In the guise of Henry Arnaud, The Shadow had come to San Francisco! The Shadow — dread avenger, who menaced evildoers of the East — had come to the Pacific coast!
What was his purpose here? Did it concern the strange death of Stephen Laird? Had that event declared the existence of criminal hands whose actions could be ended only by the power of this one man who waged relentless war on evil?
Only The Shadow knew! Tonight he had thwarted the first of his hidden enemies. He had walked into a trap. He had tricked the assassin, the man whose hideous face had come from the dark.
Back in the hotel, that evil face was still on watch — its wicked eyes staring across the hall toward a room that was deserted.
The Shadow, strange wizard of the night, had learned why Stephen Laird had occupied that room. With that knowledge gained, The Shadow was gone. Only the echo of a weird, mocking laugh remained.
CHAPTER III
A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE
TWO men were seated in the living room of an elegantly furnished apartment. One, the host, was attired in evening clothes. He was a man about fifty years of age.
His gray hair gave him a firm dignity. His eyes, mild and kindly, showed passivity, but with it, human understanding.
The visitor, plainly dressed, was about fifteen years younger. He had an air of assurance, and his chin portrayed the man of action. But now he possessed a patient attitude that seemed at odds with his natural inclinations.