Motkin proposed a foray. The three stole to the back of the house. There they attacked a grated window. Under the action of a smooth-cutting saw, the bars were torn away.
Motkin, imbued with a bold plan, entered. He knew the interior of this place. His companions were to wait outside, to follow when he gave the word.
Had Motkin been more intent upon the terrain outside the house, he would not have felt so secure.
Scarcely had the three men begun their silent attack before a grim figure appeared in the front street.
The Shadow emerged from a secret hiding place. His keen eyes followed the path that the trio had taken.
When next The Shadow appeared, he was standing before the entrance of a little store, a block away from Froman’s home. There his tall figure glided unseen into a telephone booth just within the door.
The Shadow called a number. He spoke whispered words to Burbank. The penetrating tones were understood by the man at the other end of the wire.
Then The Shadow was gone. His gliding silhouette appeared momentarily beneath a light near Froman’s home. After that, nothing could be seen.
HALF an hour went by. Dim shapes began to appear in the neighborhood of the house that The Shadow was guarding. No words were spoken. Motkin’s new henchmen were assembling.
Still, time drifted on. Then an automobile rolled up to the front of Froman’s house. Hardly had it stopped before a group of hidden men leaped into view. With one accord they burst loose with revolvers and automatics, attacking the occupants of the car.