“LISTEN, Homer,” said Farley, in a cold tone. “Do you think The Shadow is asleep? He wasn’t when he bumped off Max, was he?
“You can bet that he knows somebody is going to tackle that room of Harshaw’s again. Well — what’s he doing with his time? Taking lessons in backgammon? Not on your life!
“He’s looking for us; that’s what he’s doing. Looking for you, Homer, because he doesn’t know I’m in it. Get that? Looking for you!”
“No — no!” Homer was protesting, fear-stricken. “Don’t say that, Farley! If The Shadow—”
“If The Shadow is really looking for you,” interrupted Farley contemptuously, “he’s going to find you! But he’s not going to grab you by yourself. One look at you — he’d know you were yellow.
“The Shadow knows all the joints. Maybe he’s got stools of his own — if he has, the mobs haven’t wised up to who they are.
“So it’s duck soup that tonight The Shadow knows you are coming to the Black Ship tomorrow. But get this, Homer: He didn’t learn it until after I got out — because I picked the right guys to spread the news.
“He won’t know where this place is until you begin to blab tomorrow night.”
“Then what?” questioned Homer.
“Then he’ll come here,” said Farley, laughing, “but he won’t get here right away. You’ll be back first. You’ll be here with me — and I’ll be waiting for The Shadow!”