Gradually, it dawned upon Tremont that the man in black intended to take him from this place. The wisdom of such a course was apparent. A dead body, hastily concealed, might be discovered, particularly if Biff and his henchmen entered the house for any reason at all.
Furthermore — the thought brought a faint hope to Tremont — The Shadow might have a use for his captive. That was it! Tremont's wavering pulse beats quickened. The Shadow would take him away — off to some hidden lair, to hold him there a hostage as Cliff Marsland was held at Orlinov's. The checkmate would be stalemate. Neither side could move.
Tremont did not relish the situation; at the same time, he realized that the plans of his associates would go on, uninterrupted.
Tremont was none too sure of Savette and Orlinov. Crook like, he, himself would have been willing to sacrifice a companion for his own good. He fancied that Savette and Orlinov would do the same. What if The Shadow should kill Glade Tremont? They would retain the upper hand. Tremont cursed himself for his folly in coming here.
The Shadow's automatic seemed to beckon. Weakly, Tremont arose and moved in response to the command. The black-gloved hand that held the automatic was close to Tremont's body. The barrel of the gun was against the lawyer's ribs.
Tremont trembled as he sensed the touch of the metal. Quivering, he walked from the room, crouching low at The Shadow's whispered order.
Well did Tremont know the repute of The Shadow. He knew that the mighty hand would not falter in the face of danger. A shot, now, would not be to The Shadow's liking; nevertheless, that weird personage would not hesitate to use his gun if his commands were disobeyed. The Shadow did not fear the hordes of gangdom.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Here, The Shadow's hissing whisper formed one word:
"Stop!"
Tremont obeyed. He listened while The Shadow spoke low and with emphasis. The command was plain. Tremont was to leave and enter his car; to wait there for The Shadow.