A coupe was parked by the curb, behind the sedan; but The Shadow ignored the smaller vehicle. He helped Harry into the front seat of the sedan, and gave him the key, which he had evidently taken from the helpless Anelmo. Then The Shadow placed a slip of paper in Harry’s hand. The sheet was folded.
“Drive straight ahead,” came the whispered voice, “until you reach the boulevard. Then follow the instructions that are on the paper.”
As Harry slipped the sedan into gear, he glanced backward. The door had closed; there was no sign of The Shadow. The man of darkness had vanished into the thick night.
Harry Vincent gripped the wheel, and piloted the powerful automobile along the narrow street. He wondered what the instructions would be; but more than that, he wondered what mission The Shadow had chosen.
BACK in the underground room, the Sicilians struggled to free themselves from their bonds. It seemed a hopeless task. The Shadow had tied them quickly, but well. Anelmo nearly managed to free one hand; then he could get no further.
At that moment, assistance arrived. A man stumbled into the room. He was still partially bound with ropes. His face and hands were covered with mud. In one fist he held an automatic, and he blinked his eyes as he came into the light.
Anelmo recognized Monk Thurman.
“Where is he?” demanded the gangster, in his rasping voice. “Where is he?”
“Who?” questioned Anelmo.
“The man you captured.”