The Shadow turned off the lamp. His fingers ran quickly down the rubber hose and found another handle at the floor. He turned it.
Then he reached Throckmorton and stooped beside the senseless man.
Futilely, The Shadow worked. He sought by his skill to revive Throckmorton, but the escaping gas had done its deadly work.
A slight leak in the hose was at fault. Engrossed in his labors, Throckmorton had realized the danger only when it was too late.
A noise from far below. The servant had arrived with rescuers. Distant footsteps sounded; then came closer. Still, The Shadow would not give up hope, even though his task seemed entirely hopeless.
Men had been revived before, when death seemed to have taken its toll. The room was cleared of gas; cool air was swirling all around.
The Shadow, hearing footsteps at the bottom of the final flight, leaped to the door and closed it.
Pounding fists beat upon the door. A heavy object crashed against the barrier. The stout wood was giving.
Yet, in the dark room, The Shadow still sought to aid the man from whom life seemed totally gone.
Crash! A hole appeared in the center of the door. Another smash. The Shadow arose. A hand, coming through the door, released the latch.