His conflict with Palermo had been a desperate one. He seemed to be completely exhausted by his efforts.
The sound of dull, crashing hammering came from below. The Shadow did not hear the distant noise. He still remained in that chair, a stranger figure than the man who had been wont to occupy it.
The distant hammering ceased. There was silence for several minutes. Then came new strokes, closer by.
They were at the foot of the circular staircase.
Wood splintered as the blows of an ax shattered the sliding panel. Footsteps rang on the stairway.
Excited voices were heard.
The Shadow suddenly raised his head. His lethargy was forgotten. He was himself again, his strength renewed. He was ready for action as he started to leave the throne. Then it was too late.
The black-cloaked form sank back as Detective Stanley Warwick entered the room, followed by another plainclothes man.
The newcomers stopped short when they encountered the ghastly form of Chong. Both stared at it as though they were seeing some absurd shape that had reached the world from another planet.
Warwick’s eyes passed beyond the body. They saw the black-clad man who occupied the massive chair.