Dangerous schemers were at work. Pitted against them was a lone man, The Shadow.
Although Martha had no definite idea of who her enemies might be, she realized that their resources must be tremendous. So far, they had succeeded in their schemes.
She knew that secrecy alone could undermine these treacherous, dangerous plotters. Thus The Shadow could hope for no help from any one in Middletown, except herself. Once he revealed his hidden hand, the odds would be with the foe.
Who were the enemies? Only The Shadow knew. All persons in Middletown seemed hostile to Martha, but she knew that her many former friends were guided simply by popular opinion. Try as she might, she could not point to the ones who might be responsible. She had foolishly resorted to a vague condemnation of unknown enemies. It had brought her ridicule. But it had brought The Shadow, also! Since that strange meeting with the apparition in black, Martha had retained her confidence, and through her mind burned every detail of that eventful interview that had been both fantastic and real.
Strange, thought the girl, how The Shadow had arrived and left last night, opening and closing the heavy front door in spite of the strong locks which barred it. The very thought of the mysterious visit was awe-inspiring. Martha glanced toward the door of the room, half expecting to see The Shadow standing there.
As the girl stared into the gloomy hall, her nerves were tense, and her ears were as alert as her eyes. She fancied that she heard a slight sound from the floor below. She listened closely, and finally decided that it had been her imagination.
Then came another noise that convinced her that the first surmise had been correct. It was the sound of something dropping dully to the floor. It seemed to come from the stairs. Boldly, Martha arose and walked into the upstairs hall. Her heart was beating fast as she neared the stairs. She looked down along the steps, and stood petrified by momentary fright. A crumpled figure was lying on the stairs, a few steps up from the ground floor. The face was turned downward, the right arm was extended as though its white hand had tried to clutch the banister to avert a fall.
For a moment, the girl was worried; then she realized that this body was helpless. It lay as motionless as death. It wore no cloak or hat; the dark suit made it appear a huddled mass. The gray-streaked hair formed the only contrast to his somber appearance.
Martha descended the stairs. She gazed with pity upon the intruder. When she reached his side, she saw that he was unconscious. She placed her hands upon his body, and immediately noticed the wound in his left shoulder. The man's dark coat was blood-soaked.
The girl moved the body slightly. The left arm slipped free, and dangled loosely upon the stairs. Martha heard a slight click as the limp hand dropped to the step.