Without a moment's hesitation, Slade replaced the bottle that he held exactly where he had gotten it. He laughed softly as he noticed an open place ready for him to set the bottle. The job was ended. The mysterious visitor glided along the eaves, down the post, and off through the hedge. He left as stealthily as he had arrived.
Back in the house, the heavy man was shaking four pills out of a bottle. Small white pills, he laid them on his tongue and swallowed a glass of water. He laid the bottle aside. He sat down in a comfortable chair, and began to read a newspaper.
It was not long before a sudden change came over the man. His face took on a troubled look. He placed his hands to his stout body. He was undergoing an unexpected pain.
He arose and made his way to a couch. There, he collapsed. His form heaved slowly for a short time. At last, it ceased to move.
A few minutes later, a long, weird shadow crept across the floor of the room. It showed upon the side of the couch, where the man lay motionless. It seemed to crawl upward like a hand of the night. Then a man in black stood in full view. Garbed in dark cloak and hat— even his hands covered by black silk gloves, and his face invisible beneath the hat brim, he might have come from nowhere. He bent over the prone man, and touched his body. The man was dead!
The mysterious visitor spied the bottle of pills. He raised it and examined it. He removed one pill, and dropped it back in the bottle. He placed the bottle where he had found it. The man in black paused to listen. Someone was coming up the stairs. Quickly, the visitor swept from the room.
Only one man could move with that amazing stealth. That man was The Shadow. He it was who had come here to-night.
Standing invisible against the edge of the hallway wall, The Shadow saw a servant enter the room where the dead man lay. He heard a startled cry — a man's voice calling downstairs — other servants running up. The Shadow glided into the dark bathroom. There, with eyes that pierced the gloom, he spied the other bottle on the rack above the washstand. He looked about the room and laughed — softly but grimly. Shouts were coming from the servants. They were buzzing in the death room, calling excitedly to one another.
"Mr. Garwood is dead!"
Noiselessly, The Shadow let himself through the open window. He dropped lightly to the ground, found the spot where he could pass easily through the hedge, and disappeared in the direction which the other man had taken.
It was an hour later, when The Shadow reappeared and entered the house by the very way which he had left. Gliding from the bathroom into the hall, he heard the sound of voices — two police officers discussing the death.
"Just a dumb mistake, that was all," said one. "Just a plain dumb mistake that—"
"You said it!" agreed the other.
The Shadow laughed in low, sinister fashion, as he glided back toward the window. He had expected this.
A mistake! That was what they were supposed to think.
But The Shadow knew that a man had died, not by mistake, but through design!
Chapter VI — Death by Accident
The laugh of The Shadow!
The echoes of that sinister sound were ringing in the ears of Detective Joe Cardona, as he returned to his hotel in downtown Philadelphia.
Staring at the window, he reflectively chewed the end of his unlighted cigar. Cardona faced a problem of deductive addition.
He was trying to put two events together — to find a reason for the strange happenings which had disturbed the spirit circles in New York and here.
It was obvious that one hinged upon the other. Yet death had struck upon only one occasion. Assuming that The Shadow had been at the seance of Professor Jacques in the Hotel Dalban, there was a logical reason why the mysterious man should have left when the death dagger reached the heart of Herbert Harvey.
That was the way of The Shadow — to disappear when mystery reached its height. But what was The Shadow's purpose at the home of Anita Marie? As on the previous occasion, he had probably gone there to shatter a display of fakery. If so, he had succeeded. Nevertheless, Cardona could not explain the sudden departure of The Shadow. Mentally, the detective identified the hawk-faced man and The Shadow as one. Cardona knew well that The Shadow was a master of disguise; that he possessed the amazing ability of changing his face almost at will.
Cardona had never before seen the man who had been at Anita Marie's. But the detective could not forget the eyes that had peered from that impenetrable, masklike face.
The eyes of The Shadow!
Cardona had seen those eyes in the past. Peering from beneath the brim of a slouch hat, they had flashed vengeance upon men of evil.
The hawkish face of the man at the seance had been as effective a disguise as an actual mask, but it had not hidden the sparkling eyes.
Cardona made his summary. There was a connection of some sort between the psychic circle in New York and the one in Philadelphia.
Professor Raoul Jacques, suave, sophisticated, and discriminating in his choice of patrons, was working in the same cause as Anita Marie, the harsh-voiced woman who plied her mediumship at the low rate of one dollar a head.
The Shadow had attended the New York seance. He had left at a critical moment. Only Benjamin Castelle had been aware of his presence. Once again, The Shadow had attended a seance here in Philadelphia.
On this occasion, only Joe Cardona had been able to divine his presence. The Shadow had gone from a seance room which teemed with confusion, but not with crime.
Why had he departed? Cardona suspected that The Shadow had gone on an unknown mission. If so, did the clue to it lie in something that had happened there?
Cardona recalled the jargon about Little Flower. Also the mention of the stock, Coronado Copper. These were good points to remember for the future. The name of the woman — the believer who had received the message from Little Flower — was Maude.
Cardona recalled that her last name had been given also, but somehow, it evaded his memory. Then, there had been a few words about a man from India. It was then that The Shadow had laughed again. Had that second interruption been timed for a purpose? Had The Shadow suddenly picked up a thread of importance that had made it necessary for him to travel elsewhere? The thought perplexed Cardona, but he could think of no satisfactory conclusion.
He felt that he had profited by this visit to Philadelphia; but he was also sure that to-night's event was simply an isolated incident that made a single item in a complete scheme of things. Cardona penciled a few notes for future reference. He dropped the paper in his pocket and went to bed. In a few minutes, he was sound asleep.
Of an unimaginative disposition, Cardona was seldom troubled with dreams.
But that night he awoke suddenly to gain the impression that some one was in the hotel room. He listened intently in the darkness, seeking for any semblance of a sound. When none occurred, the detective turned on the light and stared about him. The room was empty.
The door was still locked. Peering from the open window, Cardona noticed a balcony a floor below. There was no one on the balcony. The detective went back to bed and slept soundly until morning. Arising, he remembered what had occurred during the night. Dissatisfied, Cardona looked about the room, to make sure that his previous inspection had been thorough. He decided to make a notation on his sheet of tabulations, especially as he now recalled that the name of the trusting woman had been Maude Garwood.
Reaching in his coat pocket, the detective discovered that his sheet of notes was gone!