Then, he caught the gleam in The Shadow's eyes. He saw the black finger resting on the trigger of the automatic.
Slade's game was ended. He must fight now, or yield. Bullets from The Shadow's automatic — bullets that might wound and leave him here, dying. The liquid in the glass — sure — positive.
"You prefer to wait?" inquired The Shadow.
His left hand advanced, and Slade cowered. The Shadow picked up the confession and placed it beneath his cloak. His free hand reached for the telephone.
Slade knew what the gesture meant. A tip to the police. They would be here — to find him. They would receive his confession, learn his crimes!
Slowly, the man's hand crept across the desk. He picked up the glass, with its poison. He brought the glass to his lips. The liquid had no taste. Even though he had poisoned it, Slade could not tell it from water.
He started to put the glass away; but his hand stopped, unmoving, as he saw The Shadow's pistol move.
"You have made your choice," came the sinister whisper. "Abide by that choice, or I shall act as I choose."
The glass went back to Slade's lips. The man did not see it. His eyes were on The Shadow's hands, unconscious of the glass. The black finger trembled. Slade knew that if he hesitated longer, his fate would be decided by his enemy.
In desperation, he shut his eyes and gulped the liquid. He remained, seated with bowed head. He felt no ill effects for the moment. He had a sudden rev of hope. Perhaps the poison — for once— might be impotent!