THE LIVING SHADOW
by Maxwell Grant
As originally published in "The Shadow Magazine," April/June 1931.
The coin that meant death - or instant riches! Assisted by the fast legwork
of young Harry Vincent and the efficient brain of Claude Fellows, The Shadow
solves a series of seemingly unrelated murders and unmasks a ruthless arch
villain.
CHAPTER I
OUT OF THE MIST
The fog was thick at the center of the bridge where the man stood leaning
against the rail. Although the streets of New York were scarcely a hundred yards
away, he might have been in a little world of his own. For the only light in the
midst of that cloud of black night fog came from an arc light on the bridge.
A taxicab, carrying a late passenger home, shot through the mist.
The man stepped away from the rail and crouched beside a post. He saw a
flash of the red tail light on the cab; a moment later it was lost in the fog.
As the noise of the motor died away, the man stood up again and placed his
hands upon the rail.
He listened, as though afraid that another cab might be coming across the
bridge; then, reassured, he leaned over the rail and stared downward.
Mist; thick, black mist - nothing but mist. It seemed to invite his plunge.
Yet he hesitated as many wait, when they are upon the brink of death - until,
with a mad impulse, he swung his body across the rail and loosened his hands.
Something clamped upon his shoulder. An iron grip held him balanced between
life and death. Then, as though his body possessed no weight whatever, the man
felt himself pulled around in a sweeping circle. He staggered as his feet struck
the sidewalk of the bridge.
He turned to confront the person who had interfered. He swung his fist
angrily, but a hand caught his wrist and twisted it behind his back with
irresistible power.
It seemed as though the man's strength had been wrested from him as he
faced a tall, black-cloaked figure that might have represented death itself. For
he could not have sworn that he was looking at a human being.
The stranger's face was entirely obscured by a broad-brimmed felt hat bent
downward over his features; and the long, black coat looked almost like part of
the thickening fog.
The man who had attempted suicide was too startled to speak. Fear had come
upon him, and his only desire was to shrink from this grim and eerie master of
the night. But he felt himself pulled across the sidewalk, and at the curb he
stumbled through the open door of a large limousine, which he had not seen until
that moment. His arm was freed, and he shrank into the far corner of the car.
The door closed and the car moved on. The grim stranger was in the seat
beside him, and fear still clutched the heart of the man whose life had been
