Cleve’s senses were returning; still he lay motionless. He knew that The Shadow was in action. Once again, the man of the dark had saved his life. The best course now was to wait until he could divine The Shadow’s purpose.
All noise had ceased, and Cleve wondered what was happening. The events that had just taken place began to seem like an incredible dream.
Gripping the leg of the table, Cleve drew himself to his feet. He stood swaying in the darkness. His ears detected no sound. Cleve groped his way toward the lamp in the corner. He found it. He drew the cord.
Amazement followed. He was alone in the room!
The table drawer, its papers replaced, was closed. The Shadow was nowhere to be seen. But, most astonishing of all, Foy had disappeared!
Cleve rubbed the back of his head. This was incredible!
Foy had sought to kill. The Shadow had shot Foy. They must be enemies; yet both had left. It was possible that one had been instrumental in the departure of the other; still Cleve wondered that he had not heard them going.
Then he realized that his own deadened senses must have betrayed him. He had lost all knowledge of the passing of time. Even now, he was unsteady on his feet.
He pieced it all together. The Shadow had shot Foy from the window. The wounded assassin must have fled by the door. The Shadow, making no effort to follow, had remained a short while; then had departed by the window.
Cleve went to the window, and found it closed, but unlocked. He opened the window and inhaled fresh air. He closed the window and stole across the room to the hallway; there, he found the door of the apartment. It was closed, and the latch was turned.