With catlike stealth, The Shadow glided across the room to the corner nearest the door. There he slipped behind a table which bore a large flower pot, and in an instant, his presence was indetectible.
His form seemed like some motionless shadow against the wall. Only a close observer would have noted that the mass of blackness was a solid object.
With Larrigan in the library, the attendant returned to lock the iron gate. While he was busy with that action, the mass of blackness moved from behind the table. It went to the door of the library. The Shadow opened the door and entered the large, gloomy room.
The attendant did not hear the click of the door. Perhaps the noise he made in locking the gate drowned out the slight sound; but it was more probable that the noise made by The Shadow was negligible. For Larrigan, seated in the chair that visitors usually took, heard nothing.
THE SHADOW moved across the room, behind the gang leader’s back. The mysterious man made no noise whatever. He reached the bookcase, still out of Larrigan’s vision. There he stood, still as a painting, until he was sure that the Irishman was not observing. Then, slowly and carefully, he opened the swinging bookcase.
The Shadow waited. The man in black knew that a sudden motion would attract Larrigan’s attention.
The door at the other side of the room opened. Larrigan arose expectantly; and The Shadow glided like a living phantom through the opening of the bookcase. The swinging portal closed behind him just as Savoli and Borrango entered the library.
Neither of the Italians saw it close.
Nick Savoli took his accustomed chair; Borrango covered the bookcase as was his habit. They exchanged greetings with Larrigan, and the Irishman talked business immediately.
“You know why I’m here, Nick,” he said to Savoli. “It’s about this fellow, Monk Thurman!”