'Only when I meet those who deserve no pity.'
'None deserve pity,' came the voice from the curtain. 'Those who seek pity are mere creatures.
'You would not ask for pity! Nor would I! There is only one emotion that I have ever known. That is vengeance!'
The speaker paused to let his final words impress themselves upon the listener. The Shadow made no expression of interest.
'I shall explain,' continued the voice. 'You - I take it from your actions - believe in justice. Yet you find it in your own way. Where the law does not suffice, you forget the law.
'I believe in justice. One deed that I committed was inspired by justice. That was the death of Hubert Banks.
'Once - long ago - I loved! He destroyed that love! The woman whom I had loved died because of his neglect.
'From then on, my life has been one of hate. I sought vengeance. I waited years to gain it. Then I destroyed him - inch by inch - until he died, a maniac, by his own hand! He knew the pangs of remorse when he died. That was justice.
'In order to destroy the man who deserved destruction, I required human tools. I chose those who were governed by greed and fear. When I had used them, I destroyed them. That, too, was justice!'
'Perhaps,' agreed The Shadow. 'And by your own measure, your destruction would be justice, also!'
The hidden man chuckled.
'Let us agree on that,' he said. 'But I have spoken enough on that subject. I shall now discuss you - The Shadow.
'In one-tenth of a second, you can lie dead before me - if I desire it. But I prefer that you should live. For one reason, only - that is because you are the only being that in my estimation is worthy of living. So life is yours - if you will take it.'
'Upon what terms?' came The Shadow's challenging vice.
'Upon your word. I offer you companionship - all the power that I possess, with equality.
'If you do not choose it, I demand but one thing. Your promise that you will never molest me, nor interfere knowingly with my plans. Do you agree?'
'No!' replied The Shadow.
'Death is the alternative.'
The Shadow laughed contemptuously. Again the weird sound of his mockery swept through those morbid surrounding.
'I shall give you opportunity to choose,' said The Black Master sternly. 'I shall place you where escape is impossible! There I shall come for your reply.
'You will have but one opportunity. In the meantime - taste of death!'
There was a terrific flare of light. A cloud of pungent smoke filled the room.
With the first burst of brightness, The Shadow crumpled and fell upon the floor, overpowered by a tremendous shock. For a moment he lay in view, a huddled, helpless form. Then came darkness.
The chuckle of The Black Master sounded hoarsely amid Stygian gloom.
CHAPTER XXI. THE SHADOW RETURNS
THE SHADOW moved unsteadily to his feet in absolute darkness. He stooped and groped about him for his hat. He found it and put it on.
Then his nimble fingers discovered a flashlight in his pocket. A moment later it illuminated the space.
The Shadow was in a stone mausoleum. A covered tomb was in one corner. Upon it rested two circular cylinders, containing crackers and water.
The Shadow laughed. The supply was sufficient to last several days. Evidently The Black Master did not intend to return immediately.
The Shadow made a brief inspection of his prison. No more impenetrable dungeon could have been contrived.
The floor was of concrete, the walls of solid stone. Only by running his fingers around them did The Shadow discover the door of the prison.
It was obvious that the mausoleum was in some obscure cemetery. No human cry would be sufficient to reach the outside world.
Searching through his clothing, The Shadow discovered that he had been deprived of all his possessions, with two exceptions - the flashlight and a flat, black disk - the token of The Black Master! The disk had been left there, evidently, as a reminder that he still had the choice of siding with that being whose crimes were limitless.
The Shadow lifted the top of the tomb and peered within. It was empty. Then his deft hands moved to the bottom of his cloak. The Shadow laughed, and in that solemn vault, the sound reverberated again and again until it died away to a ghostly echo.
The Black Master had searched well; but even he had not fully estimated the ingenuity of The Shadow.
The mausoleum, bolted and locked from the outside, might seem a permanent prison for any man, unequipped with tools or objects with which to attack the thick walls that were built to stand the ravages of time.
But The Shadow's captor had failed when he had searched his victim. He had deprived him of articles that would be useless; but he had left a most powerful and unknown weapon.
The Shadow dug at the lining of his coat. Threads burst beneath his fingernails. The lining dropped, and into his cupped hand poured a mass of fine black powder.
The Shadow removed a cracker from the tin and carefully let the powder form a tiny mound upon it.
Next, he ripped the lining on the other side of his cloak, disclosing another hidden cache.
A grayish powder came from this place of concealment. It was added to the mound of black. With the corner of another cracker, The Shadow mixed the two ingredients.
He carried the cracker carefully across the vault and spread the powder at the bottom of the doorway.
He lifted the cover of the tomb and placed it against the wall. He took the water container to the door and dipped his fingers in the liquid.
He let a few sparse drops of water fall upon the mass of powder. Then he sprang back to the tomb, leaped into it and seized the cover. He dropped flat in the opening, and let the cover fall above him.
A few seconds elapsed. Then came the muffled sound of a powerful explosion. There was no motion from the coffin in the corner until a minute had passed by. Then the cover raised and The Shadow stepped from his place of safety.
The door of the vault had been blasted from its hinges! It had opened half a foot!
The Shadow threw his weight against it. At first it did not yield. Finally it gave, and the man in the black cloak was precipitated headlong into the outside air. He rose and coughed, to rid his throat of the fumes that had filled the vault.
He reached beneath the inner band of his hat and laughed softly as he removed some banknotes that were hidden there.
The Black Master had surely found them in his search, but he had probably decided that they were useless to a prisoner within a vault. That was quite true, but they were to prove useful now.
It was night. The mausoleum was in the center of a silent cemetery. The black-clad man moved among the tombstones until he reached a high picket fence.
Like a weird specter coming from the abode of the dead, he swung himself over the barrier and walked along a dirt road. It led to a highway. Farther on glimmered the lights of a little store.
The Shadow was faltering now. His strength had been sapped by the ordeals which he had undergone.
He managed to reach the store.
A man behind the counter was startled by the sight of the tall, black-clad being who entered. The Shadow spoke to him, in a voice that resembled that of Clifford Gage.
'Call me a cab,' he said.
Half an hour later, a cab was speeding to New York. In the back seat, a man lay almost invisible, beneath the
