“Go on!” ordered The Shadow.
“This is the end,” replied his prisoner.
“The end?”
“So help me. It is where we left him. I don’t know what happened to him after that.”
“Turn around!” The Shadow threw his light into the man’s face. He saw that the fellow had spoken the truth.
“Does the elevator go up higher?” questioned The Shadow.
“This is the top,” was the reply.
The Shadow stepped in the elevator and threw his light upward. Not for one instant did he lower the gun that covered the other man. Yet in that brief inspection he detected a space above the elevator.
“Come in,” ordered The Shadow.
WHILE his victim cowered in the corner of the car, the man in the black cloak ran his hands about the interior of the elevator. He found an ornamental molding. His keen fingers detected a concealed button.
He pressed it. The car moved upward.
It stopped in another small compartment. The Shadow forced his prisoner out. This room had a steel door on the opposite side. The Shadow pressed about it and found a catch that moved the frame of the steel doorway to one side.
A keyhole was revealed. The Shadow produced a slender, pointed steel instrument. In less than a minute he picked the lock. The door slid into the wall.
The Shadow’s light revealed the headquarters from which the leader of the Silent Seven had sent his orders.
The appearance of the mystery room might have been puzzling to some other person. The Shadow, however, wasted no time in surprised inspection. He found the light in the corner and turned it on.
He noted a crack in the wall, and saw that it was a door faced with tiny holes. The Shadow probed these openings with his pick. He sprang a catch and opened the door. It was an empty closet.
“In,” commanded The Shadow. He forced his prisoner into the closet and closed the door upon him.
Then he looked around the room.
There were no other entrances. The Shadow tapped the walls. He heard hollow sounds at spots. When he came to a solid place he paused and smiled. He was conversant with the ingenuity of the master of the Silent Seven. The opening that he suspected would probably be at the place where the wall was solid.
The Shadow stopped, suddenly intent. Until now, he had not been noiseless in his actions. He paused to listen. He heard the faint throbbing of some mechanism below the room.
Thrusting his automatic beneath his cloak, The Shadow began to act with great rapidity, as though realizing that time was precious. His sensitive fingers groped along the wall. Time and again, they covered every inch, until finally an invisible catch yielded. A solid sheet of metal slid upward. It revealed a spiral stairway.
The throbbing sound became more distinct.
The Shadow descended. At the bottom he found another barrier. This time his fingers were more familiar with the trick. They found the catch and another sheet of metal rose into the wall. The Shadow stopped abruptly. He realized now that he had come in the wrong garb.
This was unquestionably a haunt of the master of the Silent Seven. The Shadow had expected to find this place empty. Had he suspected a person here, he would have donned a hooded robe instead of the cloak and black hat which he now wore.
For directly before him, with hands alert and face leering with ferocity, stood a giant of a man. So close was the monster that The Shadow was virtually in his power. The man in the black cloak seemed a pygmy in front of this huge bulk.
HAD the light of the passage been more bright, and had Bron’s wits been keener, The Shadow’s quest would have come to a sad ending. But in the doorway, with darkness behind him, The Shadow’s cloak and hat bore a resemblance to the hood and cowl of the master of the Silent Seven. The similarity was enough to make Bron doubtful.
The giant hesitated momentarily as his hands approached The Shadow’s throat, and his gaze turned downward. The Shadow divined his thought. His left hand came from beneath his robe, and Bron observed the scarab ring which he was wearing. The giant stepped back a pace and bowed.
“The sign,” he said.
The Shadow had virtually memorized the instructions that he had read in Henry Marchand’s confession.
He knew that this huge man must be a member of the Faithful Fifty. He did not know what method Number One might use in speaking to him; but he assumed that the usual countersign was employed.
“Faithful,” he said.
His hand clutched his automatic as he spoke, and he was none too soon. The giant had leaped forward the moment that the word was uttered.
Bron’s arm struck The Shadow’s wrist as the man in black was pressing his finger to the trigger. For once, The Shadow’s finger slipped and the gun nearly fell from his hand.
Recovering it, he swung the automatic to the right, and its heavy barrel struck the giant’s jaw.
The blow did not stop Bron; but it turned his attention. With a sudden grasp, he plucked the revolver from The Shadow’s hand and flung it across the passage. He caught The Shadow’s arms and sought to hurl the man against the stone side of the corridor.
Then began a terrible conflict. The Shadow, with all his amazing power, was no match for the giant. He managed only to keep his antagonist from hurling him against the wall. He tried to wrest himself free from that mammoth clutch, and in the effort was forced to the other end of the corridor.
Bron had gripped The Shadow’s arms and was forcing them back over the shoulders. The Shadow’s hands were free, but helpless. As Bron ground them against the wall, they encountered a master switch.
A gleam of quick understanding came to the flashing eyes that were peering from beneath the broad-brimmed hat. With his right hand, The Shadow pulled the switch.
The muffled sound of machinery ended abruptly. Bron’s ferocity was suddenly curbed by the occurrence.
He released his hold upon the right arm of The Shadow and reached for the switch. At the same time, he showed his brute strength to the fullest as he used his right arm to whirl The Shadow sidewise across the passage.
The Shadow’s hat protected his head as he crashed against the wall. In that moment of half-stunned defeat, his weakened arm stretched out, and his hand struck against the leg of the stool which was Bron’s customary resting place.
The Shadow had dropped to one knee. He rose from the floor, starting a mighty swing. Bron, turning to finish his enemy, saw it coming, but too late.
The stool was a terrible weapon. It knocked aside the giant’s upraised arm. The legs of the stool broke into fragments as they struck the monster’s head. The Shadow’s formidable foe collapsed in a huge heap.
THE SHADOW was weak and breathless. Then he realized that the throbbing of the machinery had begun again when Bron had pressed the switch.
Above the sound he heard another noise. A weak tapping at the end of the corridor. He drew back the switch. He went to the door and found the hidden catch. The door arose and showed a most amazing sight.
Harry Vincent was prone on the floor, below the level of the door. His hands were reaching through a space scarcely more than a foot in width. Above him was a long, dark platform, like the level of a huge elevator. From beneath came a weird light — the last illumination furnished by the frame at the opposite end of the corridor of death!
The Shadow gripped Harry’s hands and pulled him through the narrow opening. It was a tight, close squeeze. For a moment it seemed as though the man’s body could not get through the space. Then Harry was free.
He lay motionless upon the floor of the passage, faint from the ordeal he had undergone.