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Lence picked up Roke's unused gun。 He eyed the victim and observed that Roke was almost motionless。 Slow； moaning gasps came with painful monotony。
Roke gave no other sign of life。
Stepping to the wastebasket； Lence dug out a fistful of torn paper。 He began to examine fragments of envelopes。 The third one was half an envelope that bore a New Orleans postmark。 The next fragment looked like the missing half。 Lence pared them。 The two fitted。
There was no return address on the envelope。 Lence recalled that Roke had not mentioned the book shop until he had opened the letter。 Thrusting the torn pieces into his pocket； the murderous con man started toward the rear of the apartment。
On the way； he stopped and felt the time…tables in his pocket。 He decided to keep them。 With a last look at Roke Rowden's inert body； Tracy Lence delivered an evil chuckle and departed； through a darkened room。
Opening a window； he stepped to a fire escape。 Roke Rowden had purposely chosen an apartment with an available emergency exit。 Closing the window behind him； Tracy Lence； murderer； stole softly downward into the darkness of a courtyard。
CHAPTER III
UNEXPECTED VISITORS
SILENCE persisted in that lower courtyard after the departure of Tracy Lence。 The murderer's stealthy footfalls had been but slight clicks in that gloom。 Stilled atmosphere clung shroudlike in the court during the five minutes that elapsed after the murderer's exit。
Then came motion。 A soft swish disturbed the darkness。 Noiselessly； a figure had glided into the courtyard。 Unseen； a phantom shape was moving toward the fire escape that Tracy Lence had descended。
A new presence had arrived。 Some one…a being in black…was reversing the course that Lence had followed。 A hidden shape arrived at the very window from which Lence had left the apartment。 A soft laugh whispered in the darkness。
That sound； scarcely audible； was a token of identity。 This mysterious prowler； approaching the scene of crime； was a personage to whom such journeys were monplace。 The being from darkness was The Shadow。
To crookdom； The Shadow was a living foe。 Men of evil knew his prowess。
Time and again； plotters of crime had gained evidence of The Shadow's uncanny ability in bringing doom to crime。 A weaving figure cloaked in black； the author of a strident laugh that acpanied the withering staccato of barking automatics…such was The Shadow。
And； as mute testimony of this master fighter's strength； men of evil had found the silent bodies of their pals in crime。 Dying mobsters had coughed his name…The Shadow…in gasping their last breaths。 And always； when The Shadow arrived to deal vengeance upon foes of justice； he came with unexpected stealth。
The little； like the big； could feel The Shadow's wrath。 For his campaign was one of extermination。 The Shadow knew that men of smaller schemes would bee the makers of large plans。 To The Shadow； crime was crime。 That axiom had brought him here tonight。
Somehow； The Shadow had learned of Roke Rowden's scheme。 He knew where the swindler lived。 He had full knowledge of the time set for the trimming。 He knew also that a confederate would be present to aid Roke Rowden in the fleecing of Northrup Lucaster； the gentleman from Des Moines。
THE window by the fire escape opened at The Shadow's pressure。 The spectral raider had expected as much。 He had seen the apartment house from the outside。 He knew that Rowden would have chosen an apartment with an emergency exit。 The unlatched window was proof that this was part of apartment 516。 It was ready for a quick get…away。
The Shadow entered the darkened room。 Straight ahead； a door stood ajar。
As The Shadow advanced with stealthy glide； a clock in the living room chimed the hour of ten…the time set for Lucaster's arrival。 The Shadow knew。
No voices from the living room。 Yet Rowden had expected another friend before Lucaster's arrival。 By the usual procedure of con men； conversation should be in order。 Silence told The Shadow that something was wrong。
Listening by the partly opened door； The Shadow caught the sound of a faint moan。 Slowly； he edged through the doorway。 His form emerged into the lighted living room。 Automatic in hand； The Shadow stood motionless as he eyed the dying form of Roke Rowden。
The Shadow had e here tonight to play a hidden role。 Such crooks as Rowden belonged to the police。 The Shadow had arranged for the law to capture Rowden and his unknown pal。 The Shadow had arrived only to cover the exit which he knew the crooks would take。
But instead of two living men； he found one man； dying。 A single glance at Rowden's sweat…stained face was proof that the man's life was almost gone。
The Shadow's hand disappeared beneath his cloak。 It left the automatic there。 In its place； it brought out a phial that contained a purplish liquid。
Stooping； The Shadow applied the elixir to Roke Rowden's lips。
Moaning ceased。 A tremor shook the huddled frame。 Roke's eyes opened。 They met The Shadow's burning optics； those burning eyes that gleamed from beneath the brim of a broad slouch hat。 Roke uttered a hoarse gasp。 Lence's gun dropped from Roke's fingers； as the dying man brought both hands to his face to shut off sight of that blazing gaze。
With maddened effort； Roke struggled to his elbow。 He wanted to regain his feet。 The elixir had given him vigor； sight of The Shadow had added terror。
Struggling upward； Roke caught the edge of the table and drew himself to his feet。 He swayed crazily。 The Shadow's strong arm caught him。
With the stare of a hashish fiend； Roke gazed toward the blankness of the desk。 He was focussing his eyes there； to avoid another view of the grim figure in blackness。 To his dying stare； The Shadow had symbolized death。
But Roke could not escape the sinister whisper that sounded in his ear。
There was fierce mand in the sibilance of the single word that The Shadow uttered：
〃Speak。〃
ROKE gasped incoherently。 He could not frame the words he sought to speak。
His left hand clutched the edge of the desk。 His sagging form leaned heavily against The Shadow's shoulder。 Then Roke's right hand crawled； spiderlike； until it clutched the pen that Tracy Lence had left upon the desk。
A loose sheet of paper lay close beside the pen。 Breathing wheezy sighs； Roke scrawled a name in childish letters that ran ragged across the paper。 Four letters only in that name； yet it took the full width of the sheet as it spelled the word that gasping lips had failed to utter：
CYRO
〃Cyro；〃 hissed The Shadow。 His tone indicated that he； like Roke； had heard the name before。 〃Tell me〃…it was a mand； not a question…〃Cyro was here？〃
Roke's head shook weakly as the dying man delivered a negative response。
Instantly； The Shadow took up the lead。
〃The man who was here；〃 he hissed； 〃was an associate of Cyro？〃
Roke managed to nod。
〃That man shot you…〃
Again the nod。
〃Although he was in your game。〃
A third nod。 More feeble than the others。
〃His name；〃 came The Shadow's order。