Beneath the very trestle where Ferris Legrand had hidden the green box, these men of crime were lying dead. The Shadow, risking his own life, had stopped their sure flight to evade the penalty of the law. His deed had been the only course that offered lasting justice.
The big locomotive was panting like a weary runner. Norton Granger rose unsteadily and crossed the cab. He stared at the seat beside the throttle.
The place was empty. The Shadow had departed.
As Norton Granger listened, he heard a distant sound that came above the panting of the engine. It was a token that he had heard before; but here, in the night air; its weirdness had a new and ghostly sound.
A strange peal of outlandish laughter; sardonic mockery that rose to strident crescendo; then faded while dying echoes mocked.
The triumph laugh of The Shadow!