A detective opened it and gasped in surprise as he saw the contents — a mass of paper money. He counted it. Twenty thousand francs!
The only clue to the sender was an oddly shaped card among the bills; but the card was blank. The detective held the card to the light. It showed no markings whatever.
But upon the wall — unnoticed by the detective — the card cast a strange shadow that bore a grotesque resemblance to the profile of a human being!
Chapter II — The Storm of Death
Stuart Bruxton brought his automobile to a sudden stop in front of a dilapidated building beside the road. The place had been a filling station once — the rusted gasoline standard told that.
Now, the house was nothing but a deserted shack — yet it was the only human habitation that Stuart had seen for the past few miles.
Peering through the gloom of the gathering dusk, Stuart Bruxton tried to distinguish objects on the small porch of the battered building. He fancied that he had seen the figure of a man standing beneath that small and rickety roof.
It was impossible to observe anything now; but as Stuart stared toward the house, the whole building was suddenly revealed, in the temporary glare of a distant lightning flash. During that short, photographic scene, Stuart's first impression was justified. There actually was a man on the porch. He seemed to be hiding behind a battered pillar.
Stuart lowered the window of the coupe. He called out, but his voice was drowned by the long rumble of the thunder. When silence came, he called again; then waited while big drops of rain spattered through the window.
Stuart watched to see if the man would respond, waiting patiently for another flash of lightning. Before it came, someone spoke in reply.