The driveway was narrow and dark. The detective looked toward the street. He fancied that he had seen something move. He pulled his flashlight from his pocket and stepped to the center of the drive. The torch gleamed.
Only a flickering shadow showed momentarily. The sleuth thought nothing of it. He still watched down the driveway. He did not hear a slight sound by the door in back of him.
A man had entered the hallway of Matthew Wade’s home. He stood in a narrow passageway, each side a paneled wall. There was no light there. A door blocked his path in front; he had closed the door behind him. He knew that a detective was on the opposite side of the barrier ahead. One patrolled the driveway outside the door in back.
Only one man could have entered so silently, and that man was The Shadow!
It was he who stood alone in the silent passageway. The smoking room was beyond the inner door and to the right. But The Shadow did not advance. Instead, he felt along the panels at his right. They were exquisite, highly finished oak panels. That was not visible in the dark; but visitors to Wade’s home had often noticed them when the passage was illuminated.
Lamont Cranston had visited Wade’s home on several occasions. He, too, had noted those panels. He had often wanted to run his hands along them, but had desisted when in the guise of Lamont Cranston.
But as The Shadow, in solid darkness, the man who now stood in the passageway was free to investigate. He was working quickly and skillfully, searching with greatest pains, but losing no time in his efforts.
Slender, tapering fingers found a spot which yielded. They pressed slowly, cautiously. One of the lower panels slid aside, without the slightest noise. A body slipped through. The panel closed.
A LONG, narrow room, low and windowless — a pitch-black den.
Silence reigned in the place. Then came a low muttering. The rays of a tiny flashlight suddenly appeared and glowed upon the wall. A hand pressed a button. A dim illumination filled the room.