A peal of mocking laughter resounded through the seance room. Wild, taunting, and uncanny, the rollicking mirth seemed like a cry from the dim beyond. It threw an atmosphere of realism into this scene that surpassed imagination.
"Back — depart—"
Rajah Brahman's cries were pitiful as their quivering tones were drowned amid another tremendous burst of merriment that seemed to come from the walls and ceiling. Dying, shuddering echoes followed that laugh. Then, at the most terrifying moment, the lights came on.
Stepping from the cabinet was Dick Terry, his arms folded, his living, accusing eyes staring straight at Rajah Brahman. The mystic, backing away, began to draw his revolver from his robe. Then a solemn voice came from the side of the room, by the wall switch.
Rajah Brahman turned. All the members of the circle — some standing; others crouched upon the floor — stared in the direction of that voice.
Thomas Telford was standing at the wall. His face, no longer old, was gleaming with a sinister smile. His eyes were like living coals. In each hand he held an automatic.
"You have reached the end," he said coldly, to the bewildered seer. "Rajah Brahman, thief and murderer, is finished. You sought to deceive me as you have deceived others. Your companion in murder, Martin Slade, has paid for his crimes with his life.
"You are doomed, Bert Clutten" — the Hindu garbed seer winced at the name — "and your evil work is ended! You have known me as Thomas Telford. That is a false identity. Thomas Telford does not exist.
"Know me now! I am—"
Before the tall man could deliver the name that Rajah Brahman feared — the name of The Shadow — a hand was raised amid the cowering circle.