At quarter of one, the car was on the broad highway, sweeping onward at a pace that would have defied pursuit by the fastest motor-cycle patrolman. The giant motor roared in ceaseless rhythm. The speeding automobile shot along the road with bulletlike pace. Other cars, scenting its approach, swung to the side to let it pass.
The hands that held the wheel were steady and firm. The minute hand of the dashboard clock was creeping slowly upward. The pointer on the speedometer was wavering as it indicated a speed of one hundred and ten miles an hour. Yet the huge car, built to stand such a pace, held to the road unceasingly. The Shadow had work to do that night. He had sixty-five miles to go, and every moment was precious. A human life lay in the balance. Could he save it?
The Shadow never fails!
Chapter XV — The Drop of Death
A coupe was traveling along a lonely road. Its speed decreased as it reached a sharp hill.
Halfway up the incline, the driver shifted into second gear, and turned the car to the left. The rear wheels wallowed through a film of thin mud, then went along over a dirt road. The car kept climbing, and finally came to a stop on the summit of the wooded hill.
The lights went out. The car was in darkness. On the right, all was impenetrable; on the left, a slight trace of the cloudy sky indicated a clearing.
The coupe remained where it had stopped. The driver was waiting. The faint sound of an approaching car came from below the hill. The noise increased, and soon the glare of headlights appeared, tilting up along the dirt road.
A touring car pulled up alongside the coupe. Its lights went out. A man stepped from the vehicle, and approached the other car. He spoke through the darkness.
"All O.K., Whitey?"