Zull grimaced fiercely. He knew that a single word could bring Crowell to his aid, but he feared the threat of that automatic. He knew from experience that The Shadow would not hesitate in an attack.
“Listen, Crowell,” said Zull, tensely, “I’ve just figured that we’ve made a mistake… Yes… We’ve got the wrong guy… Remember those finger prints? They don’t correspond.
“Yes, I found prints there; thought I told you about them… Tell you what… Run up to Mitchell’s place and give another search… See what you can find… No, I don’t think I’ve got all the evidence.”
He hung up the telephone.
“A clever idea,” commented The Shadow, stepping back. “A turned-down corner of a rug. I was in that room while you were there, Zull.
“The door opened inward. I stood behind it. The door was never once closed — all during the inspection.
“When your pals commit crimes, they leave their sign. You come along and kill the evidence. Like you did with Harkness. You still had that precious pad when I finished with you. But one sheet was gone—”
REALIZATION crept upon Herbert Zull. He knew that he was at the mercy of this amazing man — The Shadow. He felt that The Shadow was merciless.
“When Crowell reaches Mitchell’s,” declared The Shadow, “he will find a scrap of paper that was overlooked. It was written by Zachary Mitchell, just before he died.
“It bears three words above his weakened signature. Those words are: ‘Maddox shot me.’