Close against the baseboard was a bit of flooring that commanded close inspection. A small, black piece of steel was moving beneath the glare of the light.
The Shadow’s hand forced a piece of wood downward from the baseboard. Nimble fingers pressed into the space. They pushed upward. The baseboard swung outward on a hidden hinge.
There, in a cache less than a foot square, was a metal box. The Shadow’s ear detected the slight ticking of muffled clockwork.
Below the box projected an envelope. Its end was directly above a thin slit in the floor — a slit that turned at an angle toward the wall.
The light of The Shadow’s torch gleamed full upon the white envelope. Those eyes in the dark read the name and the address.
The envelope was addressed to police headquarters. Then the flashlight went carefully past the envelope.
In the shallow space behind, fingers held the light so that it shone through the sealed packet. It showed two typed initials that were significant.
Those letters were J. T.
They meant much to the keen brain of The Shadow. Among those loose letters that he had previously viewed had been one with the name of James Throckmorton scrawled upon it.
The Shadow knew the name and address of the next victim!