Dimly, it dawned upon Carpenter that Phineas Twambley, the pretended old man, was none other than The Shadow in disguise.
The being in black was approaching, step by step. Slowly, Carpenter began to slink away. Trembling, he slumped into a chair beside the desk in the corner. The reflected light showed his ashen face, and wild, staring eyes.
Now, The Shadow stood before him. There was nothing human in that monstrous form. A tall, avenging figure of doom, The Shadow seemed to mock his quailing prisoner.
A voice spoke — a low, piercing whisper. It came from lips that were masked by the upturned collar of the black-hued cloak. Those lips spelling words of doom.
“Herbert Carpenter” — the captured man quivered as he heard his name — “you have returned to crime. To the crime that I thwarted; to the crime which you may follow no longer.
“Police are searching for you. They will find you, as they found you before — in this hotel — helpless — an easy victim for the law. The prison that you left, now awaits you.”
“No — no — ” the blackmailer gasped the words. “I can’t go back. I–I—”
His voice broke as he sank upon the desk at his side. His head buried in his arms, Herbert Carpenter sobbed convulsively. All the remorse and anguish that he had previously experienced now surged through his frame.
With an effort, the captured man raised his head; but his eyes stared toward the floor. He could not face those terrible, gleaming eyes. Yet his quivering lips were unable to withhold the words that he must say.
“I–I BELONG in prison,” he admitted. “It was not for myself that I escaped. I–I had to get away! I–I was double-crossed. My wife — my children — they are in want. They depend upon me!”