A pause, while the men stared, wondering, scarcely believing that this sinister voice could be that of a living man.
“While you are departing” — the voice was ominous — “others are gathering. They plot crime. They are close by you at this very moment. Prepare to meet them. Heed my warning!”
Men were clawing at their faces. Others were slumped in their chairs. Some, half standing, were trembling. Of the dozen present, not one was unperturbed. Only Rufus Cruikshank upheld his dignity; yet his fingers were tapping nervously upon the table.
Again came the fear-stirring laugh. Its tremolo ended with a gruesome dwindling that seemed to repeat itself upon the ears that heard it. The silence that followed was incredible. Roused imaginations still fancied that they sensed the token of some weird presence.
“Who — who — what is it?”
The stammered question came from Louis Helwig. He turned from man to man, as though seeking an explanation. At last his gaze rested upon Graham Hurley, the hotel proprietor.
Hurley shook his head slowly. He, too, was seeking an explanation, but saw only blankness when he looked toward Police Chief Yates. He was met with a cold, inquiring stare when he encountered Mayor Cruikshank. At last, realizing that this strange event had taken place in his own hotel, Hurley knew that the answer rested with him.
AMID the intense silence that followed the final ripples of the awesome laugh, Hurley had a sudden inspiration. His eye lighted upon a switch on the wall, where a plug was jammed into a socket. Going to that spot, Hurley removed the connection and slumped into a chair beside the wall.
“It must have been the radio,” he said, in a trembling voice.
“The radio!” The words were echoed by Raymond Coates. “I’ve heard that voice over the air! It’s the voice of The Shadow! But these words were no part of a radio program!”