had done this murder? Harry remembered that Powell had feared someone might rob him of his secret and try to sell it in his stead. Had some unknown party entered and accomplished such a deed?
Harry instinctively thought of how Powell must have felt during the brief death struggle.
Perhaps he had believed that his antagonist was a hireling of Harry's.
There was not a moment to lose. Harry knew that he must leave the place immediately.
Fortunately, no one had seen him talking with Powell. Harry's own room was, luckily, located on the same floor.
Tense with excitement, Harry stole to the door and extinguished the light. Then he stepped into the empty corridor and closed the door behind him, wiping the knob quickly with his handkerchief to eliminate any telltale marks that might have indicated his entrance.
Wallace Powell was dead. His secret was gone. Harry Vincent's plans had been foiled by an unknown murderer!
With all the cards in his hand, Harry had lost — and the only clue to all this mystery was a road map upon which the dead man had traced a few penciled lines!
A problem, Harry felt, that would have astounded anyone — except The Shadow. But The Shadow was not here!
Wallace Powell had checked out of the Burnham House; checked out, expecting to return. But he had checked out permanently, now.