A low, whispered laugh was the only response. Its sibilant sound seemed to come from the walls, from the floor, from the ceiling — as if the room itself were taunting the listener. Marsland sank back in his chair.
“Like yourself,” came the low voice, “I am a man whose name has been forgotten. We shall speak no more of years gone by. You are now Clifford Marsland. I am” — the voice halted impressively — “The Shadow!”
“The Shadow!” echoed Marsland.
“Yes! You have never met me in my present guise. For I began my new career while you were in—”
“Sing Sing,” supplied Marsland.
“In Sing Sing,” said The Shadow. “There — for a robbery you did not commit!”
CLIFF MARSLAND raised his head in sudden surprise.
“How do you know that?” he questioned. “I made no defense. I never denied it — I never—”
The low voice of The Shadow interrupted him.
“The fact that I know is sufficient,” came in his even tones. “Nor is that all I know.