"That is exactly what I shall do."
The officer turned and hurried off toward the apartment house. The tall, quiet-faced man watched until he had disappeared from view. Then, with deliberation, he reached into the car and lifted a black garment that lay there, revealing the helpless form of Harry Vincent.
The black cloak swished. A slouch hat settled on the tall personage's forehead. With a soft, uncanny laugh, he stepped into the car. The motor purred rhythmically. The car rolled along the street. The automobile turned the corner, and headed toward Broadway. The driver was silent, and almost invisible — little more than a mass of blackness.
The Shadow was taking away his rescued underling. The whispered laugh reechoed through the car. For The Shadow had conquered the fiends of the underworld.
But Harry Vincent, still senseless, had not yet told the story of the conflict. The Shadow had not learned that the lone instigator of the wild affray had escaped.
Ferret had gone. The Shadow, unable to tarry in Daniel Antrim's apartment, had gained no inkling of the man's departure.
Chapter V — Ferret Is Pleased
Riding westward on the Whirlwind Limited, a man in the club car was idly noting the headlines of a Detroit newspaper. The train was speeding through the Michigan countryside. The man who was reading divided his time between the scenery and the paper.
It was Ferret — he who bore the name Joel Hawkins. Leisurely, well-attired, he appeared no more than a New York business man bound for the Middle West.
Ferret's eyes gleamed. The man's placidity turned to craftiness as he noted a certain headline over a New York news item: