The Shadow smiled as he glided up the stairs of the Redan Hotel.
He knew that Cardona’s men were gone. He knew that the detective was right in his assumption that there would be no note tonight. For The Shadow knew the source of those mysterious billets. He also knew when the next would be on its way.
The shadowy form reached Harshaw’s apartment and entered with accustomed ease. The flashlight glimmered while The Shadow worked.
Tonight, he did not visit the death spot by the window. Instead, he pried into the little cache where muffled clockwork ticked.
With careful touch, The Shadow removed the letter from the clips that held it. From beneath his robe, he drew a vial of liquid.
With a tiny brush, he forced the fluid beneath the flap of the envelope. The flap peeled back. The message was removed by a gloved hand.
With a pen, The Shadow wrote four words across the typed lines. He refolded the message and put it back into the envelope, which, in turn, he replaced between the clips.
The Shadow was laughing softly as he prowled about the room. He came to a point directly opposite the window. There he stopped, and his flashlight searched the wall.
The glow revealed the spot where a bullet had buried itself in the woodwork.
This spot was less than three feet from the floor. In the corner of the room, The Shadow’s light showed a footstool.