The men grappled; then came a muffled report.
Sidney Delmuth fell away. He half staggered, half slumped; then sprawled upon the floor.
Denby Chadwick had pressed the muzzle of his gun against the villain's body. A single bullet had done the work. Sidney Delmuth was dead.
Denby Chadwick stood motionless as a statue. The smoking automatic was hanging from his hand. Then the killer's self-control returned. He crept forward and knelt beside the body of Delmuth. He plucked the sheet of paper from the dead hand. He tore it into bits.
Holding the pieces, he went to the window and slowly raised the sash.
With a wild fling, Chadwick tossed the fragments to the wind. Turning, Chadwick lay the automatic upon the floor beside Delmuth's body. He studied the scene uncertainly, wondering how he could cover up this trail. Chadwick's lips were twitching nervously. He looked about the room hurriedly. In an instant, he stood petrified.
A tall, black figure had appeared from nowhere. Like a monster of the night, it had come into this room of death.
A choking gasp came from Chadwick as he saw the sinister form — a man clad in black cloak and hat, whose face was invisible.
"You — you" — Chadwick was stammering — "who are you?"
"I am The Shadow," came the whispered reply.