The Shadow staggered and fell to the floor. He came up again, still clutching his foe; but now his left arm had become limp.
The Shadow had weakened. He was fighting to hold his own. Palermo had the strength of a bull.
WITH raging force, Palermo virtually lifted The Shadow and bore him through the opening to the roof.
There The Shadow twisted free.
His hat was gone; now his cloak was torn from his shoulders in the grappling, but Palermo could not see his face in the darkness.
The physician was governed by one single purpose — to lift The Shadow bodily and carry him to the rail of the roof. He was succeeding, although the effort strained him to the utmost.
Now they had reached the parapet. The Shadow seemed weaker than before. Palermo pushed him to the rail. The Shadow clung desperately to the posts. He was over the rail now, still fighting.
Suddenly his efforts became tremendous. Palermo, leaning upon the rail and trying to force The Shadow downward, felt himself drawn over the edge.
Down below him gleamed the tiny lights of the street. The Shadow was almost conquered; but that sight of the depths below aroused in Palermo the one thought of self-preservation.
He was balanced on the parapet; he relaxed his hold upon his opponent in a sudden effort to gain a more secure position. Then The Shadow’s right arm shot upward through the air and caught Palermo by the neck.