He could see the wiry guardian standing by the door of the den. The man’s shadow sprawled on the floor behind him.
He was like a statue. The black silhouette annoyed Spotter. It was not an unusual shadow, but Spotter did not like shadows.
Suddenly, the little gangster gripped the curtains of the bunk. Another shadow had appeared on the floor. It was long, black, and ominous. It was approaching from the other end of the room.
A figure came into view — it was the form of a personage in black. It stood still, seemingly a part of the curtains that covered one of the bunks, not five feet from the listening Chinaman — a silent shape that had come from nowhere.
The Shadow!
The thought made Spotter gasp. He wanted to drop out of sight; but his muscles refused to act.
Why didn’t the Chinese guardian turn? Spotter’s throat lumped. He could not even ejaculate a warning.
The back of The Shadow was toward him. Spotter had a gun in the pocket of his ragged coat that lay across the foot of the bunk. But he was paralyzed with fear. He could not move.
* * *
Could this be real? The Shadow had not come through the door that was the entrance to the den. How had the mysterious being of the night entered this place?