How The Shadow knew of that secret passage was a mystery. Evidently he did not know the way to Loo Look’s lair; for he had remained in hiding until the Chinese guard had unconsciously betrayed it.
* * *
Now The Shadow was beyond the inner barrier. He was moving silently and cautiously in the dark of a narrow passage. He came to a door, and his hand gripped the knob.
Silently the door opened inward until just a crack was gained. The tall form of The Shadow blotted out the light that came through the thin opening.
Two men were seated in a small, luxuriously furnished room. One was Loo Look. The other Tiger Bronson.
They had disregarded the Oriental splendor of their surroundings, so deeply were they engaged in earnest conversation.
The big, grim-faced politician was a striking contrast to the proprietor of the opium den. Loo Look was a fat, squatty Chinaman, with pudgy face and puffy cheeks. He was clad in a Chinese robe, woven with threads of gold.
“Spotter was here last night,” observed Loo Look. He peered at Tiger Bronson with eyes that seemed like round spots of ebony. “But no other came. I did not see this one you call The Shadow.”
“He was at my house,” replied Tiger Bronson, grimly. “A mob tried to get him; but he escaped. He is dangerous, Loo Look.”
“He must be.”