'Funny,' he murmured. 'First time I ever felt nervous like this. Always laughed at guys that acted like they were scared. But to-night - whew!'
He looked toward the closed door.
'Even the stairs,' he muttered. 'They creaked like blazes. This must be an old place, all right. Sounded funny, though. Wouldn't have thought that I could have made all that noise coming up. Sounded like somebody was with me! Could have been, too, in all that darkness.'
He went to his grip and brought out a bottle. He took a long drink. Then he went back to the chair.
Three taps on the door. Cronin started. He gripped the arms of the chair for a moment. Then he laughed.
'Wally,' he said. 'Only Wally.'
He unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back quickly. His henchman, Wally, looked at him, and Cronin was momentarily startled by the long shadow that was silhouetted upon the floor. Then he laughed again. He turned and walked back toward the window. Wally followed him.
Steve Cronin turned suddenly. He saw the door still open. He stepped rapidly across the room to close and lock it.
'What's the idea, Wally?' he demanded. 'You ought to have enough sense to close a door in back of you.'
Wally stared in surprise.
'What's the matter, Steve?' he asked. 'You look kind o' queer to-night. Sort o' pale, ain't you? What's up?'
'Nothing,' growled Cronin as he sat in the chair by the window. He lighted a cigarette.
'Yeah,' reaffirmed Wally, 'you look worried.'
'Maybe I am,' admitted Cronin. 'I'm going to forget it, though. Guess I've been jumping around too much lately. I don't know when this hit me, Wally. About a half an hour ago, I guess, in the restaurant.'
'What was the matter?'
'Nothing. That's the trouble. While I was sitting there, it seemed as though somebody was looking at me.
There were some people there, but none of them was paying any attention to me. When I looked around it was all right, but as soon as I began to eat again, I felt just like I had before.'
'Huh,' grunted Wally.
'All right,' said Steve Cronin. 'That wasn't all of it. As I was looking at the table, a big shadow fell right in front of me. A shadow like a man's head, with eyes like fire that burned into you. Then it was gone. I looked up quick. Nobody near me.'
WALLY made no reply.
'All the way back to the hotel,' continued Cronin, 'it seemed like some one was following me. Through the lobby - up the stairs.'
'All over a shadow. Shadows can't bother anybody.'
'They can't, eh? I didn't think so, either. But there was a guy I knew once - a fellow they called Croaker.
He went nuts over a shadow. Thought it was alive and following him. He wasn't any good at all after that.
The boys bumped him off for double-crossing them, and I heard that when he went out he was still crying about The Shadow.'
'All bunk, Steve.'
'Bunk, nothing. I saw the guy the same night he died. He was telling me about The Shadow. He thought it was real. It made me laugh. But he wouldn't take much to convince me now that there is a real person - a real person called The Shadow.'
There was silence for a moment. Steve Cronin took another drink and put the bottle back in the suitcase.
'Well,' he said in a forced tone of briskness, 'it looks like we're out of luck, Wally.'
'There ain't no sign of this guy Meyers,' replied the henchman. 'I've been watching for him. He's gone, all right.'
'Then he's back in Cleveland. He never stays away more than two days. I'll have to go back and begin operating again.'
'Guess that's the best thing. Say, Steve. What about the guy we - the guy last night?'
'Him?' Cronin laughed. 'He's out. You saw what I did. He didn't have a shoemaker's chance.'
'Nothin' in the papers about it.'
'Say, Wally, do you think that means anything? Maybe they haven't got the news yet. Even if they have, what of it? Thousands go out that way every year - clipped on railroad crossings. They don't call that news any more.'
'Ought to've been in the papers, I think.'
'Listen. I stopped at the station last night. Took a squint at the bulletin board. That train was forty-five minutes late. It was on time when we heard it whistling. Had about eighteen more miles to go. What do you think made it late? Maybe the engineer got out to pick some buttercups.'
'I get it, Steve,' laughed Wally. 'The loco must have knocked that touring car galley-west.'
'And left no traces of the mug who was in it,' added Steve. 'They probably thought the car had been abandoned. Forget that guy, Wally. Nobody will ever hear of Harry Vincent again.'
Steve went to the desk and turned on the little lamp. He consulted a time-table.
'Eight fifteen now,' he said. 'There's a train for Cleveland about nine o'clock. Plenty of time for me to make it. That's where I'm going. You hang around here a while if you want. Take another look up at the hotel, then clear out for Philly.'
'We'll give up this Meyers proposition, then?'
'Yeah. Wally, I think I've got the wrong dope this time. The guy never came to Harrisburg before. He couldn't have done it very well and got back to Cleveland as quick as he used to. This must be a new proposition he's on. But he would have got back as quick as possible. So I figure he's there now, like I said. I'll pick up his trail again. I'd like to know why he came here - but there's no way to find out.'
'Well, all I know is he got in at nine thirty and was back at the station by ten o'clock.'
'Maybe he went right out to Cleveland again. There's a train around ten thirty, I think.'
'Guess that's what he did.'
Steve Cronin tossed a few articles in the bag.
'I'll run along, Steve,' said Wally. 'If I see him up at the hotel, I'll drop over to the station before you leave.'
He unlocked the door and went out. Cronin continued packing. Wally had closed the door, but Steve did not bother to lock it, although he kept his eyes upon it.
'Feel creepy again,' he mumbled. 'Guess I'll hop for the station.'
He walked to the door. He turned out the light, then noticed that he had left the desk lamp burning. The room was gloomy and shadowy under the dim illumination.
He placed one hand on the doorknob. Then he glanced into the nearest corner - a space alongside the bed. It was quite dark there, and the blackness seemed to be actually solid.
'Whew,' said Steve Cronin aloud. 'Look at that shadow! Looks real.'
He laughed, but without enjoyment.
'Maybe it is real,' he declared. 'Hello, shadow! Let's see you wake up!'
His nerve was returning as he uttered the words. But hardly had he finished speaking before his blood was chilled. His hand became limp upon the doorknob.
For the blackness at which he gazed began to move. It did not move toward him. It moved straight upward. It rose like a huge sable specter - a thing that was living, yet which seemed uncanny in the dimness.
Steve Cronin's fear-glazed eyes distinguished the outline of a black cloak with a broad-brimmed black hat that seemed to merge with the form beneath. From between the hat and the cloak glared two eyes that shone like
