THE two men stood motionless in the Oriental room. They were like living statues, as silent and as still as the glaring bronze image that faced them. They were a marked contrast, these two — Doctor Palermo, in his strange Chinese robe; the man in black, with his face obscured from view.
The physician viewed his unwelcome visitor warily. He did not fear the apparition, nor could he ridicule it.
His crafty brain was working, seeking a way to meet this unexpected foe.
He bowed courteously, and spoke suavely to the man in black, choosing his words with his customary care.
“It is a pleasure”—said Doctor Palermo—”a rare pleasure, to meet you. It has cleared a slight doubt in my mind.
“Last night I felt positive that the young man who called on me was directed by one who possessed a keener mind. Now I am sure of it.”
The black-clad man did not reply.
“Though you choose to conceal your identity,” continued Doctor Palermo, “it may interest you to learn that I know who you are. I have heard of you in the past.
“I have been told”—the physician’s voice became ironical—”that there is a man who lives in the underworld, who masquerades in black, and who frightens chicken-hearted gangsters.
“You, I believe, are that man. You call yourself The Shadow.”