The Shadow had spotted Middletown as a place where crime was brewing. It would be his own mission to go there — not the task of a subordinate.
The hand of The Shadow wrote its last notations — a series of tabulations that referred to certain operatives. There appeared the names of Harry Vincent and Cliff Marsland, two bold adventurers who served him.
Following them was the name of Rutledge Mann, an investment broker, whose office was the clearing-house for the routine work of The Shadow.
Last of all came Clyde Burke, the newspaper reporter, whose services could be pressed into duty at The Shadow's bidding.
These operatives were in New York, ready to spring to action should their master need them. They were prepared to go anywhere at any time, in response to The Shadow's orders.
Through the connecting line of Burbank, through detailed instructions mailed to Rutledge Mann, The Shadow could thwart the underworld in many places at once. His faithful yeomen were weapons, like his automatics.
Conflict lay ahead. The Shadow, dark, mysterious, and unseen, was going forth to strike.
No one would know of his presence until he struck. His territory was everywhere. His resources were unlimited. The hands of The Shadow appeared before a filing cabinet in the corner. They drew forth the bottom drawer. In response to a secret mechanism, all the drawers of the cabinet extended — in steps. The tops of these projections were covered with a solid surface.
The black cloak swished as The Shadow strode up the stairs that he had formed. The same action that had opened the cabinet, raised an invisible panel in the wall. Poised before this secret exit, The Shadow laughed. While the notes of his mirthless tone still clung within the room, the panel dropped, and the stairs slid mechanically back into position in the cabinet.
The lights went out when the motion was complete. The room was in total darkness.