Even if they had glanced from it, they would have seen nothing. For the form which was peering from outside was as black as the night itself. In an instant, it was gone, upward.
Tracing its course along the roof, the figure stopped by the chimney, where Harry Vincent had been. It advanced to the edge of the roof, and a tiny, coin-sized glow of a flashlight rested on the cornice.
The light went out; the figure slid from the roof. When it appeared again, with the light, it was in the alleyway. It reached the spot where Harry Vincent had been struck down.
There was nothing here now. But that probing light must have revealed minute traces of the conflict.
For amidst the darkness echoed a low, sinister laugh — a vague and mysterious sound that would have terrified the ears of listeners. The Shadow had arrived too late. But his intuition had told him all that had occurred.
The Shadow knew; and The Shadow’s laugh presaged misfortune for those who had captured Harry Vincent!
CHAPTER XVI
THE CRIME CULT
IT was the following night. Margaret Glendenning sat in the living room of her new abode — the glorious guest apartment of Henri Zayata’s home.
The girl was restless and ill at ease. She appeared worried. There was a reason. Tonight, Zayata expected her answer.