Who were these men? Why had they come here? How had they been killed?
Noting the open window, Hawthorne managed to get that far. Peering out, he saw another body on the ground. It was the dead form of Grady. The Shadow's perfect shot had reached the killer's heart!
Hawthorne could not understand. There had been slaughter here, in his home, and three dead men remained. It all seemed unexplainable, yet Hawthorne realized that this spot had not been accidentally chosen for a gun fray.
He knew that he had been picked as a victim for tonight; that the dread he had felt of Mayo had been warranted!
Three murderous men had come to slay him, Hawthorne knew. Somehow, someone had intervened. The would-be killers had paid the price of their misdeeds!
Hawthorne's nerve began to fail. He stumbled from the house. He wanted to be away from this scene of carnage. Whatever had happened here was a total mystery.
Only two men could have told the story; but Hawthorne did not know of their existence.
Plodding along the road to Sherwood Mayo's lodge, Jeremiah Benson was still obeying the orders of his captor. The fiendish old man was cursing beneath his breath. For his ears were ringing with the sound of a soft, taunting laugh.
The laugh of The Shadow!