“I have no past remembrances,” said the man solemnly. “Love is a new emotion in my life, Thelda. It is new — and wonderful.”
Their eyes met. The girl’s gaze was appealing. Her face held an expression of sincerity. As she looked into the eyes of George Clarendon, she seemed to be peering into infinite depths. There she saw a strange glow that betokened tenderness.
EITHER these two were governed by mutual sincerity, or they were actors par excellence. For neither betrayed any expression that would belie the words that they had spoken.
Had Doctor Palermo been there to see them, he would have been disturbed. For it seemed as though Thelda Blanchet, in her efforts to win George Clarendon’s confidence, had succumbed to the man’s dynamic personality.
And Clarendon seemed yielding to the charm and beauty of this exquisite girl.
The two were playing a part in a grim game. Each knew the circumstances, although no mention had been made of them.
While they were together, George Clarendon apparently controlled the only agent through whom Doctor Palermo could act. In like manner, Thelda Blanchet, while she accompanied George Clarendon, prevented action by Doctor Palermo’s archenemy. It was a neutralizing of forces.
While this condition existed, the death duel between Palermo and The Shadow was indefinitely postponed. Strangely, both participants in this passive drama seemed to have forgotten everything but each other.
“George,” said Thelda, in tones of sincerity, “I shall be frank with you. I have forgotten the past. Are you willing to forget? Now that we have found each other, why should we think of anything else? All our affairs are trivial— compared to love.”
She glanced through the archway, and smiled bitterly as she viewed the lights of the city. “I should like to be away from all this; to be some place where I could live — and love.”