Only one man could move with that amazing stealth. That man was The Shadow. He it was who had come here to-night.
Standing invisible against the edge of the hallway wall, The Shadow saw a servant enter the room where the dead man lay. He heard a startled cry — a man's voice calling downstairs — other servants running up. The Shadow glided into the dark bathroom. There, with eyes that pierced the gloom, he spied the other bottle on the rack above the washstand. He looked about the room and laughed — softly but grimly. Shouts were coming from the servants. They were buzzing in the death room, calling excitedly to one another.
"Mr. Garwood is dead!"
Noiselessly, The Shadow let himself through the open window. He dropped lightly to the ground, found the spot where he could pass easily through the hedge, and disappeared in the direction which the other man had taken.
It was an hour later, when The Shadow reappeared and entered the house by the very way which he had left. Gliding from the bathroom into the hall, he heard the sound of voices — two police officers discussing the death.
"Just a dumb mistake, that was all," said one. "Just a plain dumb mistake that—"
"You said it!" agreed the other.
The Shadow laughed in low, sinister fashion, as he glided back toward the window. He had expected this.
A mistake! That was what they were supposed to think.
But The Shadow knew that a man had died, not by mistake, but through design!