The Shadow scraped this fragment into an envelope. With it went a few flakes of tobacco that lay beside it. These were visible also — if keen eyes looked for them.
Standing in the closet, cramped for space, The Shadow simulated the motion of a man drawing a gun from his pocket. He laughed softly. The action took place directly above the spot where the little particles had lain!
THE office light went out. The door opened and closed. The Shadow was gone.
It was scarcely a minute later when his presence again manifested itself — this time in a near-by darkened room, immediately after a click turned on a light that hung above a table.
Two hands appeared. They were not garbed in black. They were long, thin hands, with finely shaped fingers. Upon one gleamed a strange, fiery gem, of deep, changing hues.
It was a girasol, or fire opal — the only jewel which The Shadow wore.
A hand wrote. The letters that it formed were made rapidly, but perfectly. They seemed the physical expressions of an invisible mind that was formulating exact thoughts with quick exactness.
The murderer entered the office while the door was unlocked. He secreted himself in the closet. When he drew his gun, a fragment of paper and particles of tobacco were forced from his pocket. They could have come from no other source. Coats were hung further back. Only in that front corner could a gun have been drawn. The murderer was waiting. He had seen the motion picture. He timed his shot when he stepped from the closet. Blundering detectives walked on the carpet; otherwise, impressions would have remained. But these particles—
The hand stopped writing. It crumpled the paper and tossed it away. It produced an envelope and opened it.
Upon a sheet of paper, the hand of The Shadow dropped the fragment of torn paper and the particles of tobacco. Then another envelope came into view. It was sealed. The Shadow opened it and found a letter, written in a code. Its meaning was clear to those eyes in the darkness as they read: