Behind him, at the side of the room, a window curtain was slowly rising. It revealed a mass of gaping black. The sash beyond was open.
Two eyes gleamed from the darkness. Cold, piercing eyes, they noted the single occupant of the room.
They paused as Froman suddenly aroused from his lethargy.
The blackness began to waver as though retiring to the night. Then, as Froman picked up the telephone, the blackness advanced, and a portion of it lengthened into a long, eerie shadow that stretched across the floor.
Frederick Froman was calling the number of Parker Noyes. Just as he began his conversation, the form at the window took on a human shape. The sound of Froman’s voice drowned any noise made by the lowering of the sash and blind.
“Sixteen days…” Froman was speaking in a troubled tone. “It is very long… Yes, I know I should not call you so often, but this is important… I have sent the message. You understand? I told them twelve days, not sixteen… Yes, in code, with all the information… Let it remain at twelve. Affairs will be safe in Riga for a few days. Yes, Holtmann has told the exact location. They are prepared to strike…”
As Froman spoke, the strange figure was standing only a few feet away. Tall and somber in his black array, The Shadow was listening and watching as Froman continued.
“Holtmann?” Froman’s tone was contemptuous. “He is below. He will not be there long. By twenty minutes after ten” — Froman broke off as he stared toward a clock on the mantelpiece — “that is in ten minutes — he will no longer annoy me… Yes, I understand… It is wise to forget him…”
Swiftly, The Shadow was moving across the room. He glided through the open door without being sighted by Froman. The voice at the telephone dwindled as the form in black descended the stairs to the first floor.
ONE of Froman’s men was standing with his back toward the bottom of the stairs. The black-nosed muzzle of an automatic was visible in The Shadow’s gloved hand.