It was then that Cliff became fascinated by a slight motion of the curtain beyond the two men. A vague form began to appear, unnoticed by either Ernie or Ben.
Cliff suppressed a gasp of astonishment. A black-clad figure had entered the little room.
The Shadow stood beside the table, the muzzle of an automatic projecting from the folds of his cloak!
A low laugh filled the room. Ernie and Ben both turned toward the doorway. Each started to rise.
A sweeping movement of the revolver caused them to resume their seats. Both raised their hands. Big Ben held the crumpled money in his left hand.
“Money,” said The Shadow, in a low, weird voice. “Money — paid for tonight’s work” — there was a strange irony in his tone — “but paid to the wrong man! Work has been done tonight; but not by you. So I have come to collect what I have paid to men who earned it!”
His gun turned toward Big Ben.
“Put your hands on the table,” said The Shadow.
Big Ben obeyed.
“Count off fifteen hundred dollars.”