The detective grunted as he tried to repair the remains of the cigar.
While he was thus occupied, he failed entirely to observe what happened at the door to the study.
The Shadow moved over to cover the door. While his body blotted out the barrier, his black-gloved hand inserted a key in the lock. The slight clicking was muffled beneath the covering cloak.
The door opened inward — not more than a foot. The Shadow slipped into the study, and the door closed softly.
Perhaps it was a slight sound that attracted Mayhew’s attention. The detective looked suddenly toward the door an instant after it had shut. He went to the door and listened.
There was no sound from the inner room. Mayhew went back to his chair.
Absolute darkness pervaded the room in which Silas Harshaw had been slain. It seemed like a chamber of death. Not a single sound disturbed the sinister silence. Yet, there was motion in that room.
A man who was an integral part of the darkness was moving here and there. A tiny ray of light appeared at intervals. It illuminated the old man’s desk. It shone upon the bits of sculpture in the corner.
It rested on the chess board. It revealed the gas heater at the inner end of the room.
Only the reappearing light betokened the movement of the man who carried it. The gleaming spot came and went in haphazard fashion, arriving in the most unexpected places.