"One motion on your part," threatened the old man, "will mean instant death. My hand is firm, but the slightest quiver of the finger will discharge the contents of this weapon. Stand where you are."
The black form trembled slightly, but the old man did not press the trigger. Instead he smiled and chuckled. He had expected that. This fearless Shadow could yield to fear after all. Isaac Coffran moved a step nearer.
"The Shadow!" he exclaimed sarcastically. "The man whose face has never been seen. The strange creature of the night, that comes and goes invisibly — that is here and there at once!"
He fancied that the figure shook again. It slumped slightly, its black hat tilting forward, the edges of the cloak sagging as though the being within had lost his proud posture.
The old man was close now. His revolver was pressed against The Shadow's cloak; his face was grinning triumphantly.
"Die!" he cried. "Die, Shadow! And before you perish, I shall see your mysterious face!"
Isaac Coffran's left hand shot forward and seized the broad brim of the black hat. The right forefinger pressed the trigger of the gun, and the automatic spat its bullets through the cloak. As the old man swept the hat away, the lower garment fell to the floor and collapsed into a small mass of cloth.
Isaac Coffran almost staggered. The revolver slipped from his nerveless fingers. He had shot into nothingness. There was no one in the cloak; the removal of the hat had revealed no head and face!
The figure had been standing between the half-opened curtains. Two gleaming pins revealed the ruse.
The slump in the figure had not been caused by fear. It had been the exit of the real Shadow — the man within. Only the vacant shell — a cloak and hat — had remained to receive the bullets from Isaac Coffran's weapon. When the hat had been swept away, the cloak had fallen.