A deep-whispered laugh swept through that stone-walled room — a chilling laugh that echoed from the low ceiling. The men gasped, and their eyes stared at the body on the truck; it seemed that the hollow mockery had come from the lips of the dead man!
The boastful morgue keeper shook as his quavering hands sought support from his companions. Here, in this familiar place, he had felt the stroke of terror.
He had heard the laugh of The Shadow!
CHAPTER VII
LAMONT CRANSTON TALKS TO HIMSELF
Four o’clock in the morning.
That was the time indicated by the luminous dial of the wrist watch, as Lamont Cranston studied it in the darkness.
He had awakened suddenly, and he could not account for it. Usually a sound sleeper, he had been strangely aroused from a fantastic dream. The room was pitch-dark.
Slumber seemed gone from the millionaire’s mind. He listened intently. He fancied that he had heard a soft, whispering voice calling his name. Yet it must have been a dream.
Then his muscles tightened.