This gentleman, quiet in demeanor, identified himself as Lamont Cranston, of New York. He told the policemen that he had seen no one enter the room. He helped them make a search. When he learned that they were seeking some one who had worn what appeared to be a black cloak, he politely insisted that his room be searched for such a garment. He even opened his large trunk, and revealed all its contents.
“Thanks, Mr. Cranston,” said one of the policemen. “Most of the people were angry because we disturbed them. You’re different. You seem to understand. There’s been murder below, and it’s our duty to look everywhere.”
When the officers were gone, Lamont Cranston stood in the center of the room, gazing at the door which had closed behind them. A thin smile wavered upon his firm, inscrutable lips. From those same lips came the low echo of a sinister laugh.
It was the laugh of one whose true identity was unknown; the laugh of a mysterious personage who fought for justice, but who used his own effective methods; the laugh of one who had gained the victory, but had left the glory for others.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER XI
THE PRICE OF CRIME
CRIME was broken in Seaview City. In one eventful, action-packed night, the forces of the underworld had overshot their bolt. For some mysterious, unknown reason, the plots of evildoers had been thwarted.
The gun play at the Club Catalina had ended in a raid of Big Tom Bagshawe’s gambling joint. Police Chief Yates, summoned from a distant part of the city, had ordered a complete clean-out.
So far as Big Tom was concerned, the loss was a financial one alone. He disclaimed all connection with the men who had engaged in the gun battle. He admitted ownership of the wheels and other machines of chance, but said they had not been in operation when the raid was made. His game was killed — that was enough.