“If I want you inside, you’ll hear from me. If I don’t come out in thirty minutes, move into the house. If any guy enters, spot him, but don’t stop him. Savvy?”
“We got it.”
The detective sauntered across the street and silently entered the brownstone mansion. He found the front hall dimly lighted. He moved softly up the carpeted stairs.
Cardona remembered this house. He prided himself on the softness of his approach.
At the head of the stairs he saw the light thrown into the hallway from the open door of the room where Lukens expected a visitor.
There was a dark spot on the opposite side of the hallway. It offered an excellent observation place.
Cardona slipped to the location; there, crouching low, he turned to look into the silent room.
The desk was obscured from view. Cardona shifted to the side, risking a momentary chance in the light.
There the detective rested motionless, too astounded to take instant action.
Face down on the floor lay the body of a man! The bushy gray hair identified the person as Doctor George Lukens. The arms were outstretched, as though the dead man had made a despairing effort to throw himself upon an attacker. The fists were clenched; but there was something about the left hand that halted the detective’s gaze.
The third finger of that hand projected straight outward from the closed fist!
Beside the body was a living man, a figure clad in black. Enveloped in the folds of a huge cloak, this living person seemed like a specter of the night — a sinister being of another world, whose mammoth shadow lay across the body sprawled upon the floor.
CARDONA experienced a sensation mingled with fear and amazement. He recognized the being in black. It was one whom he had never encountered, yet whom he knew existed.
The detective realized that he was viewing a figure that had brought terror to the underworld; whose very existence was a mystery to the police and criminals alike. Cardona’s lips were dry as they phrased two words which the detective did not utter aloud.
“The Shadow!”
The demand for action surged through Cardona’s brain. The police had nothing on The Shadow. The mysterious man had been accused of crime, yet nothing had ever been proven against him.
On the contrary, he had — on occasions — helped the police in their war against crime, but always in his own mysterious way. He had never appeared in the light as a detective.
His purpose here tonight was a mystery to Cardona. That The Shadow was the visitor expected by Doctor Lukens the detective did not doubt.
Cardona, shrewd though he might be, was a man who jumped to immediate conclusions. Here was tangible evidence.
A dead man — Doctor George Lukens — who had been alive less than an hour before. Hovering over him was this monster of the night, the only person in the house. A dead man and a live man. The evidence lay against The Shadow.
Cardona had come to listen as a concealed observer. Now his purpose was to seize and capture a man whom he felt certain was a murderer.
The circumstances were pressing. Had his men been close by, Cardona would have proceeded cunningly. Had he felt that he was dealing with an ordinary criminal, he would have simply covered the man and demanded his surrender.
But he had heard too much of The Shadow. Now that the myth of the underworld had become reality, Cardona hesitated at halfway measures.
Death to the murderer was his only course!
The urge to observe what The Shadow was about to do restrained the detective momentarily, but he overcame the temporary hesitation. Drawing his automatic, Cardona straightened up and sprang into the room.
The sound of his approach made his presence known to the man in the black cloak. So promptly did The Shadow act that his motions seemed simultaneous with those of the detective.
Cardona’s arm, usually sure and firm, trembled slightly with excitement as his finger touched the trigger of the automatic. Then came a revolver shot; but not from the detective’s gun. From beneath his cloak, the man in black had whipped out an automatic.
Flinging himself full length on the floor to escape Cardona’s aim, The Shadow had fired from an angle.
The bullet struck the detective’s revolver just above the handle, grazing Cardona’s fingers. The damaged gun fell from the detective’s numbed hand.
As The Shadow started to rise, Cardona threw himself at the man in black. Angered, the detective forgot that he was at the mercy of his antagonist.
One shot from the automatic would have ended the detective’s plunge. But The Shadow did not fire.
Instead, he bent forward as Cardona fell upon him. As the detective’s bleeding hand grasped the black cloak, The Shadow lifted his shoulders and precipitated Cardona head foremost on the floor.
Cardona threw out an arm to protect himself and was partially successful, although he was half stunned by the force of his fall. As he tried to recover himself, he had a dazed view of a swiftly-moving form in black. The Shadow hurried from the room toward the stairs.
THERE was a loud clatter at the front door. The two plain-clothes men stationed by Cardona had rushed across the street at the sound of the shot.
The Shadow, standing at the head of the stairs, would have been a perfect target for their automatics; but they did not realize his presence until they had come halfway up the steps. Until he moved, he seemed nothing more than a blot of blackness against the wall.
With the approach of the plain clothes men, The Shadow turned and sprang down the hall. The cries of the men followed him. Revolvers were discharged wildly.
The Shadow stopped short, and his tall, black-clad form drew itself tensely against the wall. Two policemen were coming up the back stairs. That avenue of escape was cut off.
The detectives, shouting to the policemen, came running down the hall. They stopped in the gloomy darkness as the policemen met them. The four men had lost their quarry.
They were standing within a few feet of the doorway where The Shadow, calm and motionless, was waiting. Slowly, inch by inch, the door began to open inward, without the semblance of a sound. The Shadow was escaping from their midst!
While the four minions of the law were wondering, this incredible man of the night was leaving them. With iron nerve, he was moving with patient slowness, giving no sign that might betray his presence.
But for an unexpected incident, he would have made his secret exit.
It was Joe Cardona who unwittingly frustrated The Shadow’s escape. The detective, tottering unsteadily, came from the room into the hallway. He placed his hand against the wall and found a light switch. He remembered it from his previous visit to the house.
An instant later the hallway was flooded with light. A sharp cry came from one of the plain-clothes men.
There, plainly visible against the white background of the half-opened doorway, stood The Shadow!
A policeman acted promptly. As The Shadow twisted through the doorway, the man in uniform leaped upon him. The others followed before The Shadow could elude them. The Shadow gripped the doorway as the four men came down on him.
Cardona, suddenly restored to his senses, came down the hallway. He knew the formidable powers of the man whom the officers had captured. “Don’t let him get away!” he cried. “Shoot him!”
There was no chance to obey the last command. The captors were too closely gathered to risk a gun shot.
Then The Shadow became suddenly submissive. His automatic had been wrested from his hand, a plain-clothes man, frisking through the folds of the black cloak, brought forth another gun.
“I’ve got the rods,” the man exclaimed. “Hold him, boys.”
The policemen were pinning The Shadow’s arms against the wall. The plain clothes men stepped back as Cardona approached.