The light went out. The invisible prowler moved to the window. There he stopped. It was as though he was peering down into the blackness below. There was a dark form there — standing motionless in the darkness of the night.
* * *
The being in the room moved softly toward the door, and listened. Footsteps were coming up the stairs — stealthy footsteps that could scarcely be heard. In fact they would have entirely escaped an ordinary ear.
The almost imperceptible footsteps stopped at the door. Complete silence followed. Suddenly, the gleam of a powerful bull’s-eye lantern filled the room. That brilliance came from the door. A new intruder had uncovered the one who had so recently made search among Tiger Bronson’s effects.
Caught squarely in the focused rays was a figure clad in black. The Shadow had chosen to remain for this climax, knowing that one stealthy arrival might mean a host of outer guardians. His inaction ended, however, at the very moment when the light blazed.
A hurtling shape of blackness launched itself upon the intruder who had shone the light from the door. The bull’s-eye lantern went clattering, as its holder sprawled to the floor of the hall. Madly, the toppled arrival uttered a wild cry, in a thuggish voice.
“He’s here! Here! He’s got me!”
A gang of men dashed up the stairs. A light switch clicked below; the upper hallway was illuminated.
There stood The Shadow, his face obscured in the raised collar of his cloak; his broad-brimmed hat turned down below his eyes.
In front of him was the half-fallen figure of a writhing thug. The man’s hands were vainly trying to loosen the grip of The Shadow, which lay upon his neck.