A guard was coming from a side passage.
With a quick glide, The Shadow merged with a patch of darkness beside a
fire-hose. The space was not sufficient to conceal a human form, but this
chameleon of the dark required no more than a background.
The Shadow's tall form blended with the darkness and caused the shaded
patch to appear no different except in size. So effective was the ruse that the
pacing guard marched by without a momentary thought that eyes were watching him.
While the clicking footsteps still resounded in the long main corridor,
The Shadow emerged from his temporary spot of hiding and glided swiftly to the
side passage from which the guard had come. He reached a door, unlocked it
softly, and entered a small room, closing the door behind him.
A LIGHT switch clicked against the wall. A single incandescent revealed a
plainly furnished room. It was evidently a guard's quarters.
The Shadow crossed the room and faced a mirror. His hat dropped from his
head; his black cloak dropped to the floor.
Beneath his sable-hued garb, The Shadow was dressed in the uniform of a
penitentiary guard. His features, dull and heavy-jowled, were those of a man of
middle age. Brightly reflected in the mirror, they seemed masklike.
Peeling off his black gloves, The Shadow pressed finger tips against
cheeks and chin. His false features changed a trifle as the fingers molded them.
A suitcase lay to one side of the stand on which the mirror was attached.
Into this, The Shadow dropped the black cloak and hat. In his false guise of a
prison guard, he turned toward the door of the room. A rap greeted him.
"Come in." The Shadow's voice was surly.
The door opened. In stepped the guard who had recently made the rounds
through the cellroom.
"Hello, Mike," growled the newcomer. "I thought you'd gone off duty. Just
saw the light under the door, and wondered if you were still here."
"I did go out," retorted the false Mike. "Had to come back though. Forgot
my suitcase."
"I thought you always changed duds down at Caffrey's place."
"I generally do. I left a new suit up here though, and forgot to take it
out with me. Had to come back with this bag."
The false Mike had turned from the mirror. The single light was behind his
head. His face, though its features were discernible, remained slightly shaded.
The genuine guard had no suspicion that his companion was an impostor.
Picking up the suitcase, The Shadow strode through the door. He uttered a
gruff good night and continued on his way. He reached an open courtyard, where
a bright searchlight was revolving, sending its huge beam against interior
walls.
As The Shadow crossed the court, his tall, slightly stooped form was
revealed. The glare showed the guard's uniform and the face above it. No
challenge was given. The passer had been recognized.
The Shadow reached a wicket. He showed a pass card. The guard behind the
gate scarcely noticed it. He grinned as he waved.
"Good night, Mike. Next time, don't forget your new suit."
The watcher pressed a button. The Shadow walked ahead. A man in a tower
pulled a release in response to the signal. A huge gate swung open. The false
