The red light indicated that the man in the passage was above a secret trap. The pulling of the switch had dropped him into a deep pit below.
That ended The Shadow, so Loo Look thought. But had the squat Chinaman known the true state of affairs, his chuckle would have died on his lips.
For the man who had plunged to his doom was Tiger Bronson! The gang master had found an opportunity to escape from the opium den, while the fray was still in progress!
All was quiet now; the battle had ended abruptly after Tiger Bronson had fled. Three Chinese lay, half-conscious, on the floor. The outer door opened, and a thin, black figure crept into the corridor through which Spotter had come and gone.
The Shadow moved stealthily. He made a strange appearance, in his black, jerseylike clothing, with the silk mask over his face.
He stole along the corridor, and fell with suddenness upon the Chinese guard. A minute later, the man was bound with strips of cloth ripped from his own robe.
The guardian of the outer entrance was sitting quietly on a soap box when The Shadow dealt with him. He toppled backward with a sudden gasp, and struck his head against the stone floor. The Shadow did not bind him. That would have been unnecessary.
In the street, the tall, mysterious departer merged with the shadows of the buildings. From his pocket he drew a watch, and its luminous dial shone ghostlike in the darkness. A low exclamation followed.
The Shadow had entered the lair of Loo Look. He had met the enemy, and he had emerged the victor. Yet he felt that he had failed.
It was five minutes to nine — too late to reach the radio station!