NIGHT had settled over East Point. The three cottages, dimly outlined in the darkness, were ghostly structures that caught the whining breeze from the sea. Glimmering lights from partly drawn shades denoted them as human habitations.
The road that led back toward the depot formed a dull streak that curved away among the sand dunes. Beyond that, the road was invisible. Those who might come to the Point could not be seen until after they had reached the spot where the road turned. From then on, any approach would be quickly noted.
Indeed, a watchful eye could have discerned a car at night even before the vehicle reached the sand dune, for on this dark and isolated Point, the glare of headlights would evidence itself from half a mile away.
But on this evening — Harry Vincent’s first upon the Point — a car was approaching in such a method that no one could have detected its arrival. This automobile, a trim, low-built coupe, acted in singular fashion as soon as it had passed through the little settlement by the railroad station.
Gaining the East Point road, the driver of the car decreased his speed. Within the darkened interior of the coupe, an invisible hand pressed the light control.
From that moment the car rolled on in total gloom. Sharp, piercing eyes that gleamed through the windshield, picked the course by studying the dim ribbon of the road.
The wind was whistling through the opened windows of the coupe. That breeze — the roar of the surf — the wavelets of the bay — all were signs that the Point was narrowing. As the road veered to pass the last dune, the coupe’s smooth motor ceased its throbbing as the ignition key was pressed. The car rolled straight ahead, jolting from the road and coming to a stop by the shelter of the dune.
Silently, the door of the coupe opened and closed. A living being had left the car and was making his way to the road. A soft swish as the breeze whisked the folds of a shrouding cloak was the only token of his presence. That sound came no more as the wearer of the cloak tightened the garment about his weird form.
The Shadow had come to East Point!
An unseen messenger of the night, he was approaching the area where his trusted agent had been established as investigator.
NO footfalls clicked; no moving figure showed as the man of the night moved phantomlike toward the row of cottages. The murmuring breeze rose and whistled in weird protest as the spectral shape passed the first two cottages and gradually approached the third.
When The Shadow was within a few yards of the farthest cottage, the door of the building opened to show two men against a gleam of light. The Shadow, unrevealed, swung quickly to the wall of the cottage. There, unseen, he waited while the two men stepped forth.
Harry Vincent and Malbray Woodruff were on their way to the home of Professor Kirby Sheldon. They traced their path to the road, and set out on the short journey, conversing quietly as they strode along. The moment that they had passed, the phantom shape in black detached itself from Woodruff’s cottage and followed, less than ten feet behind.
Despite his natural watchfulness, Harry Vincent had not the slightest inkling that he and his companion were being followed. The Shadow was a master of silence and obscurity — even when his own agents were involved.
Harry and Woodruff were talking in low tones as they passed the cottage where Elbert Cordes lived. Their discourse pertained to Professor Sheldon, and in that short journey, the silent listener behind them learned their purpose.
Thus The Shadow knew that Harry Vincent had taken up his abode with Malbray Woodruff; and that the latter was on friendly terms with Kirby Sheldon. Furthermore, a chance reference by Woodruff gave the clew that the artist had no acquaintance with the man who lived in the center cottage — Elbert Cordes.
AS Harry and Woodruff reached the door of Sheldon’s cottage, The Shadow was no longer following them. His course had turned; he was moving parallel with the young men. His objective was a window alongside the door. There, unseen, he crouched and watched the visitors enter after some one responded to their knock.
The windowpane showed a thin streak of light at the bottom of the drawn shade. Blackened fingers raised and slowly forced the sash upward. The hands of The Shadow lifted the lower edge of the sash. When this imperceptible movement was completed, sharp eyes peered into the room. Those eyes saw Harry Vincent and Malbray Woodruff shaking hands with a kindly old gentleman — Professor Kirby Sheldon.
Minutes passed, and still the peering eyes kept up the vigil. Then, the shape outside the window was gone. The Shadow was moving elsewhere in the darkness.
His next destination was the abode of Elbert Cordes. There, as at Sheldon’s, the silent visitant peered into the main room on the ground floor.
Here, the sight was different. Standing at the door of the dimly lighted room, a sharp-faced, stoop-shouldered man was watching through a tiny crack, gazing out toward the home of Professor Sheldon. This was Elbert Cordes, evidently aware that his neighbor, Malbray Woodruff, was paying a visit to his other neighbor, Professor Sheldon.
Behind Cordes stood a stocky man whose face showed no trace of interest or curiosity. He was obviously a servant, there to heed his master’s bidding.
The Shadow, in overhearing Woodruff’s remarks to Harry, had learned the names of both parties — Sheldon and Cordes. In this short tour of inspection, The Shadow had discovered that while Sheldon was friendly to his artist neighbor, Cordes was suspicious.
Watching closely, The Shadow’s keen eyes saw a motion upon the lips of Elbert Cordes. The old man was speaking to his servant. The door shut, and Elbert Cordes paced the room, silent and morose.
The Shadow’s watch ceased. A short while later, the black-clad figure came to light — when it appeared within Malbray Woodruff’s cottage. This house was unoccupied, as both Woodruff and Harry Vincent were now at Professor Sheldon’s.
Like a spectral being, The Shadow passed from room to room, inspecting Woodruff’s home. Ten minutes later, the tall form made its exit through the doorway and merged with the night.
IT was an hour afterward when the motor of the parked coupe purred softly in response to pressure on the starter. The car backed into the road, and turned toward the depot settlement. It waited there while The Shadow moved across the sandy spot where the car had been standing.
When the invisible driver was again at the wheel, every trace of the coupe’s wheel marks had been obliterated.
The lights of the trim car came on as the machine rolled through the little settlement. The motor thrummed as the coupe increased its speed. Through the mild night air of the widening Point came a soft, weird laugh, uttered by hidden lips above the wheel.
The Shadow had come to East Point. Unseen, unheralded, he had observed his agent, and had also studied the persons with whom Harry Vincent would be concerned during the days to come.
Had The Shadow learned vital facts tonight? Had he linked any one at Fast Point with the events of hidden crime?
The questions remained unanswered. Only the laugh of The Shadow had significance.
That weird mirth carried a presaging tone. It indicated that The Shadow had verified his assumptions. His choice of East Point as a zone of crime was more than mere conjecture.
With Harry Vincent established, The Shadow, through his agent, could feel the pulse throbs of forthcoming events. For once, The Shadow was engaged in a waiting game. When the time for action should arrive, The Shadow would be ready.
In the meantime, those who lived at East Point — whether engaged in plotting or in innocent tasks — would remain in total ignorance of The Shadow’s visit.
Silently, like a phantom from an unseen sphere, The Shadow had come and gone; and his weird tones of mirth, uttered at a spot miles distant, were the only evidence of his secret journey.