As Cranston released her hand, Arline crossed the room and kissed Howard Griscom. The theater owner smiled as he saw Cranston watching them from the door.
“My only daughter,” he said. “My only child, now. I had a son once. He died — some years ago. Arline is everything to me — now.” His smile faded for an instant; then it returned as he bade his friend good night.
As Lamont Cranston stepped from the Park Avenue apartment, he stood, momentarily, beneath the protecting awning. The fog and the drizzling rain formed an impenetrable cloak through which the lights of passing automobiles moved dim and forlorn.
Cranston was wearing a black cloak about his shoulders. A broad-brimmed hat was on his head. He drew down the hat and raised the collar of his cloak. Instantly, his face was obscured. He stepped from beneath the protecting awning, and in a few short strides he disappeared miraculously into the foggy blackness of the night.
From the spot where he had vanished came a strange sound — a low, creepy laugh, that seemed to swirl amidst the fog. It was a strange, mirthless laugh — a sinister laugh that seemed to express an understanding of facts that were unknown.
The doorman shuddered as he stood at the open doorway in front of the apartment house.
He had heard the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER VIII
AT THE CLUB DRURY
THE Club Drury was a pretentious establishment that was frequented by those who loved bright lights and late hours.