“We may meet in combat, you and I. The outcome is a matter that concerns us alone. But the combat, itself, will be the death warrant for people who are present. I have heard it said that you protect the weak. This is your chance to preserve the lives of the innocent. Do not act to thwart my schemes!”
“Your terms then,” observed The Shadow, still in the role that he had taken, “apply whether or not I choose to accept the money that you have offered.”
“Exactly,” agreed Tyrell. “In fact, my offer of one hundred thousand dollars will remain open until operations actually begin. That will not be for nearly a month. If you choose to reverse your present decision, simply place a want-ad in the New York Classic. State that you desire an executive position and use the name of Barnes. I shall communicate with you.
“But if your aversion toward me still exists; if you prefer to continue your policy of thwarting crime, be wise enough to abide by my rules. Make no attempt to injure me or to disclose my schemes to any one. Should you act in such fashion, death to innocent parties will be the result.
“My schemes are clever enough to deceive the law. I shall not be forced to use violence if the police alone are pitted against me. Nevertheless, I shall have capable henchmen; and my plans are so well made that they will continue even if I should die. Any attack on your part will be the signal for slaughter. That condition exists from this moment until the completion of my fifth crime.”
The Shadow made no response. While Tyrell talked, his double was undergoing a change. The Shadow, picking up his discarded garments, donned cloak, hat and gloves. Once more he was the spectral shape that Tyrell had first seen.
“We are enemies,” reminded Tyrell, as he faced the weird figure before him. “We shall remain so, unless you notify me that my offer is acceptable. However” — the man paused to smile suavely — “I shall not forget the terms of this meeting. That door” — he pointed across the room — “leads to the corridor. It is your path to safety. Take it.”
Burning eyes were focused upon the smooth promoter. The Shadow’s whisper came in sinister response.
“That door,” sneered the black-garbed figure, “was not the one by which I entered.”
“Of course not,” returned Tyrell, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I arranged for your arrival by the door of Room 850. That was because I happened to place advertising copy with the Paragon automobile, which is priced at eight hundred and fifty dollars.
“I might have placed similar copy with the Zenith Company, which sells a car at six seventy-five. Had I done so, our interview would have been set for Room 675 in the old Zenith Hotel. However, 850 at the Paragon proved suitable. It was the logical room for you to enter.
“We are now in Room 852. The simplest exit is from here into the corridor. It is the one I offer you. You gained a safe entry: I offer you a safe departure. There is the way.”
Again, Tyrell pointed to the door that led into the corridor. His gesture indicated insistence that The Shadow should leave by this particular exit. Instead, the black-clad visitant turned toward the door that led into 850.
“I prefer,” whispered The Shadow, in a sneering tone, “to leave by the same route which I used in entering.”
“Against my advice,” warned Tyrell, with an angry scowl.
“Against your advice,” repeated The Shadow, in a sardonic tone.
Leaving Tyrell staring in indignation, The Shadow turned and glided toward the connecting door. He opened the barrier. He slid into the darkened room, closing the door partway behind him. His figure merged with darkness.
INSTANTLY, Mark Tyrell’s expression changed. His feigned anger was gone. A gloating look appeared upon his face. He was sure that he had tricked The Shadow.
Tyrell had offered safe conduct through the door of 852. He had made no promises should The Shadow depart by 850. Tyrell was priding himself on his subtle cleverness as he listened for a sound from the adjoining room.
What Tyrell expected was the boom of a revolver. Instead, he heard a click. Then another; a third; a rapid succession of clicks and a fuming oath. Finally a weird laugh that trailed as Tyrell sprang to the connecting door. He was just in time to hear the final echoes of the laugh as the outer door of 850 closed on The Shadow’s departure.
Tyrell clicked on a light. Before him, rising from in back of the chair in the corner, was Pug Halfin. The mobleader’s face looked vicious. His hand clutched the big .45 that he had kept in readiness. Pug looked half stupefied.
“You fool!” snarled Tyrell. “Why didn’t you get him? I told you to be ready if he came through here—”
“It wasn’t my fault,” growled Pug. “This smoke wagon was empty!”
“You told me your gun was loaded!”
“It was. If you’d let me keep my own rod, instead of handin’ me this dead gat—”
“Wait a minute! You say I gave you that gun?”
“Sure you did. Say, Tyrell, have you gone goofy? You came in here twice. The first time—”
“Let’s see it.” Tyrell took the big revolver from Pug’s hand. He cracked it open and looked at the empty chambers. “Hm-m-m. A .45—”
“That’s what you said,” interposed Pug. “Told me my .38 wouldn’t do—”
“And if you had discovered it empty,” mused Tyrell, “you couldn’t have loaded it, because your own ammunition would be too small. Say — he is clever—”
“Who’s clever?”
“The Shadow.” Tyrell faced the mobleader squarely. “Listen, Pug; I saw The Shadow face to face when I talked with him in the other room. Do you know who he looked like?”
“Who?”
“Myself. He was made up so perfectly that I might have been studying my own reflection.”
“Then you mean—”
“I mean that it was The Shadow who came in here and talked you out of your loaded gun. He was disguised to look like me. He gave you a weapon that you could not use. He knew that you were here to kill him.”
“Then he could’ve got me!”
“Yes. But he preferred not. He learned too much from me. He knows that if he attacks me or any of my pals, innocent people will die. I kidded him into coming back through this room. No wonder he fell for the game.
“Listen, Pug. No word of this to any one. We don’t want the crew that’s working for us to think that The Shadow can outsmart us. You and I are the only two who will know that The Shadow pulled this trick.”
“I get you.”
Mark Tyrell was holding the empty .45 up to the light. He wondered if The Shadow had adopted the unnecessary precaution of plugging the barrel. If not, this revolver could be given to some mobster.
Something showed in the barrel. Tyrell pulled a pencil from his pocket. He pushed a twisted sheet of paper out through the mouth of the gun. He opened the message. In neatly traced characters, he read this statement:
TYRELL:
We meet as friends. We separate as enemies. All crime that you contemplate will be nullified.
THE SHADOW.
Tyrell crumpled the paper and thrust it in his pocket. He shook his head as he heard Pug question him about the contents of the message.
“Nothing of importance,” declared Tyrell. “Merely The Shadow’s compliments. He’s smart, The Shadow, but we’ll lick him. Remember, Pug; keep mum about this.”
“You bet,” replied the mobleader.
Mark Tyrell’s face showed savage in the light as the suave promoter returned to Room 852. The message from the gun barrel told him that The Shadow had known his name as well as his features prior to the interview. It also proved that The Shadow had divined why Tyrell had requested his presence here. The black-cloaked visitant had foreseen the outcome of the interview.
Mark Tyrell scowled; but his ferocity showed determination. A vicious laugh snorted from his twisting lips. The Shadow had come and gone; in every point, he had been victor. His subtlety had beaten Tyrell’s. The Shadow had shown his mastery.