He stumbled as he reached his objective. On his knees, Stuart clutched the.32 and threw himself around to cover the stranger. Then came amazement.
The man in black was gone! Stuart was alone, with the sprawled form of the helpless Filipino!
Was it all a dream? Could the rescue have been a thing of fancy? Even as Stuart wondered, his ears caught a sound that seemed to echo from outside the house. It was a long, eerie laugh — that same triumphant laugh of the man in black!
Stuart pocketed his revolver and dashed from the house. He stood in the thick darkness.
He could see nothing he could hear nothing. The weird rescuer was swallowed by the night.
Retracing his steps toward the road, Stuart wondered. He had found the front door unlocked when he had rushed from the lodge. It was through that door the stranger had entered. The man must have unlocked it — for it seemed likely that Louie would have barred the door at night. On a chance, Stuart wended his way to Hawthorne's. He crept to the house and peered into the window. Both men were at their places. It was obvious that neither had been out of the cottage.
Slowly, Stuart went back toward the Inn. His body was bruised and lame. He took his time; and stopped frequently to listen.
As he neared the hotel, he heard a distant sound. It was the faint humming of an airplane motor. Was Mayo returning? Stuart waited. The black sky gave no sign of the plane. The purring sound faded. Stuart recalled that there was a landing field a few miles from Greenhurst. Had the plane taken off from there? The plane was departing, not arriving; so it could not be Mayo's ship.
Stuart was wondering as he went into the hotel; wondering about the man; wondering about the plane. Somehow, there seemed to be a connection.
In this, Stuart was correct. Heading southward, The Shadow was flying to New York!