Divining the significance of their words, he had chosen the roofs for his method of approach.
The old pawnshop was in the bad lands, and The Shadow was traveling toward familiar terrain. Well did he know all the important spots of this undesirable district.
Continuing his course, he reached the flat roof of the building next to the old pawnshop. There, his body formed a human bridge as it moved over a narrow, yawning gap below. Groping his way with amazing deftness, The Shadow, lying prone, peered from the roof above the cul-de-sac.
The blackness of the alley was a veritable mass of solidity. To many, it would have been a fearful, forbidding sight.
To The Shadow, it was luring. Thirty feet of brick offered a scant, impossible footing — even for a skilled human fly.
Now, at night, a fall would be inevitable for any one who might undertake the descent.
But not for The Shadow! The man of the dark was busy. From his cloak he was drawing certain objects which he fitted to his hands and feet.
Feet foremost, he let his body over the edge of the roof. Unseen in the darkness, he clung to the side of the building.
As one hand drew away, there was a slight squash. As the hand pressed the wall, again, the sound was slightly different.
His hands and feet garbed with his special suction cups, The Shadow was creeping safely downward into the blackness of the alley.