The Shadow had virtually memorized the instructions that he had read in Henry Marchand’s confession.
He knew that this huge man must be a member of the Faithful Fifty. He did not know what method Number One might use in speaking to him; but he assumed that the usual countersign was employed.
“Faithful,” he said.
His hand clutched his automatic as he spoke, and he was none too soon. The giant had leaped forward the moment that the word was uttered.
Bron’s arm struck The Shadow’s wrist as the man in black was pressing his finger to the trigger. For once, The Shadow’s finger slipped and the gun nearly fell from his hand.
Recovering it, he swung the automatic to the right, and its heavy barrel struck the giant’s jaw.
The blow did not stop Bron; but it turned his attention. With a sudden grasp, he plucked the revolver from The Shadow’s hand and flung it across the passage. He caught The Shadow’s arms and sought to hurl the man against the stone side of the corridor.
Then began a terrible conflict. The Shadow, with all his amazing power, was no match for the giant. He managed only to keep his antagonist from hurling him against the wall. He tried to wrest himself free from that mammoth clutch, and in the effort was forced to the other end of the corridor.
Bron had gripped The Shadow’s arms and was forcing them back over the shoulders. The Shadow’s hands were free, but helpless. As Bron ground them against the wall, they encountered a master switch.
A gleam of quick understanding came to the flashing eyes that were peering from beneath the broad-brimmed hat. With his right hand, The Shadow pulled the switch.