These visits were distasteful to the fastidious businessman, even in the daytime. At night, they were even more repugnant. The dreary atmosphere of the place was miserable.
Yet the visits were necessary, for that mysterious door with the cobwebbed window was a barrier chosen by The Shadow. Letters thrust into its mail chute invariably reached the mysterious man of the dark.
Rutledge Mann was thinking of The Shadow as he rode in a cab along Twenty-Third Street. But now, with his work done, and his mind relieved from perplexing matters, the investment broker noticed the things about him.
He heard the deep-throated whistle of an ocean liner as his cab sped westward. Some ship was coming into dock.
Then, the taxi turned up an avenue, and Mann, slightly weary, leaned back to rest during the remainder of his ride to the Cobalt Club, his favorite spot during leisure evening hours. The whistle which Rutledge Mann had heard carried a significance which the investment broker did not appreciate. It was like a heralding note, announcing the arrival of someone of importance.
Various celebrities were landing from the S. S. Gallitania. Reporters were busy seeking interviews. The newspapermen, however, paid no attention to a tall man who wore a dark coat and hat. This individual strode solemnly down the gangplank, looking neither to right nor left.
Small news, this, a silent, cold-faced man leaving an ocean liner without companions.
This arrival brushed against a reporter as he stepped from the gangplank. The news gatherer turned to see a hawk-like countenance and a pair of sharp, gleaming eyes.
He was startled for an instant; then turned back to await the arrival of an expected celebrity. What a story that reporter missed! He had seen The Shadow, landing from the Gallitania!
A light clicked in a dark, silent room. Then two white hands appeared beneath it — long, slender hands that seemed like detached creatures of life. Upon the third finger of the left hand gleamed a fire opal, the symbolic jewel of The Shadow!