commissioner was anxious to have Cranston pay a visit to those underground passages - to see, for himself, the remarkable catacombs which The Red Blot had fashioned.
It was after the usual luncheon hour; the gloomy grill room of the Cobalt Club was empty save for Lamont Cranston. By the light of side lamps on the wall, the millionaire’s body cast a long, sinister blotch upon the floor; his chiseled profile produced a weird, elongated silhouette.
The mark of The Shadow! That uncanny stretch of darkness was the power which had obliterated The Red Blot. It betokened the master who had alone detected and conquered the hordes of the supercrook.
Cardona had been a pawn in The Shadow’s game; but to the sincere detective, The Shadow, always preferring the shroud of darkness, had given the credit.
The shuddering whisper of a mocking laugh crept through the gloomy room. Its eerie reverberations continued as Lamont Cranston, moving forward with steady, even stride, left the spot. The ghostly sounds were heard by a waiter who paused and quivered as he stood at the entrance from the kitchen. The last echoes of that taunting, spectral sound were terrible to hear.
The room was empty as the waiter stared. Lamont Cranston had left, unseen. The laugh of The Shadow had broken from his impassive lips - as a recollection of the story which Commissioner Ralph Weston had told.
For The Shadow had triumphed. With that weird being who dwelt in darkness save when he appeared in unexpected guise, victory was sweet only when obtained by secret action.
The Shadow, still unrevealed, was ready for new conquests. That final laugh was his last token of triumph in the case which he had just completed.
The Shadow - with no need for other aid - had obliterated the crimson scourge of The Red Blot!
THE END
