Professor Jacques was unable to meet those stern, unyielding eyes. The medium looked again at the hands.
Upon one finger, Jacques observed a strange, mysterious gem, that glowed like an undying ember. Its deep-purple rays changed to vivid crimson. That stone had the sparkle of living fire. The medium fought against the fascination of that gem, and turned to the man beside him, the heavy-set man whom he had addressed as Mr. Harvey.
"I think I am all right, now," he said. "I am glad that you are here, Mr. Harvey. You and these others know and understand the dangers that confront a medium. I shall rely upon all my sincere believers" — he swung his head around the circle, dodging the gaze of the hawk-eyed man — "to see that no one in this group causes a disturbance.
"I shall try again to commune with Little Flower. But first, I shall seek the manifestation of a friendly spirit that will protect us all against the evil forces."
He nodded toward his bonds. The nearest sitters, now calm again, examined the knots to see that the medium was securely tied. The hawk-faced man did not move from his chair. He sat still, with his bold eyes directed straight toward the sallow medium.
"Join hands," ordered Professor Jacques. "The circle must be complete while I am within it. Will you, Mr. Harvey, turn out the lights and then join the circle? Thank you."
The final statement was made while Harvey was on the way to comply with the request. The lights went out, and the voice of Professor Jacques sounded solemnly in the darkness.
"My strength has returned," he said. "But before I again commune with Little Flower, I shall call upon Temujin, the powerful, friendly spirit, to stand beside me. Often has he been of aid. Coming from the spirit plane, he can strike mortals as well as evil spirits.
"Should any one leave this circle, I cannot be responsible for his safety. Hark!" — the medium's voice became a prolonged moan — "I can hear the whisper of Temujin. He is beside me. I feel his powerful presence—"
As the medium's voice became indistinguishable, a suppressed gasp went around the circle. Hovering in front of the medium's form appeared a phosphorescent dagger — a sinister weapon wielded by an unseen hand!
"I feel Temujin's presence," came the medium's intonation. "It is above me — beside me — protecting me!
Let mortals beware. Let them beware! No force of evil can enter this room. Bound spirits of the other plane beware Temujin!"
The medium's voice became a groan. When that groaning ceased, all knew that the voice of Little Flower would manifest itself.
The threatening, luminous dagger made hands tremble in the circle. Yet its presence was welcome, for with it here, that unearthly mockery of before could not return.
The medium's groan was dying. The falsetto babble of Little Flower was wavering through the stillness. The phosphorescent dagger was almost motionless as it shimmered slightly before the medium's head.
"I am Little Flower—"
The babble ended as the chilling tones of a creeping mockery gathered through the room. It seemed as though some unseen powers were gathering the vibrations of the air together, to hurl them into one tremendous taunt!
The rising sound increased above the subdued gasps of the sitters. It grew louder than the babble of Little Flower's voice. It burst like the crest of a mighty wave — a startling, mirthless cry of wild, outlandish laughter!
Chairs fell backward as sitters clambered to the floor. Screams came spontaneously from the lips of frightened women.
The phosphorescent dagger trembled as though the unseen hand that held it was startled by that reverberating cry. Then it flashed in a menacing swing, as though seeking a hidden enemy. As the dagger wavered, something shot out of the darkness and gripped an arm beside the swinging blade. A loud, harsh oath was uttered.
The dagger was whirling, trying to escape an unknown grasp, as though two mighty, invisible forces were locked in supernatural conflict!
Now came a vicious curse from another voice. The mocking laughter burst forth in quick staccato as the dagger rose high above the floor. Amid the laughter came the thud of a falling chair — wild curses — the fierce sounds of a human struggle in the darkness.
The phosphorescent dagger whirled away in freedom. Striking from above, the blade swept downward like a dash of meteoric light. Its mission of vengeance ended as the blade was lost in thick darkness. A terrible scream came from beside the medium's chair. It sounded again, weakly, and ended in a hideous coughing gasp.
Something thudded heavily, and the glowing handle of the dagger reappeared, poised motionless, only a foot above the floor.
"Lights! Lights!" came the cry of the medium.
The frantic words were drowned with a new outburst of the demoniac laugh that had brought consternation to the room. From the walls and ceiling, impish echoes resounded in the blackness. A host of tiny tongues seemed to be pouring forth a message of sinister doom.
As the taunts died out, the lights came an. Castelle, white-faced, had reached the wall switch. The bright illumination revealed a startling scene.
The sitters were scattered about the room all in spots where they had fled for safety. Overturned chairs bore witness to their mad scramble from the seance circle.
The medium, his sallow face now a reddish purple, was struggling with the ropes that bound him. Amazing though these sights were, they could not compare with the sight in the center of the room. There lay the body of Herbert Harvey, face upward — the handle of a dagger projecting from a spot above the heart!
The man was dead — slain by that mysterious dagger, which no longer shone with phosphorescent light!
While astounded eyes gazed upon the horrible sight, fascinated by the pool of blood that gushed from the slain form, a weird, uncanny echo sounded from an unknown spot.
It was the last response of the strange mockery that had preceded this frightful scene! No one knew from whence it came. In the midst of that eerie sound, the medium's bulging eyes swept everywhere. His struggle stopped as he sought the source of those jeering tones.
He could see no one laughing. Only wild, white faces were in view. They were faces of the startled sitters. As before, these people were obsessed by fear.
From face to face, the medium glared, forgetful of the dead man on the floor, seeking only that hawklike visage that he feared.
But the search was in vain. The man with the firm, unyielding eyes was gone. All that remained to tell of his strange presence was the memory of a weird, sardonic laugh. A laugh so horrible that no one could believe had come from human lips.
It was like the laugh of a ghost. A mockery so grotesque that only a being from another world could utter it. An unearthly tone that even the cringing, faking medium believed had come from spirit lips. Like the laugh of a ghost it had come; like a ghost, it had returned. A man had vanished with it, as though he, too, belonged in some unknown realm of the universe.
Yet that laugh, ghostly though it had seemed, had come from human lips.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
Chapter II — Spook or Shadow
Murdered by a ghost!
Of all the strange deaths that Detective Joe Cardona had investigated, the case of Herbert Harvey, stabbed to the heart with a keen-bladed knife, was the most mysterious.
To the ace of New York detectives, summoned to the seance room within half an hour after the murder, the situation presented baffling angles that afforded no tangible solution. After a night of witness quizzing, after an exhaustive search for clues, Cardona was back to the point from which he started.