His legs gave way beneath him. Cleve landed flat on his back, half beneath the table, his face staring upward as the knife descended.
Half stunned by the blow against the back of his head, Cleve saw and heard everything in disjointed fashion.
Like a portrait in a frame, he recognized the evil face of Foy, the servant of Ling Soo. Descending with arrowlike aim came the flash of the falling dagger as the yellow hand aimed it for the victim’s heart.
Then, from the direction of the window came a sharp report accompanied by a flash of flame. Like a dummy figure, Foy’s form sprawled sidewise and rolled upon the floor, the knife still extending from the tight-clenched fist.
The lamp went out. Lying in darkness, his head throbbing, Cleve wondered what would happen next. Silence followed. Then came the sparkle of a tiny flashlight.
It moved about the room, while Cleve, prone and helpless, felt himself incapable of motion. The light flickered on his face.
Almost wearily, Cleve closed his eyes. He opened them again to see the paper with the Chinese characters, held suspended in air by an invisible hand.
Eyes in the dark were reading that message! They were the eyes of The Shadow!
The light was turned upon the drawer. The paper seemed to fold itself and drop back in its hiding place.
Other papers rustled. The light moved away; then went out.