry form was overpowering him, and with the roar of a savage bull, Unger put up a grim resistance.
The revolver fell from the man’s grasp, as he fought against this phantom shape that had taken on human form. Together, he and The Shadow twisted across the floor, Unger battling with a fury. He was a strong man; and he had gained an equal beginning in the conflict, for The Shadow had, of necessity, sought his wrist alone.
In the grapple, Unger suddenly felt his opponent yield. With a savage twist, he forced The Shadow downward.
That effort was his undoing. The black shape suddenly ceased to yield. Strong arms came upward. They took a firm hold upon the ex-soldier’s body, and in a trice, Unger was turning in a mammoth cartwheel as his body whizzed through the air.
The flight ended in a crash against the wall. Unger crumpled and lay still. The Shadow, a soft murmur of mirth upon his hidden lips, approached the vanquished combatant.
He saw that Unger was only momentarily stunned. That had been The Shadow’s intention. This conflict had been forced upon him. He had no quarrel with the lawyer’s servant. There was other work to do — and this delay might prove unfortunate.
Sweeping across the room, The Shadow gained the door. There was no sound of footsteps as he descended the stairs. His figure glided toward the hall below.
When Unger sat up a few minutes later, and rubbed his forehead, the whole fray seemed like a hazy dream. He wondered what had happened in this room. He could only remember two blazing eyes; then a struggle with an adversary whose face he had not seen.
Angrily, Unger leaped for his revolver, and began a thorough search of the room. He was cautious and complete. He seemed puzzled to find that there was no one there. He did not realize that he had lain stunned for several minutes.
In fact, Unger, in that peculiar condition that follows a period of unconsciousness, felt all recollection slipping. Imagination could not have thrown him against the wall; yet he could now remember nothing of what had actually occurred.
The man felt piqued and foolish. He realized that he had been bested completely in a swift struggle that had brought no credit to himself. Unger did not know that he had delayed The Shadow on a mission of importance.
That one fact was to cause misfortune within the next half hour!
CHAPTER IX. THE FINGERS WORK
ARTHUR PRESTON, prosperous Holmsford merchant, waved a greeting as he passed the door of his living room. His daughters were entertaining friends, and Preston, after this brief acknowledgment of the visitors present, continued upstairs.
His destination was his curio room at the front of the third floor, a spot where he spent most of his leisure hours. For Arthur Preston was a great collector, and social life had become a bore when compared to the interest he found in his miniature museum.
The curio room was an isolated spot in the oddly shaped house. Wedged beneath the sloping front roof, it formed a sort of gallery which was provided with a row of electric lights. The only windows were two tiny affairs, one at each end of the long room, but a pair of skylights, set in the level portion of the ceiling, afforded ample illumination during the day.
Storerooms occupied the nearest portions of the third floor. The servants’ quarters were in the wing at the rear of the house. Hence, Preston walked through a silent, deserted hall as he approached the place of his choice.
The door of the curio room was unlocked, for Preston had been in and out all evening. Except when he was home, he kept the place closed, for it was easy of access. Side stairways in the old building made it possible for people to come up here at any time. So Preston used bars to guard the room, but never bothered with them when he knew that he would return within a short time.
The merchant emitted a satisfied grunt when he came into the curio room. He had been classifying a collection of firearms, and weapons of various sorts were lying on a long table. These formed a contrast to the spears, swords, and other instruments of warfare that lined the walls.
Preston even possessed two suits of armor that stood like sentinels on either side of the doorway. These were light, and arranged in sections so that they could be lifted and moved without difficulty. The table upon which Preston was working with his collection stood directly beside one suit of mail.
Chancing to glance back along the hall through which he had come, Preston noticed that a door to one storeroom was ajar. That was unusual. He had not noticed it when he went downstairs.
Preston went out into the hall and entered the storeroom. He turned on a light, and found the place vacant. He examined the catch on the door, and noted that it did not work perfectly. That would have to be adjusted, he decided.
There was no blind on the storeroom window, and Preston’s figure was plainly outlined as he walked about the room. Although the merchant did not realize it, eyes were peering upward from the lawn below. They were sharp, keen eyes, masked in a shroud of darkness. Their owner had arrived but a moment before.
Preston extinguished the light, and went from the storeroom. At the same time, a hidden figure on the ground below began the task of scaling the wall of the house. This was a task that required care, although it was not overly precarious.
Arthur Preston was about to receive a secret visit from The Shadow. It would have been quite easy for the master of the night to have come up through the interior of the house, had he known its arrangement.
Any person who had visited the Preston home could shortly have familiarized itself with its devious side halls and stairways. Another visitor, therefore, would have chosen such a course; but to The Shadow, walls were as accessible as stairs; and with the party in progress on the ground floor, the wall was preferable.
BACK in the curio room, Arthur Preston began his examination of the weapons which he was classifying.