“The Shadow!” Macklin’s eyes were wide.
“The Shadow,” repeated Palermo impressively. “Have you ever heard of him?”
“Gunner” Macklin was on his feet, walking nervously up and down the room.
“You’re sure of that, Doc?” he questioned, in a whining voice. “You ain’t kiddin’ me, are you?”
“Certainly not,” replied Palermo coldly.
“The Shadow!” whispered Macklin. “I can’t believe it, Doc! What a guy he is! There ain’t no gunman that could ever get him! I never figured I’d be up against The Shadow!
“Tell me, Doc”—the voice was pleading—”are you sure about this? Tell me — have you ever seen — seen — The Shadow?”
“Yes. In this apartment!”
MACKLIN stared about him as though he expected some black monster to rise from the wall and overwhelm him. Then his eyes sought Palermo’s face, and Macklin winced as he saw the expression of disdain upon the physician’s lips.
Palermo clapped his hands. Hassan appeared, carrying two glasses of liquor on a tray.