The right hand jotted a single word: “Moscow.”
The light clicked out. A low, mocking laugh swept through the inky room. Its tones were answered by the shrouding walls.
Death had intervened tonight, but not in time to thwart The Shadow. Single-handed, this amazing master was setting forth to frustrate the schemes of crafty brains.
Twelve days was the time that Frederick Froman had set, The Shadow had heard tonight. Twelve days until some fiendish plan would be perpetrated!
Before the fatal date, The Shadow would be there.
He was leaving for Moscow on the morrow!
CHAPTER VI. THE NEXT NIGHT
AT half past eight the following evening, Frederick Froman descended the steps of his home and looked up and down the street. He saw a cruising cab, and hailed it. As he entered the vehicle and gave an address to the driver, Froman did not notice a man on the other side of the street.
This individual was a well-dressed young man who might have been taken for a chance passer-by, but as soon as the cab started toward the nearest avenue, the young man became suddenly active. He threw a searching glance at the blank windows of Froman’s house; then walked hurriedly along the street in the direction the cab had taken.
Harry Vincent, the agent of The Shadow, was still on watch. His plan to follow Froman was well calculated. It was a comparatively short distance to the nearest intersection. The cab had encountered a red light, and was still waiting to make a left turn, when Harry arrived at the corner.