Why had she revealed her secret thoughts? Martha chided herself for the great mistake.
She thought of her wild appeal — her statement that she was anxious to call upon The Shadow for aid. The Shadow! On her last trip East, Martha had heard of that mysterious man. She had heard his voice, in fact, over the radio; but, like most of the public, she had merely supposed that she had been listening to an actor.
Yet the voice had haunted her; and when people had talked of The Shadow, Martha had listened. They told amazing stories of The Shadow — a personage clad in black, as dark as the night itself, who matched the guns of criminals with the sword of justice — who triumphed over the hordes of gangland. She recalled a small adventure in New York. On the outskirts of Greenwich Village, a man had accosted her and had tried to seize her pocketbook. Her cries had brought another man on the run. If The Shadow were only here in Middletown! Martha sighed as she realized the hopelessness of that wish. The Shadow could not be everywhere, superman though he might be. How could she expect him to come here, even though great crime might be rampant? His great work lay in New York.
Perhaps The Shadow might lend ear to her plea if she could only reach him. But that lone paragraph, printed only a few hours ago, would go no farther than the region about Middletown.
It would bring her only ridicule — not the help for which she longed.
Martha sighed wearily. She was very tired; but she could not sleep because of worry. She extinguished the reading lamp, and the room was dim, except for the glow of a single shaded lamp in a far corner. Martha lay her head against the back of the chair, and turned her half-closed eyes toward the open door.
Her eyes opened wide, and a sudden chill swept over her. Yet in that sudden qualm she was unable to make a motion, or resort to a single cry!
Standing in the doorway was a tall figure, clad in black. His long cloak was flowing from his shoulders. A slight fold revealed a dash of its crimson lining. His head was bent forward, and his face was invisible; for he wore a broad-brimmed slouch hat, turned down over his eyes.
Yet Martha fancied that she could see the eyes — glowing, burning eyes that gleamed from strange, featureless depths. The girl shuddered. Who was this strange apparition?
Then came amazing revelation. One name surged into Martha's mind. Whether this personage was actual, or a being of her imagination, there was but one who he could be.