"Sir," said a whining voice, "I haven't eaten ..."
There was a swift movement as Stutsman's stick lashed out, a thud as it connected with the second shadow's head. The shadow crumpled on the pavement. Stutsman strode on.
Greg sucked in his breath. "He isn't very sociable tonight."
Stutsman ducked into an alley where even deeper darkness lay. Russ, with a delicate adjustment, slid the televisor along, closer to Stutsman, determined not to lose sight of him for an instant.
The man suddenly turned into a doorway so black that nothing could be seen. Sounds of sharp, impatient rappings came out of the screen as Stutsman struck the door with his stick.
Brilliant illumination sprang out over the doorway, but Stutsman seemed not to see it, went on knocking. The colors on the screen were peculiarly distorted.
"Ultra-violet," grunted Greg. "Whoever he's calling on wants to have a good look before letting anybody in."
The door creaked open and a shaft of normal light spewed out into the street, turning its murkiness to pallid yellow.
Stutsman stepped inside.
The man at the door jerked his head. "Back room," he said.