“See him?”
“Him or it? What are you talking about?”
“The Gray Shadow.”
“Again?” Drew Lane’s tone was filled with doubt. He had never seen the Gray Shadow. Being a detective, and a good one, he believed only in that which he had seen with his own eyes.
“Oh, I saw him right enough this time!” Johnny declared. “Walked across in front of my tent twice before he disappeared; exactly as if that were his business. Queerest sight you ever could look at. Didn’t seem human.”
“All right,” Drew Lane agreed, rather sharply. “You may have your shadows. We’ll deal with real crooks. That’s a detective’s business. Greasy Thumb and his gang are gone.”
“Gone!”
“Cleared out, far’s I can tell. Their booth and the tent back of it are entirely deserted. They’ll not be back, is my guess. Off on some big business. Pity is, we’ve missed their trail.”
* * * * * * * *
In the meantime, the lone pilot of the sky who had winged his way over Johnny’s booth an hour before was meeting with an unusual adventure. Had Johnny Thompson known who that pilot was he would have become excited beyond words, for this was none other than Curlie Carson. And Curlie Carson, as you will know, if you have read The Rope of Gold, had been Johnny’s companion in many wild adventures in that island of the Black Republic: Haiti. At the conclusion of those adventures they had parted. Now, with one of the queer tricks she appears to delight in, Fate had brought them within a very short distance of one another. And this time each was busy battling his way out from the tangle of mystery that was being woven about him.