“There was another crime a greater one — a murder — which has also been attributed to you. Not by the police, for they do not know; but by the underworld, whose secrets belong to The Shadow!”
Marsland nodded, still staring at the man in black.
“You came here,” said The Shadow, “because you were summoned. Tim Waldron knew your secret. He used it as a threat over your head. He believed you to be a murderer as well as a convicted robber.
“He did not know what I know — that you bore one crime for the sake of another man; that you would also accept the other if it should be blamed upon you!”
The man in the chair moved restlessly. These revelations were uncanny. He stared at the man in black; then gazed toward the figure sprawled upon the desk. It became his turn to question.
“You did — that?” he asked, pointing toward Waldron.
“No,” replied The Shadow. “It was intended for you! It was the irony of fate, Clifford Marsland, that another crime should be planned so that it might be laid to you.
“Once again, you are a murderer — by proxy!”
Marsland gazed hopelessly at the form of Waldron.
“You came here” — the voice of The Shadow seemed far away to the listener — “reconciled to a life of crime. You were ready to do Waldron’s bidding — to cast in your lot with criminals, for you had been branded as one.