These broken names came in a delirium. The lips were growing feeble; words were no longer plain. The Shadow spoke, in low whispered tones that brought nods from the expiring man.
Holtmann’s eyes were closed; but his lips moved again, forming noiseless statements that the keen eyes of The Shadow read. Hushed questions came from the figure in black; words in English mixed with Russian terms.
The dying eyes opened and spread in momentary triumph. A wild cry followed, then a sudden spasm racked the poisoned man as he collapsed inert upon the floor. Marcus Holtmann was dead.
In dying, he had given his message. The facts that he had told to Frederick Froman were again revealed.
From barely coherent phrases, The Shadow had learned what Marcus Holtmann knew — the information that Froman had tortured to get and had killed to keep!
Rising, The Shadow strode silently across the dungeon and picked up his automatic. He surveyed the bodies on the floor; then moved Marcus Holtmann’s form so that it lay close to the dead Russian. With care, The Shadow fixed Holtmann’s hands so they stretched toward the other body. The fists of the poisoned victim were clenched.
The hand of The Shadow touched the knob upon the door. Before it turned the knob, the hand paused, and the eyes stared closely. Then the steel curtain rose. When it descended, silence pervaded the dungeon which death had visited.
The Shadow was a being of invisibility as he made his way upward through the house. Reaching the second floor, he entered a room away from the front. In the midst of darkness, The Shadow made his departure through a window that opened and closed without a sound.
Later, two hands appeared beneath a light above a table. The fire opal on the long white finger glowed in mysterious fashion, like a blinking eye staring from Promethean depths.
Upon the table appeared a slip of paper that listed the sailing schedule of the steamship Bremen, leaving New York on the following morning.