beads of fire!
Then came the voice - a low, ghostly voice; a voice deeper than a whisper. It was a voice that made Steve Cronin tremble, and its tones were weird and chilling.
'Steve Cronin,' it said, 'I am The Shadow. You summoned me, and I am here.'
Silence. The crook could not move. The figure remained motionless, yet real.
'Steve Cronin,' said the voice of The Shadow, 'I have watched you. Once before I watched you.'
Again a pause, and then the voice:
'One time more will be the last. That is my warning. Three times will mean your doom.'
Steve's eyes were half shut.
'Your doom,' repeated the voice.
Still Steve Cronin was powerless. He did not move, even when a long arm came slowly upward and stretched forward until a black-gloved finger showed directly in front of the gangster's eyes.
'You have heard my warning,' said the voice. Its tones were sinister. 'I seldom give a warning. This is the only one - for you.'
There was a sibilant hiss to the voice. Then came a single, emphatic word:
'Go!'
The figure seemed to dwindle as it merged into the darkness. Two burning spots glowed dull and disappeared. Steve Cronin's limbs gained a sudden strength of frenzied fear. A low, gasping scream escaped his lips as he yanked the door open and half flung himself into the hall. A sound followed him from the room - it was a mirthless, mocking laugh!
He had seen The Shadow! It was real! It had spoken! It had looked at him with its eyes of fire!
At the stairway Cronin paused in his flight. He steadied himself against the rail. He set his suitcase on the floor and drew a revolver from his pocket.
With shaking steps he stole softly back along the hall. He waited outside the open door for an instant, then thrust his hand against the switch, which he could see in the light from the desk lamp. He was in the room, facing that same corner, with his gun before him.
The room was empty!
Steve Cronin made a hurried search. Under the bed - in the closet. No one there. He stopped at the window. The shade was fully two inches higher than it had been before. He peered out into the darkness.
He could see nothing.
The gangster laughed in a relieved way. He reached to turn off the desk lamp. His hand trembled. A card lay before him. On it, in printed characters, were the words:
REMEMBER. ONCE MORE WILL MEAN YOUR DOOM.
The revolver nearly fell from Cronin's weakened fingers. With feigned boldness he managed to thrust it in his pocket. He still stared at the card with its ominous words. Then suddenly the writing faded. The card was blank!
Steve Cronin rushed from the room. He staggered down the stairs, his suitcase knocking against the rail.
He hailed a cab that was outside the hotel. His voice quivered as he directed the driver to take him to the station.
Cronin's train pulled out at nine o'clock. Alone in a compartment, the westward-bound crook sat huddled and unnerved. Steve feared pursuit, even though he was doing his utmost to escape The Shadow's wrath. Steve wondered where The Shadow had headed from Harrisburg. He might have guessed the answer had he left the city by air, instead of by train.
At that same hour - nine o'clock - an airplane took off from the Harrisburg airport. Its lone occupant was a black-cloaked pilot, whose figure was almost invisible at the controls of the fleet monoplane.
The ship's course was eastward, heading directly toward New York. As it roared low over the Pennsylvania countryside, its broad wings glinted in the moonlight, and cast a wide, spreading, moving shadow on the ground below.
CHAPTER XII. VINCENT TAKES ACTION
IT was eleven o'clock. For three hours Harry Vincent had been watching from the vacant store across the street from Isaac Coffran's house.
At eight o'clock a man had entered. In accordance with instructions, Vincent had called on the telephone.
A quiet voice had answered him and had received the information.
Harry had made a second report at nine o'clock, and a third at ten. It was time for a fourth call, yet he had nothing new to say - simply that the man who had entered the house had not come out.
Speculation had gripped Harry's mind. He could see Isaac Coffran's house fairly well, for the street was lighted. The place appeared to be impregnable. The iron-shuttered windows formed a veritable fortress.
He imagined that the sides and the rear of the house were similarly protected. He would have supposed that the house was empty had he not seen the man enter.
He was sure that the visitor was Bruce Duncan. He had not had an opportunity to observe the man closely, but he could tell that he was not over thirty years of age, and of more than average height and weight.
He picked up the telephone and called the number. While waiting for the connection, Harry wondered who the person with the quiet voice could be. Some agent of The Shadow. He doubted that it could be The Shadow himself. The Shadow might be out of town - perhaps in Harrisburg!
The thought was not encouraging. To-night's adventure might show sudden developments. It was more than four hours from Harrisburg by the fastest train. The Shadow, superman that he was, could not be in the capital of Pennsylvania and in Manhattan at the same time. That might account for the delay in action.
Vincent knew from experience that when danger threatened The Shadow's presence was invaluable.
Harry also wondered where the person whom he was calling was located. Probably at some temporary place, which was being used for to-night only.
'Hello.' It was the quiet voice coming across the phone.
'Hello,' said Harry. 'Everything the same.'
'Keep watching.'
'Wait!'
Harry had seen a man come stealthily up the street. The fellow was outside the store window now, looking at the house across the street.
'What's up?' asked the methodical voice.
'There's a man outside the window,' answered Harry in guarded tones.
'Outside your window?' asked the voice. 'Or outside the window of the house?'
'Outside my window. Right here.'
'What does he look like?'
'His back is toward me. Wait. He's turning now. I can see his face. It's a dark face. He looks like a Hindu.'
'What's he doing now?'
'Sneaking across the street. He's trying the front door of the house.'
'Keep watching him.'
'I am watching him. He's back in the street. He's looking up at the house. Evidently he sees he can't get in. Now he's going around to the right side.'
'What's he doing there?'
'I can't see. The house is a trifle down the street.'
'Tell me immediately if he comes back.'
There was a lapse of fully two minutes. Then Vincent saw the Hindu reappear in front of the house.
'He's back,' he said in the phone.
'Keep watching,' ordered the voice.
