That night Johnny Thompson went in search of a man. In making this search he met with adventure, such adventure as no person would go far to seek.  
But before that he heard a voice. And that voice, coming as it did from the air, thrilled him to the very tips of his toes.
 
He was seated in the shack, the very shack you have come to know so well from reading The Arrow of Fire—the one Drew Lane had rented from nobody in particular. It was, you will recall, surrounded by brick structures of some size. But, like some stunted little pine among a forest of giants, a relic of the past, it had held its place during all the changing years.
 
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A fishing shack it had been at one time, perhaps, when the shore of the lake was several blocks closer to the heart of the city. Now it served as a home for Drew Lane and Johnny Thompson, together with anyone who might have met with misfortune and come under the observation of these youthful philanthropists.
 
At the moment Johnny was not thinking of philanthropy, but of crime. “Why is it,” he was asking himself, “that men are willing to place themselves outside the law? Why will they steal and kill? Why bring airplanes down in the night, or snatch a package from an honest boy who is trying to do his duty?
 
“Probably money,” he told himself. “But money for what purpose? To pay rent? Buy food? Not often. Money for pleasure, gambling, gaudy clothes, high-power cars, drink. These are what the money buys.
 
“Too often they wish to ape the rich. And what do the foolish sort of rich people do but put on a big show? Huh!”
 
He left the subject with disgust, to wonder about other matters. He thought again of that haunting Gray Shadow that, appearing and disappearing, seemed to guard his destiny.
 
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“An angel of light,” he murmured. “Wonder if I’ll ever see him face to face. I—”
 
He broke off short to listen. Just before the air of the room had been filled with the melodious notes of Titl’s Serenade. Now, as the notes died away, without announcement someone broke in with the words:
 
“I am the Voice.”
 
“The Voice!” Johnny exclaimed. “Where did I hear that expression before?”
 
But the voice was going on. It was telling the people of this great city, at an hour when they were at home and in a thoughtful mood, just what their city was like.
 
&ld............