The handle of the door began to move. It stopped. The door swung silently inward.
It was then that Henry Arnaud acted. As the door opened, Arnaud's arm came upward from his pocket, his eyes fixed upon the door.
A stocky, hard-faced man stood with leveled automatic in the opening. Before the murderer could fire, Henry Arnaud's finger pressed the trigger of his revolver.
But for the unexpected, the murderer would have fallen. Perry Warfield supplied the unexpected. The door had opened behind his back. Henry Arnaud had momentarily ignored the cringing man.
In the upraising of Arnaud's automatic, only one explanation could come to Warfield's terrified mind. He thought that Arnaud meant to kill him. With a wild scream, he leaped forward and upward as Arnaud's finger touched the trigger.
He struck the arm of the man who was about to save him. The bullets from Arnaud's automatic went wild as he resisted this mad attack. He stumbled as he flung Warfield from him.
In falling, Perry Warfield saw the man at the door. He screamed in sudden recognition.
Before Arnaud could bring his gun into play, the room was plunged into darkness as the man at the door pressed the switch. Then came the roar of the murderer's automatic.
Warfield's screams were broken. The door slammed shut, just as Henry Arnaud fired his parting, futile shot.
Arnaud snapped the switch on the table lamp. He bent over the form of the man upon the floor. Perry Warfield was still alive. He opened his eyes.
He was dying, a victim of his own stupidity; yet in his last moments he had gained a bravery that was heroic.
'It was - Killer Bryan!' he gasped. 'I have seen - him - before! He kills - for The Master - for The Black Master! He will kill again. You must - stop him!'
Warfield raised a clenched fist. He sought Arnaud's hand. He opened his fist and dropped a small black object of thin metal. Arnaud thrust it into his pocket.
Footsteps and excited voices came from the corridor. Arnaud remained close beside the dying man.
'He will kill,' said Warfield feebly. 'He will - kill -'
'Hubert Banks?' came Arnaud's question.
Warfield nodded.
'Later,' he said. 'Before - before that he will - will kill -'
Arnaud's arm was beneath Warfield's head. The light switched on; men were in the room, seizing Arnaud.
He withstood their clutches for the moment. His gaze was focused upon Perry Warfield's lips. He saw them move as they tried to repeat a name. Slight though the motion was, Arnaud understood. He nodded.
Warfield's head slipped from his arm. The man was dead. His body rolled upon the floor. Five men seized Henry Arnaud and overpowered him.
CHAPTER IX. THE SECOND MURDER
HENRY ARNAUD lay in a corner of the room, his hands cuffed behind him. In front of him stood two hotel attendants and the house detective, keeping close watch, awaiting the arrival of the police.
Soon a plainclothesman shoved his way into the room. He looked at Arnaud, then glanced questioningly at the house detective.
'This the guy?' he asked.
'Yes.'
'I'm Detective Blaine from headquarters,' said the newcomer. 'I'll take charge from now on!'
He asked Arnaud's name. Then, 'You killed this man?'
'No!'
The detective laughed.
'The murderer,' persisted Arnaud, 'is a man called Killer Bryan. He has escaped. He intends to commit another murder. I can tell you the name -'
'Lay off that stall!' exclaimed the headquarters man threateningly. 'It won't do you any good to try to lay the blame somewhere else. Get me?'
'The name of the man marked for murder is Matthew -'
'Shut up!' ordered the detective. 'Another peep and you won't be able to do any talking. Get me? You'll have plenty of chance to talk at headquarters.'
Henry Arnaud remained silent, but his eyes were intent, his face taut, as if he was engaged in physical effort. The headquarters detective leaned over the body of Perry Warfield. The others in the room concentrated on the action of the sleuth, as he made his careful inspection. It was then that the unexpected happened.
Slowly, almost unnoticeably, Henry Arnaud raised his body. A man beside him detected a sound and turned. Before he could make an exclamation, Arnaud's freed right hand swung from behind his back.
The handcuffs were still fastened to his right wrist. The solid mass of metal struck the watcher at the base of his neck. He collapsed.
Arnaud was on his feet. As the headquarters man turned, automatic in hand, the shackled arm descend and knocked the pistol from the detective's grasp.
The house detective and two other men made a leap for the prisoner; but Arnaud was too quick for them. His right arm swung in a wide arc.
One man escaped the blow by dropping to the floor. Another fell as he received a staggering stroke. The third grappled with Arnaud for a brief moment; then the conflict ended as the steel manacles glanced against the man's head.
The prisoner made a leap for the door, pulling the handcuff from his right wrist as he went. This amazing man, through some strange ability, could laugh at manacles.
The path to freedom lay ahead, but Arnaud scented danger. He dropped suddenly toward the floor and turned just as the headquarters detective reclaimed his automatic and raised it toward the fleeing form.
Arnaud's action required that the detective change his aim.
Before the threatening finger could pull the trigger, the handcuffs whizzed through the air at terrific speed.
The detective threw up a protecting arm. He was too late to save himself. The heavy steel cuffs struck the top of his head and he fell.
Then Arnaud was gone, but from the corridor outside the room came a last reminder of his presence. It was a long, eerie laugh, a terrible laugh that seemed a laugh of triumph.
It was the laugh of The Shadow!
Despite the consternation in the room where the murdered man lay, the baffled captors of the supposed murderer acted quickly. Within one minute after Henry Arnaud's escape, the news had been phoned to the lobby below.
Police had entered. A manhunt was under way. All available attendants in the hotel were pressed into service for the search.
The principal search was instituted on the floor where Perry Warfield had been killed. It had hardly begun before a cry of alarm was sounded by an elevator man. His car was stopped at the seventh floor.
He had looked up just in time to see a form speed rapidly to the head of the stairway!
'There he goes! There he goes!'
Uniformed police rushed from the corridors. Downward they went, in mad pursuit. And again, from the floor below came the sound of a mocking, bursting laugh.
A man appeared in the lobby of the Goliath Hotel. No one saw him arrive until he walked up to the policeman standing by the door. He drew back his coat and showed a badge. The policeman nodded.
'Headquarters,' said the man nonchalantly. 'Keep on the job, here! I'll be back with more men!'
As the man passed through the revolving door, two policemen dashed down a stairway into the lobby.
'There he goes!' cried one, pointing to the figure emerging beyond the revolving door. 'That's the murderer! Get him!'
