The pen poised above the gray card. Then it wrote:
Meeting to-night. Do not come unless absolutely safe.
The hand hesitated over the white card; then, as though controlled by a mind that could divine everything, it wrote, in words that had the vivid red of blood:
Your work is ended. No more meetings.
The revealing words told the meanings of the cards. They remained in view for more than a minute. Then the writing disappeared from the black card, as though some invisible hand had swept it away.
A few seconds later, the writing on the gray card began to fade. When it had obliterated itself, only the white card bore its writing. Then those blood-red words slowly vanished.
THE Shadow glanced at his watch. Half an hour had elapsed since the telephone call from Burbank. The man in black arose, and replaced the cards in the table drawer.
He extinguished the lamp. The flashlight gleamed toward the door; then it was suddenly turned off. To the keen ears of The Shadow had come the faint sound of a key being inserted in the lock of the door.
A man entered the room, and switched on the light. It was Stanley Berger!
His face was haggard and worried. He walked across the room to a small cupboard, and brought out a bottle and a glass. He filled the glass, holding it with a hand that shook unsteadily, and drank.