There were no windows — nothing but stone walls on either side. And a locked door blocked farther passage at the bottom!
A BLACK-GLOVED hand appeared in the light, holding the key ring. The lock was opened. The door moved outward and showed a dim corner of a garage floor. An expensive coupe was standing ten feet away.
“Get in the car,” came a whisper.
Cliff was steady now. He walked across to the car, opened the door, and entered it. Resting on the comfortable cushions, he looked back toward the door through which he had come. It was closed now, and it bore the placard, “Air Shaft,” in large white letters.
Before Cliff realized it, the starter was buzzing. He was surprised to see a man in the driver’s seat. The Shadow had silently taken his place there. He was no longer a man in black. Cliff could not distinguish his features in the darkness, but noticed that the cloak was gone, and only the slouch hat remained.
The car moved toward the door of the garage. There a burly policeman stopped it. The man beside Cliff leaned from the window and pulled back the side of his coat.
“From headquarters,” Cliff heard a gruff voice say. “This is Bodine’s car. Cardona told me to bring it around.”
“All right,” came the policeman’s response.
The car rolled out, on the side street. The driver did not speak another word. They traveled on through darkness; even when they crossed the avenue, Cliff could not glimpse the other man’s face in the light, for his head was turned away.
The car pulled up in darkness on another side street. Fifty feet ahead, Cliff saw the electric sign of the Hotel Metrolite. He understood that this was his destination. He waited a moment. The man beside him made no comment.