The figure that had stopped by the gangsters was moving again. It was on its way, straight ahead.
It sought the path of darkness. Had it wavered from it, the figure would have been a target for half a dozen hidden watchers. But the slow, gliding motion of the jet-black form made it totally invisible. Free from observation, it reached the old house.
There it stopped by the low stone steps. A hand reached up and pressed against the door of the house.
The hand was as invisible as the man. It was covered with a thin, black glove. It was the hand of The Shadow!
Working from below, The Shadow inserted a small steel instrument into the lock of the old, battered door.
The slight clicking of the sharp device escaped all hearers. Even the specially made master key of thin steel was painted black.
The lock responded. The hand sought the knob and turned it with painful slowness. The door was loose on its hinges.
It opened gradually, inward. The space widened to a foot. Had there been any glow from within the house, the opening of that door might have been discerned by keen, observing eyes. But the door opened into blackness.
And blackness it was that entered there, as The Shadow crept a serpentine course into the old house, turning his body sidewise as he progressed.
The door closed gradually behind him.