He crossed the street and quickened his pace until he was closer to Pedro. Then Spotter's body merged suddenly alongside a barrel that was on the sidewalk. He watched carefully as the Mexican passed beneath a bright light. He could see Pedro distinctly. He even noted the shadow of the huge man.
When Pedro had passed along, Spotter's eyes still remained upon that lighted area. No other man appeared there, but a long, thin shadow became visible on the sidewalk. It slid beneath the glare. It was blotted by the blackness beyond.
The barrel moved as Spotter trembled against it. The strange personage of the underworld did not move from his position. Instead he whispered to himself.
"It looks like — like — De Shadow!"
Regaining his nerve, Spotter slid along the sidewalk, slowly, now, as though he desired to have as much distance as possible between himself and Pedro.
"If it ain't De Shadow," he muttered, "I'm all right. If it is De Shadow — well, I got to do it. He ain't watchin' me, anyway. He's after dat big guy up ahead. He don't have to know I'm here — but he finds out anyt'ing! Everyt'ing!"
Spotter squatted close to a fire plug and thought for a moment. Then he laughed harshly.
"Well," he said softly, "it may be his funeral tonight. His funeral. So here goes. I don't owe De Shadow no good feelin's. I lost out t'rough him once. I ain't goin' to quit, now that I got started."
He moved more quickly, but with the greatest care. Even his footsteps were soundless. And as he followed, far behind Pedro, he became more bold. For Spotter was entering the heart of the underworld; he was among the haunts with which he was most familiar.
The Mexican turned down an alley. Spotter reached the corner very quickly. He saw Pedro stop before a door. He waited while the Mexican entered. A dim light revealed the scene, yet Spotter could see no one else — not even a conspicuous shadow.