ALIBI TRAIL ......................................................................................................................................................1

Maxwell Grant.........................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. THE M.S.A.......................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. MURDER DISCOVERED..............................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. FIND THE MURDERER ...............................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. LINKS TO CRIME......................................................................................................14

CHAPTER V. CRIME'S INTERLUDE................................................................................................18

CHAPTER VI. THE SECOND VICTIM..............................................................................................22

CHAPTER VII. DARK BRINGS ITS TRAIL ......................................................................................26

CHAPTER VIII. ROUNDABOUT TRAIL ...........................................................................................30

CHAPTER IX. HUMAN CARGO ........................................................................................................33

CHAPTER X. ALONG THE HIGHWAY............................................................................................37

CHAPTER XI. FRIENDS OF THE ROAD..........................................................................................40

CHAPTER XII. RETURN FROM OBLIVION....................................................................................44

CHAPTER XIII. THE SHADOW'S TEST ............................................................................................48

CHAPTER XIV. ACCEPTED CHALLENGE ......................................................................................52

CHAPTER XV. PRELUDE TO MURDER..........................................................................................57

CHAPTER XVI. THE UNSEEN GUEST .............................................................................................61

CHAPTER XVII. THE DOUBLE TRAIL............................................................................................66

CHAPTER XVIII. WHERE CRIME FAILED.....................................................................................71

CHAPTER XIX. THE LAST CHAPTER.............................................................................................75

Six o'clock was a quiet hour in the cafe lounge of the Hotel Metrolite. Most of the afternoon customers had

gone by that time, while those who came for dinner considered it fashionable to arrive later than six. Hence,

Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane had the cafe lounge almost to themselves, as they sat at a table near the

The drizzly day had brought an early dusk. Traffic was jammed along the avenue, in keeping with New York

tradition. Every now and then, a cab would pull out from the jumble, stop at the lighted front of the Hotel

Metrolite and drop a passenger. Such were the people that Cranston and Margo were watching.

Cranston had recognized the last four. All were drabfaced businessmen, of somewhat portly bearing:

members of the Manufacturers Security Association, which was to hold a sixo'clock meeting at the

Glancing at Cranston, Margo smiled. She was contrasting his firm, hawkish features with the flabby,

heavyfowled faces of the men from the cabs. She was considering, too, how Cranston's lithe, athletic build

"Your playmates have arrived," bantered Margo. "Why don't you go up to the meeting, Lamont? The sooner

The statement awoke Margo's interest. She stared from the window, anxious to see Purnell. She'd heard much

about the man, for he'd been in the news a great deal. Frequently dubbed the Wall Street Wizard, Purnell was

a man who thrived on high finance; but, with all his reputed wealth, he lived in Spartan simplicity.

Even in Manhattan, Purnell drove his own car, instead of depending on taxicabs or keeping a chauffeured

limousine, both of which he regarded as too expensive. He didn't like the subways because he was too often

recognized. Very probably, Purnell was having trouble, at present, getting through traffic to the Hotel

Metrolite. If so, he would be doing a lot of grumbling, for Purnell was noted for his habit of punctuality; and

There was a doorman out front, who would certainly take charge of the car when Purnell appeared;

nevertheless, the financier would be in glowery mood, which was something else that Margo wanted to see.

"I didn't know that Purnell belonged to the association," remarked Margo to Cranston. "How important is

"He runs it," Cranston responded. "It's fortunate he does, or the association might degenerate into a racket."

Margo paused on lookout duty to give Cranston a puzzled gaze. His statement was doubly surprising. She

didn't expect him to toss bouquets to Purnell; nor could Margo picture Cranston, himself, connected with

anything that resembled a racket. For Margo Lane was quite convinced that Lamont Cranston was none other

than The Shadow, master foe to crime. His business was cracking rackets, not establishing them.

Which made the situation more intriguing, as Margo considered it. Cranston's membership in the association

could mean that he was handling the case from the inside. She hoped that her sudden expression of interest

"QUITE a title, the Manufacturers Security Association," spoke Cranston in his calm, eventoned style. "It

was formed by independent manufacturers, to insure themselves against unusual conditions arising from the

"Just the opposite," corrected Cranston. "These men represent ordinary everyday industries, and want to

preserve their status. Let me give you an example, Margo. Suppose the government should demand all the

aluminum in the country, what would happen to a manufacturer who makes aluminum kitchenware?"

"Not if he belonged to the M.S.A.," stated Cranston, using the abbreviated term for the Manufacturers

"That seems to be a problem." Cranston smiled, reflectively. "Some say that orders should be assigned, pro

rata, by other members of the association. Others think the individual members should be insured, with the

rest paying the cost. Whatever the solution, whoever controls the M.S.A. will have charge of huge fund,

along with power to distribute them. Which is why the organization needs a canny financier like Hubert

Mention of Purnell caused Margo to glance at her wrist watch. It showed seven minutes after six, and the

"Purnell is eligible," remarked Cranston, "because he controls certain industrial plants. So, for that matter, do

two other men, either of whom could turn the M.S.A. into a racket. Fortunately, those two are at odds."

Margo asked who they were. Cranston named them. One was Ralph Lambron, a man whose past had never

quite caught up with him. Rumor had it that he was found among beer runners during Prohibition days.

With repeal saving him from Federal indictments, Lambron had bought up independent theaters throughout

Pennsylvania, welded them into a chain, and sold stock in it, that dwindled down to nothing after he dropped

the enterprise. Lambron had put the profits, amounting to several millions, into various factories, which he

The other man was Andrew Brenz. His name, too, spelled swindle. Operating from the Midwest, Brenz had

established gambling houses all over the country, but always by proxy. It was just coincidence that Brenz

owned factories in those cities where the gambling houses operated. A coincidence, too, that Brenz loved race

horses and owned a very respectable stable that freed his name from any connection with racetrack scandals

Margo was listening, eyes very wide, when Cranston gestured toward the window and said:

Margo's watch registered just ten minutes after six, as she looked, expecting to see the wizened face that she

connected with Hubert Purnell. Instead, she observed a powerful man, with strong, squarejawed face and

sharp but deepset eyes. He was stepping out of an expensive limousine which had a convertible top. He was

followed by a squareset chauffeur, in darkbrown uniform. Margo expressed surprise.

"I didn't say he was Purnell," reminded Cranston, rising. "I was speaking of Andrew Brenz. He's ten minutes

late for the sixo'clock meeting, and he seems quite put out about something. I'm going up to the meeting,

BRENZ and his chauffeur were one elevator ahead of Cranston; hence, Brenz had made his entry into the

meeting room when Cranston arrived there. Pushing aside the stocky chauffeur, who partially blocked the

Brenz was standing in the center of the room, waving a folded newspaper at half a dozen manufacturers who

"Don't tell me you haven't heard about the scandal!" stormed Brenz. "You seem to regard Ralph Lambron as

an important member of this organization. You certainly ought to know that he's threatened with indictment,

down in Philadelphia, over that theater stock swindle! The newspapers are full of it!"

A coldeyed man named Fitzcroft picked up a newspaper that was lying on the table. Glancing over the front

"The Philadelphia newspapers, of course" retorted Benz. "Here take a look at this one."

It was a Philadelphia newspaper that Brenz spread on the table, and it carried a broad streamer, saying:

Underneath was Lambron's picture, with column after column telling of his connections, past, present, and

future. Such little things as war news must have been consigned to the comic section, for each page that

Brenz turned told more about Lambron and his questionable activities. The way Fitzcroft and the others

"That's the way with you New Yorkers," he gibed. "You seem to think that Philadelphia is in another world."

The sally brought laughs from the rest. They were of the opinion that the Philadelphia news was a lot of

empty talk. Purchasers of Lambron's theater chain had simply let it go to pieces, and were blaming him for

the debacle. Philadelphia investors had that habit, these New Yorkers claimed. They thought that if you

planted money, it would sprout like potatoes; but that sort of thing didn't happen any more, not even in

"Empty talk?" demanded Brenz. "Then why isn't Donald Kerring here? He comes from Philadelphia. He

probably decided that we wouldn't even hold a meeting, after this Lambron scandal. Why don't you phone

Fitzcroft decided to call Kerring. He tried, but couldn't get an answer from Kerring's Philadelphia home. He

"Maybe you ought to call Lambron. He's easy enough to reach. Try the district attorney's office, in

Fitzcroft promptly took up the suggestion. In a few minutes he had Lambron on the wire, and was repeating

what the latter told him. Quite relieved, Fitzcroft turned to the men about him.

"It is empty talk," assured Fitzcroft. "Lambron says so. He claims that the Philadelphia newspapers tried to

make news before it happened. Lambron and his secretary are going over everything with the district

attorney, and will be busy the rest of the evening. By tomorrow, the newspapers will be printing apologies."

Impetuously, Brenz snatched the telephone from Fitzcroft's hands and roared into the mouthpiece.

"So you think you can get away with it!" shouted Brenz. "Well, we'll know by tomorrow if you do. This is

Brenz talking, and whatever I do, I keep my hands clean. I'd like to see you do the same."

Brenz paused abruptly and suddenly flung the telephone on the table. It was Fitzcroft who asked, wisely:

"He hung up," snapped Brenz. "So that's the end of it! The end of this meeting, too, because if you're waiting

for Hubert Purnell, he won't be here. I phoned him around three o'clock, and when he heard about the

Lambron mess, he said you could hold it but he wouldn't attend, because we couldn't settle anything with this

cloud hanging over us. Purnell decided to drive down to Washington and attend to some of the pressing

Turning on his heel, Brenz spoke to his chauffeur: "Come along, Richtle." Together, the two left the meeting

room, and in a little while the others decided to do the same. As Fitzcroft put it, they might do without either

Down in the cafe lounge, Cranston found Margo still looking from the window, expecting to see Purnell,

though it was nearly quarter of seven. Remarking that Purnell wasn't coming, Cranston next suggested that

they dine in the cafe lounge. Margo agreeing, they didn't even bother to change tables.

It wasn't long before Margo noticed that Cranston was still watching from the window. She asked him why,

"I'm watching for Donald Kerring," stated Cranston. "He rates high in the association, and it's odd he didn't

come over to the meeting. You know the chap I mean Kerring, the one they tried to reach in Philadelphia

"But didn't they decide that Kerring would think the trip useless, with Lambron in such a mess?"

"Yes. But I'm not sure that Kerring would have seen it that way. He's one of the capable members of the

association. Kerring, Fitzcroft, and a third man, Dryne, are the ones who have been keeping check on

Lambron and Brenz. I think that Kerring should have felt it his duty to attend this meeting."

Half past eight. Cranston and Margo had finished dinner, with no sign of Kerring. As they started from the

hotel, Cranston stopped in the lobby and put in a call to Kerring's Philadelphia residence, with no answer

forthcoming. Outside the door, he paused, noticed that the weather had cleared. Then:

"A good evening for a drive," said Cranston. "Suppose we take one, Margo. To Philadelphia, to drop in on

Donald Kerring and get some facts regarding Lambron that none of the New Yorkers seem to know, or care,

Margo nodded. She liked the idea. It reminded her of other times when she had set out on trails with The

Shadow. But this trail was to prove different than most of those that Cranston took. It was a trail back into the

The real goal upon which all depended was six o'clock, the hour of doom that The Shadow had missed while

IT was eleven o'clock, a very late hour in the fashionable Philadelphia suburb where Donald Kerring lived.

Mist, rising from the Wissahickon Valley, was creeping out from the fringe of expansive Fairmount Park, to

encroach upon the lawned preserves where Kerring's graystone home bulked somber in the night.

The house was dark, and hedges atop the surrounding wall had the look of absolute barriers. Only from the

gateway straight in front could one obtain a complete view of the house, itself. At that spot, under a parade of

sheltering maples, two men sat in a large sedan that was parked with its lights off. They were looking through

A flashlight swept back and forth along the sidewalk, roving from maples to wall. It was swinging jerkily,

indicating that its owner was bulky and walked with waddling stride. The beam splashed the sedan once, and

swung away; then, coming back, it stopped. The man flicked off his flashlight and reached for a handy

"Hello, Wilkins," spoke a smooth voice from the car. "We were expecting you along. We thought maybe you

The bulky watchman shoved himself toward the car, raising the flashlight instead of the club. A man in the

car obliged him by pressing the switch to the dome light. Wilkins promptly recognized the sallow, smiling

Wilkins also recognized Lambron's companion, a thinfaced man who wore largerimmed glasses. He was

Lambron's secretary, Mordan. The two had visited Kerring rather frequently, usually in the evening, which

was why Wilkins had met them. It was his business to look over all strangers in this neighborhood.

Beefyfaced and brawny, Wilkins was a survival of an old Philadelphia custom, the private watchman. He

was hired by some forty residents of the section, at a few dollars a month apiece, to make regular rounds at

night and see that doors and windows were securely locked. He even checked on such small matters as cellar

lights that residents forgot to turn out. He was helpful, too, when it came to starting stalled cars.

He looked like a London bobby, and had something of the same temperament. His slow round, by many

devious bypaths, took him close to an hour and a half, and when he had finished it, he went over the same

terrain again. All night, Wilkins made those plodding rounds, and residents felt secure.

Not that the neighborhood lacked police protection. At various intervals, a police car coursed through the

curving, mazelike streets of this suburban area. But it didn't cover the ground the way that Wilkins did.

It was easy for prowlers to dodge out of sight behind walls or shrubbery when the police car came along; but

with Wilkins on the Job, they might dodge right into his lap. Such, at least, was the theory held by those who

Right now, Wilkins was scratching his head over the matter of Kerring's absence. He knew that Kerring's

servants had gone off today and wouldn't be back until midnight, which could mean that Kerring had gone

But Kerring was rather elderly and didn't like late hours. He was always home by tenthirty, though he often

Wilkins threw a look toward the car, said: "You've been here long, Mr. Lambron?"

"About half an hour," calculated Lambron. "It was ten o'clock when we left the district attorney's office.

Wilkins nodded and gave a sympathetic mutter. He'd read about Lambron's troubles and didn't agree with the

newspapers. Any friend of Mr. Kerring's would have to be all right with Wilkins. Since it was just about a

halfhour trip from the Philadelphia city hall to Kerring's home, it was quite obvious that Lambron must have

"Why didn't you pull up in the driveway?" he queried, with a sweeping gesture of his heavy hand. "Most

"We did," returned Lambron, "but when we saw the house was dark, we were afraid we'd block Kerring's

"Drive in there again," suggested the watchman, "and we'll take a look at things."

WITH Wilkins on the side of the car, Lambron drove around the corner, swung in through a driveway that

passed the side of the house, and finished in a gravel circle, a survival of the old horseandcarriage days.

Only by bearing hard on the steering wheel was Lambron able to make the turn; even then, his car grazed the

Dropping off, Wilkins tried a little door that led into the house; it was the side entrance that people usually

used when they came by car. The door was locked, so Wilkins took a look along the wall at windows above.

He had just come to the corner of the house, when he remembered that Kerring might have gone out of town.

It loomed out from a window, a whitish phantom that matched the best description of spooks on parade. As

suddenly as it came, the white thing vanished, giving Wilkins the impression that it had sailed upward,

Shifting his hand from nightstick to revolver, the watchman dropped back behind the corner. Lambron saw

Lambron and Mordan came from their car to join him. By then, Wilkins had regained his nerve. He wasn't a

man to be frightened by odd things at night. He'd stood the test every Halloween, when boys rigged up sheets

and balloon faces to scare wayfarers. Wilkins was an ace at exposing such hoaxes, and he'd handle this one,

Lambron and Mordan looked. Again, the ghost made its shivery appearance, in a way that really startled

them; but this time, Wilkins caught its flutter as it vanished. He felt the breeze that wafted past the stone

"A window curtain from the library," identified Wilkins. "The wind caught it. But the window shouldn't be

They reached the window and stared at the thin white curtains that bellied again, just above their heads.

Wilkins glanced at his companions. Both were tall and rangy, but Mordan was lighter than Lambron. So the

watchman suggested helping the secretary through the window, at which Mordan recoiled. Smiling at his

"It's really your job to enter," Lambron told Wilkins. "You're the watchman, you know. Here we'll help you

With a combined lift, Lambron and Mordan sent Wilkins over the high sill, a powerful hoist, considering the

Then Wilkins was over and his companions retracing their steps, when a stumble and a thud came from the

darkened library. Apparently, Wilkins had tripped over the window curtains; if so, it was no excuse for him to

rig himself in one and play ghost for spite. It certainly looked as though Wilkins had, when he unlocked the

It took the two a few seconds to realize that they were looking at the watchman's own face, not at a whitened

curtain worn like a veil. For Wilkins had gone very, very pale, a remarkable thing, considering the man's

He couldn't even speak; he simply beckoned, as a ghost would. Lambron and Mordan followed Wilkins, saw

Then, when the lights came on, the visitors stared, as riveted as the watchman. They saw the thing that

accounted for the stumble Wilkins had made. It was lying in the very center of the library floor, the lifeless

form of a frail, peakfaced man whose scrawny features had drawn themselves into the grinning, lipless

THE dead man was Donald Kerring. His shirt front, crimson with blood, showed that he had been shot

through the heart. He was lying across one of the half dozen scatter rugs that carpeted the library, and

purplish blotches on the blue of the Oriental floorpiece were further evidence of Kerring's lifeblood. The

peculiar sideward hunch of the body; the twisted upturn of the dead face were rather horrible to view.

"He's been dead a long while," spoke Wilkins in a hollow voice. "I... I'd better call the police at the district

He was reaching for the telephone, when Lambron took it first. Lambron's tone was steadier, but forced.

"We'll call headquarters," declared Lambron. "They can notify the district station. I'll tell them to talk to the

director of public safety. He was with me off and on during the evening, while I was in the D.A.'s office."

"Why not?" queried Lambron bitterly. "they've accused me of everything short of murder! Poor Kerring! He'd

never have wanted this to happen tonight, of all times. He believed that I could disprove the charges against

me. It looks as though someone else believed it, too, and decided to frame me for murder!"

They were the police advance guard, from the nearest district station, bringing a police surgeon, along with

Ralph Lambron was on the spot. He could account for his actions up to ten o'clock that evening. How well his

alibi would protect him in the case of murder discovered at eleven, the immediate future was to prove!

At the wheel of his coupe, Lamont Cranston gave a satisfied chuckle as he recognized a street sign; which

pleased Margo Lane. They'd made the trip to Philadelphia in a little less than three hours, only to get lost in

Most of the signs called the streets by such names as "road," "avenue," or "lane," and Cranston had

recognized quite a few of them. The trouble was, they had a habit of stopping one place and beginning

somewhere else, which meant being on the right street and the wrong one at the same time.

They had all been named on the theory that some day they would be cut through, which they hadn't. With the

way they curved, sometimes changing names from one block to another, it way impossible to pick up a

Cranston had remembered, however, that Kerring's house was near Fairmount Park, which was far too big a

target to miss. Skirting around, he had reached the park and was cutting back into Kerring's neighborhood.

"This is bringing us the wrong way," he remarked. "In at the back of Kerring's. But if the right streets can be

Stopping the car suddenly, in a block that had no houses, Cranston pointed through the windshield. They

were on the fringe of the park, and ahead was the residential section. Cranston was indicating a stone house,

where lights were flicking on and off at many windows, while the glare from porch lights showed police cars

"Kerring's house," declared Cranston calmly. "Something has happened there. Wait here, Margo, while I see

Leaving the coupe, Cranston opened the rear compartment without Margo hearing it. From beneath the

slightly raised edge he took a black cloak, a slouch hat, and a brace of automatics. Putting on the black

garments, Cranston became The Shadow. From then on, he was a gliding shape, unseen in the night.

Reaching Kerring's house was quite simple. Lines of trees along the sidewalk, the sheltering hedges, banks of

shrubs and flowers, provided cover that would have hidden Cranston, even without the black garb that

transformed him into The Shadow. The house, itself, was a collection of darkened patches, with porches

convenient to upstairs windows, where lights had gone on, only to be turned off.

The crux came when The Shadow was inside the house itself, on the second floor. The police were

investigating the back stairs, so he had to use the front staircase, which was well lighted from the lower hall.

But no one suspected that a prowler would be using those stairs, so The Shadow had a straight course down,

Finding a rear door into the library, The Shadow blended with its heavy curtains and peered into the room. A

rug of the runner type ran through the doorway, but The Shadow stepped from its soft tuft, to gain better

He was in an extension of the hall, a sort of alcove, with a corner that cut off the brighter light. Motionless,

his blackcloaked figure could scarcely be distinguished from the deep blue of the curtain, but by slightly

The Shadow saw the floor with its crowded scatter rugs, and the dead form which occupied the center. He

recognized Kerring's face, as a police surgeon arose from beside the body. Among the people in the room,

"THIS man has been dead at least five hours," declared the surgeon. "I would establish the time of death as

Relief registered on Lambron and Mordan. Wilkins gave them a knowing nod. The beefy watchman was

quite sure that neither of these men would have murdered Kerring. The only objection came from a

newcomer, who was entering the room by the doorway from the main hall. He was tall, grayhaired, and

officious; The Shadow recognized him as the director of public safety, the Philadelphia equivalent of police

"Approximately six," the surgeon repeated, emphatically. "There could be a variation, perhaps ten minutes,

one way or the other. The time of death can be well established in a case like this."

"Sorry, director?" queried Lambron coolly. "Is it because the circumstances clear me?"

"I am," he snapped, "and it is! You're lucky, Lambron, because you have an absolute alibi from three o'clock

"To tenthirty," corrected Lambron. "I couldn't have gotten here any sooner, director, after leaving your

office. Whether you like it or not, you'll have to concede that neither Mordan or I could have killed Kerring."

"I concede it," retorted the director. "I know you're innocent in this case, just as I know you're guilty of a lot

of crooked work that couldn't be proven against you this afternoon! You handled the D.A., Lambron, but

Abruptly, the safety director dropped his challenging tone and began to inquire into what was known

regarding Kerring's death. Lambron and Mordan told their story, and Wilkins corroborated his share of the

details. Like the director, The Shadow made mental note of them. In the pause that followed, a district

"Not yet," the director declared. "When it does go, you can pick it up in that rug where it's lying. We'll want

He looked over the rest of the room, even eyeing the rug that ran out through the rear doorway, but he

decided that none of the other rugs would be needed. None of them had bloodstains, though they needed

examination to make sure, because the remaining Orientals trended to red backgrounds, whereas the one on

While the director was making his survey, Wilkins asked if he could leave to resume his rounds through the

The Shadow remained. He was watching the police inspect the death room, and he anticipated a new

discussion between the safety director and Ralph Lambron. This time, it was Lambron who began it, by first

"Ten minutes one way or the other," said Lambron. "You couldn't stretch that to a couple of hours, could

"I couldn't," returned the surgeon. "Kerring's death was instantaneous at approximately six o'clock."

The Shadow knew what was in Lambron's mind, though the safety director didn't. The period between four

and nine still covered Lambron comfortably; therefore, it had another significance. Wheeling, the director

"I was thinking of Andrew Brenz," replied Lambron. "If you think I'm crooked, you'd better look into his

"For the same reason that I might. Or, for the matter that anybody might, if they wanted to control the

Manufacturers Security Association. Kerring was one of the stalwart members; the kind who said he'd never

THE director paused, realizing that Lambron had already thought about Brenz. So, for that matter, had The

Shadow. Kerring's sixo'clock death in Philadelphia let Brenz out, as well as Lambron, because Brenz had

The Shadow knew that Brenz had been only ten minutes late, but both Lambron and the safety director were

thinking in terms of six thirty, when Brenz had poked himself into the longdistance call that Fitzcroft made

In simple terms, Lambron was calculating that Brenz would have had to leave Philadelphia soon after four

o'clock in order to be in New York at six thirty. Similarly, if Brenz had left the New York meeting soon after

that six thirty call, he couldn't have reached this Philadelphia residence much before nine.

"Take a crook to pick a crook," gibed the safety director. "You would want to blame it on Brenz, Lambron. It

happens that his alibi is just as good as yours. Suppose we discuss the other members of that association.

One member of the M.S.A. did provide a starting point, very swiftly. That member was Lamont Cranston, at

present The Shadow. Hearing footsteps behind him, The Shadow twisted deeper in the curtain to let a heavy

man walk by. The arrival was Wilkins. Shoving between the curtains, the watchman stopped short just inside

"I've found something, director!" exclaimed Wilkins excitedly. "Right out back, there's a car parked over

Wilkins didn't finish. The Shadow couldn't let him. The car in question was The Shadow's own, with Margo

in it. Chances were that if the director shouted from the window, police around the grounds could get to the

coupe quicker than The Shadow. The only thing was to smother the matter of the car with something more

Shifting out from behind the curtain, deeper into the alcoved hall, The Shadow grabbed the end of the runner

Greased by the waxed flour, the runner came away in a sweep that sent Wilkins headlong, almost to Kerring's

body. The sudden departure of the rug told that someone had tugged it; moreover, witnesses caught a view of

Yanking a revolver, the director shouted for others to follow him, which they did; not only the detectives who

The scatter rugs served The Shadow well. They skidded under heavytramping feet, causing pursuers to

flounder in each other's path. The director and his men were doing an imitation of Eliza, crossing the ice

when The Shadow took a last glance at them. The first man to reach the rear doorway tangled with the

Hearing the crash of the curtain rod, knowing the delay it would produce, The Shadow adopted a daring

Instead of going out the rear door, he dashed through the front hall, grabbing at light switches as he passed

them. His way was clear, for the men from the front hall had all barged through the living room, to become

There were yells and revolver shots as The Shadow flicked the last light switch and yanked the front door

open. None of the shots were accurate, for the pursuers caught only a glimpse of the dodging figure in black.

They blasted for the front door as it went slamming shut, indicating The Shadow's egress. Some of those

shots might have clipped the cloaked fugitive, had he been going through the doorway.

But The Shadow hadn't chosen that route; he'd dropped away from the door, kicking it shut as he rolled. In

his blackedout corner, he was actually behind the door when the director yanked it open.

The mad rush went through, disgorging pursuers all over the front lawn, where they fired at everything that

looked black, which gave them plenty to do. Other police came dashing up from various quarters, some from

in back of the house. The front lawn echoed with the cannonade, while inside, all was deserted. Even

As The Shadow arose and started a quick trip back through the darkened hall, the only thing human in sight

was Kerring's body, vague on the square block that represented that bluetoned scatter rug.

THROUGH the rear door, The Shadow was making for the back hedge, when he heard the shooting end. The

director was calling to the others, and amid the bellows, The Shadow could hear the shouts of Wilkins. The

watchman was reminding the director that there still was a car out back. By this time, however, The Shadow

He whipped off hat and cloak, tumbling them over the back of the seat as he scrambled in beside Margo, who

Cranston again, The Shadow grabbed the wheel and shoved the car into gear. He was whizzing away in

From then on, it was a strange mad chase that held Margo breathless. Cranston took the quickest route away

from Kerring's, and was soon speeding in and out among the curved lanes and roads, seeking only to shake

Margo had heard of doubling a trail to throw off pursuers. This was a trail that actually doubled itself. It

reminded her of the fun ride in the dark at Coney Island, but on a vaster scale.

Somewhere among these hilly treeshaded byways, several cars were after one, hoping to cross its path

which they did, but only when Cranston was quick enough to sense them and halt the coupe, with head lights

Sirens were wailing everywhere, although pursuers were signaling among themselves; but finally, when

Cranston sped the coupe across an old bridge and down a sharp slope, Margo heard the shrieks die off in the

Then the coupe was rolling along at thirtyfive, with other cars in sight, while officers, clad in bluegray

uniforms, watched the traffic only to see that it kept within the proper speed limit.

"Fairmount Park," identified Cranston. "Those are the park guards, the special force that patrol it. We'll ease

They rolled from the park into a muchmoresettled area than the suburb where Kerring lived. They

followed an avenue that had double houses on both sides and car tracks in the middle. Reaching a point well

north of Broad Street, Cranston swung away from a railroad bridge that crossed the main avenue, and drove

"North Philadelphia," he told Margo. "In five minutes, you can take a through train from Washington. It will

"Certainly. Maybe Kerring didn't find it healthy here, but I shall. I'm going to look into his case more

Leaving the coupe, Margo watched it swing from the station drive. As Cranston turned, and the taillight faded

IT was late afternoon when Lamont Cranston strolled into the office of the Philadelphia director of public

safety and introduced himself, to receive an immediate welcome. He was ushered into the director's private

office, and received a hearty handshake from the grizzled man who had been so eager to wing him with

"Glad you came over from New York, Mr. Cranston," declared the director. "You're the only one of your

friends who thought it worthwhile. They seemed to think that by proving their attendance at last night's

Manufacturer Security Association meeting, they had ended their connection with the Kerring murder."

"In a sense, yes," assured the director, hastily. "As far as any guilt is concerned, you understand. That applies

in your case, Mr. Cranston, because we have learned that you were at the meeting, too. But we certainly

hoped that some of you would cooperate in helping us trace the real murderer. So I appreciate your coming

Cranston didn't remark that he had come over the night before, and that since early morning he had been in a

Philadelphia hotel, listening to local broadcasts and studying successive editions of the afternoon newspapers,

He was more interested in the director's reference to the "real murderer," which seemed somewhat

paradoxical, because Ralph Lambron and his secretary, Mordan, were seated, big as life, in the director's

office. However, Lambron's smile at seeing Cranston was sufficient proof that the sallow man's alibi stood.

Shaking hands with Cranston, Lambron introduced Mordan and sat down. Since the director was busy with

"I guess you know how I stand, Cranston," said Lambron. "Aside from the sorrow I feel regarding Kerring's

"No," rejoined Lambron. "I'm not glad that Brenz is in the clear. I'll make no bones about it. I detest Brenz!

After his alibi was proven, I hoped we could pin something on that deadpan chauffeur of his, but I've

Studying Lambron, The Shadow compared him with Brenz. It was logical that the two should be at odds, for

it was usually so when men with scheming minds had the same ambition. The similarity between Lambron

and Brenz was accentuated by the fact that each had a sidekick who seemed as slippery as himself, though

In Lambron's case, the toady was his secretary, Mordan; whereas Brenz depended on his chauffeur, Richtle.

Judging from appearances, they carried those helpers along as body guards, for they hadn't appeared recently

without them. That was logical, too, for Lambron and Brenz were the sort who made dangerous enemies and

Last night, however, Mordan and Richtle were the ones who benefited, for each had gained an ironclad alibi

Returning to his desk, the director of public safety outlined the story of Kerring's death, hoping that the

details might stir some suggestions from Cranston. The case appeared quite open and shut.

Alone in his home, Kerring had received a visitor at six o'clock; possibly earlier, but the caller had certainly

been in the house at six. Darkness had settled at that hour due to the dreary day. Apparently, the unknown

visitor had been waiting for it, because that was when he deliberately shot Kerring, in a house so tightly slut

Though Kerring's keys were on his body, the killer had probably preferred the window as an exit, because it

There was a trifling detail about Wilkins, the watchman, not noticing the open window on his first trip round;

but, Wilkins had himself admitted that it could be an oversight. That covered, the director came back to the

"As I understand it, Mr. Cranston," he said, "Kerring was a retarding factor in the Manufacturers Security

Association. He didn't want to see the organization controlled by the wrong people, or too much in the hands

"I can think of two," was Cranston's reply. "One is Fitzcroft; the other, Dryne."

"Just what I told you, director," put in Lambron, "but you wouldn't take my opinion."

"Naturally, I wouldn't," the director retorted. "You talked as though you and Kerring were great friends,

Lambron, whereas I'm sure that he knew too much about you, to be so inclined. He might have favored

Brenz, but certainly not you. Therefore, I doubted your opinion regarding others."

"Both Lambron and Brenz had alibis last eight. So, for that matter, did you and the other members of the

M.S.A., with one exception. I refer to the present head of the association, Hubert Purnell. I expect him here

any minute, because I called him in Washington, asking him to stop off on his way hack to New York."

"You certainly won't accuse Purnell of murder," he told the director. "Don't forget: he's the Wall Street

Wizard. He picks up ruined companies for a song and makes them pay dividends, which puts him in the class

of public benefactor. Why, to accuse Purnell of trying to grab the Manufacturers Security Association would

"It hasn't gone broke yet, and besides, Purnell practically controls it already. Unless" Lambron turned

suddenly to Cranston "unless fellows like Kerring and Fitzcroft have been keeping an eye on Purnell, too."

Before Cranston could furnish an opinion, a knock at the door announced Purnell in person. A few moments

later, a withery, dyspeptic man was ushered into the office. In his usual crisp fashion, Purnell shook hands all

Steely gray eyes predominated Purnell's crabapple features, but they gave the same glance to all. They

showed no mistrust of Lambron; no approval toward Cranston. Purnell's gaze dismissed Mordan as

unimportant, and finally settled coldly on the director of public safety, as though he considered the official to

"Very well, director," said Purnell in a harsh tone. "I am here. You have questions, so ask them."

The director put the first one. He wanted to know if Purnell linked Kerring's death with the victim's

"Of course not," rapped Purnell, in reply. "Who would want to kill Kerring?" He turned his steely eyes. "I

don't think you'd go that far, Lambron; and the same applies to Brenz. You two are the only doubtful

members in the organization; however, you both have alibis. Let's get along to something else."

He put the final words to the director, who stubbornly stayed to his subject, beginning with the question:

"About ten days ago," returned Purnell. "At the last meeting of the association."

"You didn't, by any chance, think of stopping off to see Kerring when you drove through Philadelphia,

"Of course I did. I knew where his house was, but there wasn't time. It was out of my way. I decided to stop

off coming back, to get Kerring's opinion after the Lambron business simmered down somewhat."

"If you mean, when was I closest to Kerring's house" Purnell's tone was sharp "I'd say about half past

The Shadow wasn't surprised that the director ended the quiz so suddenly. He'd obtained about all the

information that Purnell would give, even if he happened to be hiding something deeper. So the director

delved into the matter of Kerring's death, and the findings or lack of them that the police had made. It had

"I'm going to get some dinner," he said, "and then drive on to New York. If any of you would care to join me

The director shook his head as a matter of policy, but when Lambron said he would dine with Purnell, The

Shadow decided to do the same. As they were leaving, Lambron called back to the director:

"I'm in good company, you see. By the way, I'll bring you those reports on the theater stocks, later. How long

"Until midnight," returned the director sourly, "and probably later. Don't forget to come back, Lambron. I

IT was half past seven when they finished dinner, and Purnell started off on his trip to New York, a drive

He didn't invite Cranston to accompany him, because, as he had testified earlier, he preferred to drive alone.

Furthermore, Cranston and Lambron had started a conversation that promised to last a long while.

It lasted for more than an hour, on subjects pertaining to the problems of the manufacturers, which Lambron

discussed in very honest style. At length, it was Lambron who suggested that they leave the restaurant.

"You aren't driving to New York, are you, Cranston?" he inquired. "I forgot to ask you before."

The Shadow was specific upon that point, because he didn't care to cloud the issue with the question of the

mysterious intruder who had crept into Kerring's and bolted out again after eleven o'clock, the night before.

The safety director had mentioned it, but classed the intruder as a mere prowler. However, it was better for

The Shadow to intimate that he had come to Philadelphia by train, instead of car; today, rather than yesterday.

"We'll drive up to my office," said Lambron. "I'll take you to the station later. You can catch the teno'clock

Lambron's office was a dozen blocks north, just off Broad Street. It was connected with a metalawning

The place was closed for the night, so Lambron unlocked a door leading in from an alley and turned on the

office lights. Mordan had been with them all evening, so Lambron told him to hunt up the reports that the

Meanwhile, Lambron took a swivel chair behind a large mahogany desk and motioned Cranston to another

seat. The Shadow saw half a dozen chairs arranged in a semicircle; all were deepcushioned and comfortable,

but covered with rather grimy slip covers. Lambron smiled as Cranston looked for a clean chair.

"I held a conference with the employees today," mentioned Lambron. "They came in from the shop, and

didn't bother to wash up. Every few weeks I have to change those slip covers, because they get dirty. Make a

Lambron began to show Cranston the reports that Mordan was gathering. All the while, Lambron argued that

the theater stock had been a good investment and that the collapse of the chain had been the fault of the

purchasers, not of Lambron himself. The reports bore Lambron out, and he was still waxing to his theme

"Five minutes of ten!" exclaimed Lambron. "I'll run you up to North Philly, Cranston, and you can catch it

Leaving Mordan to finish his sorting of the reports, Lambron drove The Shadow to the station. On the same

platform where Margo had taken a late train the night before, Cranston shook hands with Lambron and

boarded the New York express. The Shadow was thinking of Margo as the train pulled out. He'd have to call

Several minutes out of North Philadelphia the express passed another, coming the opposite way. It was the

nineo'clock train from New York, due in North Philadelphia at about ten thirty. It reminded The Shadow

that he'd have to send someone over to Philadelphia to get his car from the garage where he had left it.

The day's stay in Philadelphia had done little toward cracking the Kerring murder. Oddly, the only possible

link to crime seemed to be Hubert Purnell, the man who didn't have an alibi but who was regarded as too

important to need one. Even The Shadow found it difficult to consider Purnell as a man connected with

The Shadow should have looked to the future, rather than the past. One unsolved crime could prove a pattern

for another. New murder was already in the making: a case that would prove as startling as the death of

IT was midnight and Margo Lane was just starting out for the evening. Starting out eagerly, too, for she was

to meet Lamont Cranston at the Spotlight, Manhattan's newest and most attractive night club. Cranston had

called Margo from the station, saying he was back from Philadelphia and that if she hurried, they'd have time

The Spotlight was crowded when Margo arrived there, but Cranston was already present and had managed to

obtain a choice table for two. They watched the floor show for the next forty minutes, and during the lulls,

Cranston found time to answer some of Margo's questions regarding his stay in Philadelphia.

There wasn't much of interest in the theme. Margo was disappointed when she learned that the Philadelphia

She'd hoped there would be a lot of talk about a living whirlwind cloaked in black, so she could give

Cranston the wise look that she always used when he intimated that he wasn't The Shadow. But it developed

that the police around Kerring's hadn't really gotten a look at the mysterious prowler who led them on a wild

"At least, I had a long visit with Lambron. The fellow did his best to impress me, and oddly, his talk carried

the ring of sincerity. I'd class Lambron as a man who can comfortably forget things."

"His own enterprises," Cranston replied. "Swindles, as some people term them. He has a way of smoothing

over all his crooked business deals, to a point where he, himself, seems to believe that they were honest."

"Gradually, yes. Lambron's idea of covering up is to be outspoken, but he never tells the whole story. He

states just enough to be convincing. I ought to know, because I was with him until quarter past ten. He was

"I'd like to have seen the director when he looked over those stock reports. They made the proposition sound

so fine, that the director might feel like buying some shares, himself, if they were still on the market."

Pausing, Cranston let his eyes take a reflective gaze, as though picturing Ralph Lambron. Then:

"Lambron is quite the opposite of Brenz," he said. "He is smooth and persuasive, whereas Brenz is bluff and

blunt. Lambron concedes he could be crooked, and then argues otherwise; while Brenz becomes indignant if

anyone suggests that he is even slightly connected with the gambling racket that he has so thoroughly hidden

"Also, Lambron is unobtrusive; he goes about things quietly, never making an outward show. He meets the

right people and the wrong people, in turn, to suit immediate needs. In contrast, Brenz likes to show himself

publicly with the right people, and disclaim all acquaintance with the wrong. It's just like Brenz to bring a

party of big businessmen to the Spotlight and make a show of entertaining them."

MARGO turned and followed the direction of Cranston's gaze. He was looking at a table on the other side of

the night club, and there, Margo saw Andrew Brenz with a party of half a dozen friends. Among them, Margo

recognized two members of the Manufacturers Security Association who had been at the Hotel Metrolite the

"He invited me to the party, too," observed Cranston, with a slight smile. "That's one reason why we came

Margo wasn't piqued. Contrarily, she admired Cranston's method. It was just like Lamont, to spend half the

evening with Lambron in Philadelphia; then check up on the man's reputed rival, Brenz. In fact, Cranston

"You'll notice Noyes Fitzcroft isn't in the party," Cranston told Margo. "I didn't expect he would be. You

remember, I told you that Lambron talked of Kerring as a real friend, though its quite obvious that Kerring,

"Brenz's case is similar," continued Cranston. "He claims that he and Fitzcroft see eye to eye. But I happen to

know that Fitzcroft makes it his job to keep tally on Brenz, just as Kerring did with Lambron."

"Because it's business with Fitzcroft, not a social matter. He knows he won't learn anything while Brenz is

"Couldn't Kerring have learned things about Lambron from Brenz?" she queried. "And wouldn't Fitzcroft

Cranston's calm return gaze told that he had already struck upon that one. Quite prettily, Margo subsided.

Nearing Brenz's table, The Shadow received a half salute of greeting from a man who was seated at an

obscure corner of the bar, yet within sight of Brenz's group. The fellow was Brenz's chauffeur, Richtle, in

uniform, as usual. With a nod, The Shadow passed him and reached Brenz's table. The squarejawed man

"At last, Cranston!" he exclaimed warmly. "Why, we expected you at seven thirty, and here it is one o'clock!

"I had dinner in Philadelphia," returned The Shadow quietly, "with Hubert Purnell and Ralph Lambron."

Mention of the names brought a hush to the party. They stopped drinking, to listen. Brenz asked questions

bluntly, and The Shadow answered them in Cranston's casual style. Questions and answers covered

everything, from the conference with Director Thurling, through Cranston's trip to Lambron's office, and his

"Yes," The Shadow replied. "Thurling expected them by midnight. They covered Lambron's stock

" 'Transactions' is putting it mildly," sneered Brenz. "You should have said 'swindle,' Cranston."

Brenz wasn't listening. Murmurs were passing around the table, hushed whispers concerning Hubert Purnell.

"You fools!" stormed Brenz. "You can't connect a man of integrity, like Purnell, with murder! A swindler like

Lambron would need an alibi, but not Purnell. I'm going to call Purnell" Brenz arose "and tell him he has

BRENZ was gone for ten minutes, and meanwhile, The Shadow lulled the rumor. In Cranston's quiet but

persuasive style, he stated that if the Philadelphia police regarded Purnell a suspect in the Kerring case, they

"Purnell was as crabby as ever," informed Brenz. "Maybe I woke him up. He mentioned yon, Cranston, and

didn't relish your being in Philadelphia. He considered it odd that you should have taken such a sudden

Going back to his own table, The Shadow related events to Margo. He concluded with the whimsical

"Perhaps I did crowd myself into the picture. Poor policy, if I did, because I've tried to keep in the

background at those M.S.A. meetings. I don't want to be regarded as a crusader, like Kerring or Fitzcroft. I'll

Still watching Brenz's table, The Shadow noted the rugged man turning stony glances toward persons arriving

for the last show. They were a racy crowd, all trying to be affable toward Brenz, who preferred to ignore

"There's Brenz for you," he said. "Lambron would be pleasant to those chaps, just as a matter of course.

Brenz gives them the cold eye because he doesn't want to even admit acquaintance with a gambling crowd.

Poor policy, because it makes it all the more apparent that he knows who they actually are."

Soon afterward, Cranston and Margo left the Spotlight, rather than watch a repetition of the floor show.

"We've had a bit of trouble, Mr. Cranston," said the doorman. "Patrons claiming they've been followed by

stickup men, even though none have actually attacked them. We're checking on the cabbies, just to make

The Shadow's cabby was reliable enough. He happened to be Moe Shrevnitz, one of The Shadow's own

secret agents. The Shadow had called Moe, telling him to be at the Spotlight after one o'clock to take Margo

home. Since Margo was still in a talkative mood, The Shadow decided to go along.

They were wheeling through Central Park when the trouble came trouble bigger than any the doormen had

A car was following Moe's cab. It made a sudden spurt to pass the cab just before a curve. At the same

moment, another car came bobbing out from a side drive, right across Moe's path. Nudged one way, blocked

the other, the cab would have crashed if Moe hadn't done miracles with the wheel.

Instead of getting bashed between the other cars, Moe twisted the cab right off the drive, skirted an

embankment on two wheels, and jammed on the brakes beside a pair of rugged trees towering up from the

Careening over, the cab found the trees as supports, instead of rolling into the rocky depths. Moe had gauged

the wheelbase nicely. One tree was right on line with the front wheels, the other with the rear.

Margo had grabbed for the high side, and had her head and shoulders through the open window of the door.

Moe heard, too, and worked his door open. He was climbing out to aid Margo, while Cranston was busy

about something else. He was drawing a drawer open beneath the tilted rear seat, bringing out garments of

black. As Margo climbed out through the upper door, she looked back for Cranston.

The lower door was open, dangling! For some reason, Cranston had slid through it, to the slope beneath the

canted cab! Margo was still wondering why, when the answer came. It was given in a raspy voice. She turned

to see two masked men, with leveled guns in their hands covering herself and Moe.

"All right, dame," the voice said. "Shove aside! And you, too, hackie, while we take a look in this junk pile."

He poked his head into the cab, to stare at the dangling door below, while the other stickup man kept Margo

and Moe covered. It was then that the avalanche descended. Out of blackness, The Shadow!

NO longer Cranston, The Shadow had come up and around the cab. He swooped for one thug who was

covering Margo and Moe, hoisted the fellow with a lunge that slid him up the side of the tilted cab. The

thug's gun fired wide as he went over the top; then he was grabbing madly, uselessly, at the slanted top itself.

Like a ski jumper on a takeoff, the crook sailed for the gully below, and his scramble only gave him an

Even before the first thug crashed among the saplings, The Shadow was handling the other stickup expert.

Clutching him as he swung around from the cab door, The Shadow whirled him toward the back end of the

This crook lost his gun under The Shadow's twisting grip, and it was well for him he did. Weaponless, he

managed to use his hands as he went sprawling down behind the rear of the cab. He grabbed the trunk rack to

Others were coming up from the cars on the driveway. Before they could start shooting, The Shadow was

among them, slugging from darkness. They scattered, some getting to their cars, others running along the

There were wild shot, which The Shadow promptly answered with his automatics. He was trying to stop the

flight of the cars, but they managed to make a lucky escape around the curve. Halted cars on the driveway

There were shrills of police whistles from below; the whine of a patrol siren coming from at distant drive.

Crooks were gone, and the police were after them. Down in the gully, a few spasmodic shots were drowned

by a barrage, telling that police from a lower drive had settled the thug who survived the plunge.

The gunless thug had fled with the rest, so The Shadow moved down to the gully and found his first

opponent. The fall had crippled the masked thug, so that he couldn't get away; and his insistence on shooting

at the police had been sheer folly. The return fire had delivered mortal wounds, and the thug was gasping in

Pulling away the mask that was twisted across the dying man's eyes, The Shadow flashed a light, to view a

catlike face. He let the glow shine upward so that it showed himself, as well, and the gasping crook winced at

"We... wasn't after you!" the thug coughed. "Honest, Shadow... we wasn't. We was lookin' for... another guy...

Whom "we" represented, The Shadow did not learn, for the thug's gulps ended before he could name his

scattered companions. As the thug's eyes closed, The Shadow gave a low, quizzical laugh, as though probing

the future that would bear the answer to this surprise attach by unknown crooks.

That laugh of the future was a link to the past, as though The Shadow recognized this thwarted thrust as a

followup to the murder of Donald Kerring. Death was on the move anew, though, this time, its result had

It was on the move more definitely than The Shadow realized. Not until tomorrow would he recognize that

this thrust against himself, as Cranston, was but an interlude in a stronger chain of crime!

AT noon the neat day, Lamont Cranston called at the office of the Industrial Paper Box Corp., which

happened to be one of the companies controlled by Hubert Purnell. As was usual with Purnelloperated

When Cranston gave his name, he was promptly admitted to Purnell's private office, where the wizened

"Well, Cranston," spoke Purnell, in his sharp tone, "I understand you're quite a public hero. It isn't every man

"Give the credit to the cab driver," returned The Shadow. "He pulled us away from what looked like a bad

crash. The bandits hadn't really found us before the police arrived and drove them off."

Purnell gave his visitor a slightly tilted glance, but offered no criticism of his story. In fact, The Shadow had

simply repeated what he told the police, when they found him back at the cab as Cranston. He'd remembered

grabbing a thug with a gun and shoving him aside, but he wasn't sure whether the assailant had been the man

As for Margo and Moe, they'd remembered practically nothing. They'd let Cranston do most of the talking,

while the police had been getting the cab back onto the road. Scratched, but not badly damaged, the cab had

"Nice of you to drop in, Cranston," said Purnell, in a crackle that he regarded as a friendly tone. "Since you

talked with both Lambron and Brenz last night, I decided to ask you along with me today. You see" his

steely eyes were sharp as a ferret's "We're going to have lunch with Noyes Fitzcroft."

Cranston expressed surprise at the invitation, even remarking that Fitzcroft might consider it in intrusion,

"Nonsense!" snapped Purnell. "I know you're not active in our organization, Cranston. You couldn't be, the

way you travel, and pay so little attention to the businesses in which you happen to have a controlling

interest. But that won't matter with Fitzcroft. He'll want the opinions of someone like yourself."

"You see, Cranston" again, Purnell's eyes were sharp "I rather expected to find Fitzcroft in Philadelphia,

yesterday, instead of you. He was quite interested in getting Lambron's view on Brenz. But I suppose he left

"At his apartment, I suppose," Purnell replied. "It's not far from his office, so he always stops back there at

When they walked out through Purnell's own office, the financier called attention to the busy clerks, but

remarked that the place was too crowded. Industrial Paper Box was expanding, as all of Purnell's enterprises

did. He'd soon remove this staff to larger quarters, and use the offices for some other purpose.

"They'd do for the Manufacturers Security Association." The thought seemed to strike Purnell suddenly. "I

Purnell was running true to form. It was like him, to unload a suite of offices on someone who would pay the

freight in this case, the M.S.A. Probably Purnell would take what he considered a legitimate profit on the

deal. However, no objection came from Cranston. After all, the M.S.A. would be needing offices, and there

Fitzcroft's apartment was located on the East Side. It occupied the second floor in a house that had once been

a private residence. The visitors didn't have to ring the bell when they arrived, because the downstairs door

was unlatched. They walked up a flight of stairs and knocked at Fitzcroft's door. While they waited, Purnell

"Rather oldfashioned, this place. Out of the way, too, because Fitzcroft likes it quiet. He pays too much rent,

Fitzcroft didn't answer the knock, So Purnell hammered anew, without result. At last, he decided that

Fitzcroft might have stepped out on some errand, for the simple reason that he couldn't have sent the janitor

who was never around. So Purnell tried the door, and it opened. He was smiling triumphantly across his

Purnell's voice halted as he noted Cranston's eyes, looking steadily beyond him. He must have been quick to

understand their glance, for he turned promptly in the same direction. With his gaze, Purnell froze. The tone

Like Cranston, Purnell was looking straight at Noyes Fitzcroft, who was seated in an easychair. Fitzcroft's

face was normally pale, but never so white as it showed at present. His eyes, which always gave a cold

impression, now had the actual appearance of ice, for they had a glassy glisten.

His hands, clutching the blue plush of the chair arms, were digging deep with their fingernails in a grip that

spelled all the agony of sudden death. For Noyes Fitzcroft was indeed dead, without a doubt as to the cause of

His shirt front was the replica of Kerring's as The Shadow had viewed it two nights ago. Stained with an ugly

blur of deepened crimson, the shirt announced that Fitzcroft, too, had received a bullet through the heart.

TAKING a few slow steps forward, Purnell turned suddenly and clutched Cranston's arm. He inquired

"I'd suggest calling the police commissioner," replied The Shadow calmly. "I think we'll find him as

When the commissioner arrived, he did prove understanding. Commissioner Ralph Weston happened to be a

close friend of Lamont Cranston, something which caused Hubert Purnell to express surprise.

Weston brought along some men with him, including a stocky, swarthyfaced inspector named Joe Cardona.

There was a police surgeon, too, who showed the same precision in examining Fitzcroft's body as that

displayed by the Philadelphia doctor who had given an opinion on the Kerring tragedy.

"Thirteen to fourteen hours," announced the surgeon. "That would place the time of death between ten and

eleven o'clock last night. I may be able to set it more accurately later, but it was certainly somewhere within

"Approximately ten thirty," defined the commissioner, splitting the difference. "I'm wondering if certain

persons have an alibi in this case, as they had in that Philadelphia murder. I'm referring to Ralph Lambron

"I'm sorry, commissioner," put in The Shadow, "but you won't have any luck. They'll both refer you back to

"I was with Lambron, in Philadelphia, shortly after ten. I ran into Brenz just after midnight at the Spotlight,

The commissioner remarked that the midnight meeting didn't account for where Brenz might have been at

half past ten, but when The Shadow mentioned that Brenz had been flinging a party since eight o'clock, with

It seemed that Commissioner Weston had a disregard for Brenz that quite resembled Director Thurling's

dislike toward Lambron. He dispatched Inspector Cardona to Brenz's apartment, saying that he'd like to quiz

Then, to even matters, the New York commissioner put in a longdistance phone call and talked with the

Philadelphia safety director. In the course of the conversation, Weston turned to The Shadow.

"Tell me, Cranston," said the commissioner. "Was Lambron's secretary, Mordan, with you all evening? The

Weston relayed the news. Terminating the call, he remarked that Director Thurling was sending Lambron

"They both showed up in the director's office around midnight," informed Weston. "Lambron and his

secretary, Mordan. You've accounted for them up to ten o'clock, Cranston, and Thurling saw them before

midnight. They couldn't have made it between Philadelphia and New York in less than an hour each way, not

The Shadow nodded. He had looked into that very matter. A ninetyminute train ride represented very fast

"Who was sitting in a corner of the Spotlight watching the party, last night," inserted The Shadow. "Richtle

has an alibi, like Mordan. However much they criticize each other, Lambron and Brenz both seem thoughtful

ALL the while, Hubert Purnell had been listening intently. His steelblue eyes showed a pleased flash. He

liked it because the commissioner was stubbornly trying to crack the Fitzcroft murder in terms of Lambron or

However, Purnell's own test was due. It came when Weston suddenly confronted him.

"Director Thurling said that you were driving through Philadelphia," said Weston. "I mean night before last,

"I see." Weston nodded. "What about last night, Purnell? You started from Philadelphia around seven thirty,

"Not before half past ten," returned Purnell hastily. "That is, I didn't get home until then. I live well uptown,

Weston gave a brief nod. He dropped the quiz even more rapidly than Thurling had the day before. He

decided to concentrate on Fitzcroft's death, which wasn't difficult, considering that he was right on the scene

The chair in which the body lay was similar to others in the overfurnished room. It was probably Fitzcroft's

favorite, because its blue plush was a trifle darker than the others. The chair looked comfortable, even though

it contained a dead man, and it was facing another, which indicated that Fitzcroft had been entertaining a

Taking the opposite chair, Weston rose suddenly and lunged toward the body. He gave a nod to support his

theory. A quick forward shove, and Fitzcroft's unknown visitor could easily have planted a gun against the

By the time Weston completed that simple test, detectives were returning to report what little they had

They had found the janitor, sound asleep, in the basement. He'd been out until three o'clock the night before

and was sleeping off a hangover. He didn't know when Fitzcroft had come in last night; for that matter, he

The detectives had investigated the other apartments. The one on the first floor was unoccupied; its tenants

were away. There was no one home on the third floor; the janitor said that its occupants, a married couple,

Commissioner Weston started downstairs to talk to the janitor, whose socalled apartment was located at the

end of a passage leading out to the rear street. When he looked around, he saw that Cranston and Purnell were

"You two were going out to lunch," he said in an annoyed tone. "So why don't you go along if you still feel

They went along: Lamont Cranston, who was actually the chief investigator in the murder of Kerring and

Fitzcroft, and Hubert Purnell, who was really the chief suspect. So far, the police, both in Philadelphia and

New York, had refused to concede them the individual importance that was really theirs.

It should have seemed odd to The Shadow, lunching with a man whom he might later reveal as a double

THE SHADOW was in his sanctum. A hidden room somewhere in the heart of Manhattan; a black chamber

surrounded by curtained walls wherein the sun never shone. Such was the secret habitat where the master of

Beneath a bluish light which shone on a polished table surface, The Shadow's hands were at work, sorting

every shred of evidence that might provide him with a clue. Newspaper clippings were in plenty, but they

He had confidential reports on Lambron's stocks; inside accounts of Brenz's gambling activities. Even larger

was the stack of papers that covered Purnell's Wall Street transactions. Even in such proportions, the evidence

Lambron and Brenz, on their past records, were men quite capable of individual crime, which might, under

forced conditions, rise to the size of murder. Purnell, on the contrary, was a great hand at truly legitimate

schemes. The only thing which could have turned him into a killer was the strength of his position.

That, in itself, was significant to The Shadow. He'd known men of Purnell's class to go the extreme limit. But

Just as the alibis of Lambron and Brenz were absolute, so were those of Purnell weak to the extreme. As The

Shadow wrote the three names in bluish ink, Purnell's came last, and held him to such a point that he finally

Lambron couldn't have killed Kerring. Though both were in Philadelphia, Lambron had a perfect alibi,

covering a stretch of hours before and after Kerring's death. As for Brenz, he had definitely been in New

In his turn, Lambron had been in Philadelphia at the time when Fitzcroft was murdered. In this case, Brenz

was the man in the same city as the victim, but Brenz could show a period of many hours in the company of

As for Mordan and Richtle, they had tailed along with their respective employers during all the storm and

A strange laugh began as The Shadow clicked off the blue light. Caught by the darkness, that sinister mirth

was echoed from the curtained walls. It persisted even when The Shadow had departed, to reappear in the

It was still the same day, but the day was waning, when a cab stopped near the building where Purnell's

offices were located. It was half past five, and the only light from Purnell's floor came from the financier's

Entering the building, The Shadow found a stairway leading up to Purnell's floor. The stairs wound around

the shaft of a freight elevator, and formed an excellent rear route to The Shadow's goal. Naturally, The

Shadow was carrying a black hat and cloak. He was wearing the garments when he stepped through the

ELBOWS on his desk, Purnell was talking to two rather wiselooking men, who could have passed for twins.

They didn't need badges to identify themselves for what they were: private detectives.

"One swallow doesn't make a summer," Purnell was telling them. "Therefore, I wasn't willing to concede that

Kerring's death had to do with the Manufacturers Security Association. But it is also true that lightning never

strikes twice in the same place. When Fitzcroft was murdered, I knew that the M.S.A. was involved."

"Our specialty," added the other. "We've got lots of friends. The right kind professionals that can talk like

"My integrity is my alibi!" he snapped. "What I want you to do is find real evidence in these cases!"

The dicks stared, as if they wondered where they could begin. Purnell understood. He gave them a

"There's a man named Lamont Cranston," he said, "who has taken a very unusual interest in these matters.

His attitude is too unusual, considering that he is a wealthy clubman who doesn't ordinarily bother with

"Cranston!" exclaimed one dick. "Say he's the bird who chased off a stickup mob in Central Park!"

"Yeah," put in the other. "The cops got one of the crew. They haven't traced any of the rest, though. Looks

"We've got to be careful," said the first to his companion. "This Cranston duck is poison!"

"You bet he is," chimed the twin. "He might mistake us for a couple of stickeruppers."

"You are merely to trail Cranston," he told them. "No rough tactics will be necessary. If you find out

The dicks exchanged wise looks. They were taking it that Purnell could supply the men to handle any

necessary rough stuff, though, naturally, he was too canny to convey it in such terms. Satisfied with the

arrangement, they asked what Cranston looked like and Purnell gave them a precise description. Next, they

wanted to know where he could be found. Purnell had an answer for that one, too.

"Andrew Brenz is giving a party at his hotel, the Park Gardens," said Purnell. "He invited all the members of

the association, but I felt it good policy to decline. However, Ralph Lambron will be there, because he has

"Much though they dislike each other, Lambron and Brenz never ignore a chance to meet. Considering the

meddling proclivities that Cranston has displayed, I assume that he will be there, also."

The Shadow was gone before the private dicks left Purnell's office. He was bound for the Park Gardens,

because Brenz had made the invitation for six o'clock. Arriving as Cranston, The Shadow was shown up to

Brenz's suite, where he received a warm greeting from the men who had already assembled.

BRENZ'S suite was something to look at. He had furnished it himself, in very garish style. Portraits of race

horses adorned the walls, along with those of art models, all wearing about the same amount of harness.

Chairs were very fancy, all gilded, and rugs, small and large, were thick along the floor.

Drinks were being served, mixed by Richtle. The chauffeur had spent so many waiting hours watching

barkeepers, that he had practically learned the trade. Wearing an apron and handling a cocktail shaker, the

blocky chauffeur was watching the guests from a little pantry that adjoined the living room. When it came to

Whenever Richtle came out of the pantry, he crossed a stretch of open floor and his heels clicked hard on the

woodwork. Richtle didn't know what it was to be softfooted. In that respect, he couldn't compare to Mordan,

the silent secretary who sat next to his employer, Ralph Lambron. The Shadow had seen Mordan move

Shaking hands all around, The Shadow sat down and adopted his Cranston pose, while he watched the

entertainment that Brenz had provided. The diversion was quite informal; it consisted in the exchange of

subtle insults between Brenz and Lambron, a type of banter that would have become a sudden flare if the two

Brenz was remarking how seldom Philadelphians came to New York, unless they had good reason. His

implication was that Lambron wasn't very well liked in the city that he had so recently left. In return,

Lambron said that at least he was going back to Philadelphia, and he wondered how soon Brenz intended to

Brenz countered by saying that every city was his home, and when Lambron asked, "For how long?" the

guests couldn't restrain their smile. With that, Brenz suggested that Lambron could use another drink, so the

sallow than called for one, telling Richtle to "go double on the Mickey Finn." The sally turned the smiles into

"You're the life of the party," he told Lambron. "I'm glad you'll be with us the rest of the evening."

"Sorry, but I won't," rejoined Lambron. "You've talked of Philly as a dead town, so I'll take the life back

"At least, you'll stay for dinner," insisted Brenz. "You eat, don't you, Lambron?"

"In dining cars," returned Lambron. "There's one on the train I'm taking. It's the next train, by the way."

"Pour that drink," said Brenz, "and then get the car. I want you to drive Mr. Lambron to the station. There's

"More than that, Mr. Brenz," insisted the chauffeur. "I won't have to get the car for ten minutes. It's right here

"Of course," acknowledged Brenz. "I'd forgotten. Pour the drink, Richtle, and take your time about it.

In just about ten minutes, Richtle left; whereupon, Lambron arose and his secretary followed suit. Brenz

shook hands with Lambron and gave a nod to Mordan, as the two left. Since Richtle was gone, Brenz decided

A few other guests decided they would have to go. Perhaps they didn't trust Brenz's skill as a drink mixer;

possibly, they felt that Lambron's departure had finished all the fun. However, they gave neither of those

excuses; nor did Cranston, as he also rose to leave. They simply remembered other engagements and bowed

When he reached the glittering lobby of the Park Gardens, he paused at a tobacco stand to buy some cigars.

Strolling about, he looked at magazines displayed on a rack. He even sat down a while in a chair near the side

door. Then, in his most leisurely style, he strolled out through the door and stood gazing at the street.

A couple of cabs paused, only to receive headshakes and go on, until at length the idling Mr. Cranston

stopped one with a lazy wave of his arm. It looked like any other cab, but it happened to be the very one The

Stepping in, The Shadow gave an order to the driver. The cab pulled slowly away, halting at the avenue

before gingerly poking into traffic. As the cab turned the corner, Cranston's face appeared at the rear window.

A whispered laugh voiced itself on his motionless lips. The mirth was The Shadow's.

Slow motion, while posing as Cranston, had brought results. Two men were getting into another cab back at

the hotel, in order to follow Moe's. They were the private detectives who had been told to trail Cranston.

From the Park Gardens, The Shadow had Moe drive him directly south to the Metrolite, the hotel where the

manufacturers' group usually held its meetings. The ride was more than a dozen blocks, and terminated after

Alighting as Cranston, The Shadow held a discussion with his driver, which resulted in Moe agreeing to wait

until he returned. By then, the private dicks had arrived in their cab. Not sure that Cranston would return, they

trailed him into the Metrolite, where he looked around the lobby as though expecting someone, and then went

The Shadow was still Cranston, a guise which he intended to preserve. He wasn't even carrying his

automatics, nor other accessories. They were stowed away in the special drawer underneath the rear seat in

Back in the cab, however, Cranston's actions became rather odd; or, rather, those of the cab itself were odd,

The cab began a return trip to the Park Gardens, but instead of taking the straight route, it followed a zigzag

course. A few blocks east, one north, some four blocks west, another north, and finally four blocks east again.

Their driver was grinning at their dilemma, suggesting that their quarry was giving them the runaround; but

they still stuck to their original order of, "Follow that cab." So the driver did, while the meter continued to

Most curious was the fact that Cranston's cab, though moving rather rapidly at first, reduced itself to a snail's

Block by block, it appeared that the astute Mr. Cranston was looking for something that he couldn't quite

find. His trip was something of a slumming excursion, too, because it was only on the dingy side streets that

Moe's cab lingered; never along the lighted avenues at the end of each crosstack.

On the avenue, the cab would whip off as though really going somewhere, only to loaf back into its slow

crosstown habit. As for what Cranston was seeking, it might be here, there, or anywhere.

Mostly, Moe's cab paused at alleys, or passages between buildings; sometimes at wider spaces that had the

look of parking lots. There were occasional garages in this vicinity, mostly large, welllighted ones that

Cranston had a way of spotting such places that worried the human bloodhounds who trailed him. They were

afraid that Cranston would suddenly order his cab to spurt through an inside route to another street; that an

obliging garage man would promptly slide a door in front of the trailing cab. In that case, Cranston would

So the dicks had their cab close in every time the thing threatened; but it never did happen. After a survey

that totaled a few dollars in terms of taxi fare, Cranston's cab moved more briskly along a side street, and

This time, Cranston paid the driver off. It was actually like putting money from one pocket into another,

though the private dicks didn't know it. Cranston owned Moe's cab, and his roundabout excursion had cost

him little more than the price of gasoline. While he was paying Moe, Cranston gave him quiettoned

"Two blocks south and two east," he undertoned. "About a hundred feet beyond the corner, on the south side

of the street. Cruise through in about twenty minutes. If you don't see me, try the next street below."

Moe gave a backward nudge with his thumb, meant for the two dicks who were crouched in the other cab

"Don't let them stop you." Cranston's tone carried a faint trace of The Shadow's whisper. "They might want to

"I get it," said Moe, with a nod. "I'll cruise the street where they aren't. One place or the other, I'll find you."

"It will probably be the other street," was Cranston's quiet observation. "I'd prefer to let them stay around; so

I'll keep out of their sight, too. It may take them a halfhour to get a glimmer of what I hope to learn in one

INSTEAD of going into the Park Gardens, Cranston turned and strolled back past the cab that contained the

He was acting in accordance with what he had told Moe, but not having overheard the conversation,

Cranston's trailers couldn't figure what he was about. Since their orders were to follow him, they paid off

Rather rapidly, despite his leisurely stride, Cranston was going back into the area that he had so recently

toured by cab. Two blocks south and two blocks east would mark his goal, but he was zigzagging to the

destination, just to keep his trailers interested. He was quite sure they didn't know what he was about, and

Whether Purnell would understand, after getting a report, was another question. One which might provide an

It happened that Lamont Cranston, otherwise The Shadow, was playing a growing hunch, which, if it came

up to expectations, would strengthen a few points that he had observed in connection with the deaths of

Dangerous, perhaps, for The Shadow to venture thus without his guise of black. But he had reasons for

preferring that Purnell's hired sleuths should follow along. Since they had been told to trail Cranston, they

wouldn't shift to The Shadow unless the transformation of one to the other took place in open view. That

would have meant a giveaway of something that The Shadow didn't care to disclose: the matter of his dual

So Cranston he remained, and with it, retained his gunless status. If trouble loomed, the sudden production of

It would be better to handle worrisome matters in typically Cranston style, should they occur. Fistwork or

jujitsu throws were quite in keeping with the present personality, and the weight of guns would only hamper

Rather jolly, this business of putting Cranston into danger. It was to prove a bit jollier than the present Mr.

Cranston expected. Soon, The Shadow was to learn something that he had more or less ignored: namely, that

playing one's own hunch was a sufficient task in itself, without extending the favor to others.

Reaching the corner that he had mentioned to Moe, Cranston suddenly lengthened his stride. Quite

moderately, almost accidentally, it seemed, he applied The Shadow's tactics of merging with helpful

darkness. It was very simple, along this gloomy street mere side shifts toward the shelter of darkened

doorways, short pauses, then quick forward glides, were enough to confuse the trailers.

Squinting, the dicks wondered where Cranston had gone. One suddenly saw him strolling past the broad and

grimy front of a garage door that stretched between two brick houses. The spot was about a hundred feet from

the corner where the dicks stood, so they hurried forward, hoping to close the gap.

They closed it better than they supposed. Cranston had tried that door before shoving himself past it. Opened

slightly, the end of the door provided a block of blackness that the dicks mistook for the wall of the house

They didn't guess that the artful Mr. Cranston was stepping into a convenient opening, as they dashed

forward. They were too intent on spying him farther ahead to notice that the door was sliding shut as they

From inside the narrow garage, Cranston was peering through the door crack as Purnell's hirelings hustled by.

Putting pressure behind his lithe shoulder, he urged the door the remaining inches, sliding it fully shut.

Turning, he used a pencil flashlight to flip a thin beam into the darkness of the garage.

THE place was small and narrow, though fairly long, with a dim door at the far end, indicating an exit into a

rear alley. It contained cars, mostly old ones; some with flat tires, others propped up on jacks.

Too cramped to compete with the busy garages that Cranston had observed along other side streets, this place

had no attendant. It was evidently operating on a deadstorage basis, housing old cars at a minimum rate.

There was just one exception: a truck that occupied a choice space. It was turned about, its nose toward the

front door. It was a truck of medium size, and it bore three or four license plates, indicating that it was used

for haulage outside of New York. Though old, the truck appeared to be in good running order. After studying

In so doing, he passed a sedan that also was pointed toward the door. Its spot would have served for a car in

constant use, but the sedan happened to be raised on jacks, so Cranston gave it little attention.

He was beyond it, his flashlight turned the other way, when his ears caught sounds from the shelter of the

Instantly, Cranston's light went off. Wheeling speedily in total darkness, he met the men who surged in his

direction. His jabbing fist scored a straight hit on the first one; catching the next, Cranston ended the fellow's

There was a third man coming up, and Cranston wheeled to flank him. The right trick was a long sidestep,

to be followed by an inward drive, but this time it didn't work. The noise of the fray had drowned the

approach of other contestants. They, too, were coming in from the flank, and they found Cranston in the

Before he could even twist away, the lone fighter was buried beneath a pile of slugging foemen who sprawled

EVEN against such unexpected odds, Cranston put up an excellent fight. He could have settled those odds,

had he brought along a single automatic, for there were times he had one hand free as he twisted along the

floor. Even without a gun, he'd have had a chance, if his assailants had not been using revolvers themselves,

Not only was the persistent Mr. Cranston warding off slugs from blackjacks and short chunks of lead pipe; he

was actually taking those weapons from the hands that used them. Had he grabbed a revolver among the

Blackjacks and lead pipes were useless, however. Hands tried to get them back as soon as they lost them, and

Cranston's only course was to send the things thudding or clanging away. If he could reduce the fray to a

When on his feet, Cranston flung foemen with quick handgrips. With every tumble, he used his legs to clip

and sprawl assailants who lunged for him. They were hitting the floor harder than he was, and if there had

been less than six of them, they would soon have found themselves dazedly wondering where their lone

As Cranston found his feet for the fourth time, something swiped wide through the air and met the side of his

head. There was a big burst of light, followed by another blaze of fireworks, as Cranston's head cracked an

automobile hood, this time taking the blow on the other side. With those two impressions of shooting stars,

One man supplied a flashlight, to reveal Cranston lying in front of the jackedup sedan. Beside the lone

fighter stood a thug who was dangling a short stocking. Inverting the sock, as though expecting a present

"Glad I brought this along," he chuckled. "It's better than them things" he waved disdainfully toward the

blackjacks and lengths of pipe that lay about the floor "because it gives you long range. All I had to do was

Thus handled, the sock and its cake of soap had indeed combined to score a knockout. The man with the

flashlight granted an approval that was echoed by others rising from the floor. The flashlight approached

"Say, this is the guy we went after in Central Park! It's Cranston, the bird we would have gotten if The

Other thugs stooped to make sure. Once they identified their unconscious prisoner, Cranston's life span

should have been very brief, considering that this same crew had definitely intended to kill him, two nights

For some reason, however, they hesitated. It wasn't through fear that The Shadow might arrive, to effect

another rescue of the hapless Mr. Cranston. These crooks had other things in mind.

"No use to croak him now," said one. "That deal was off, after the other night."

"Yeah," put in another. "It's off, even though it ain't our reason to know why."

"One guy could tell us the guy that sent us the dough twice. Once to go after Cranston, the other night; and

IT was unfortunate that The Shadow couldn't be listening to those comments. He would have learned that this

improvised mob of independent hoodlums was working blind. Someone had either phoned them separately,

They were still taking orders when such were backed with money, but they didn't know who was hiring them,

"Maybe we ought to stow this Cranston dude somewhere," suggested one. "Then we could ask what to do

"Stow him where?" queried another. "Why go to a lot of trouble we ain't getting any dough for?"

"No more trouble than if we croak him. I don't like dumping him somewhere. This ain't like the park job.

The thug who had the thought didn't express it immediately. Someone gave a sharp hiss for silence; another

man sneaked toward the garage door. The fellow was just in time to close a clamp before hands on the other

As it was, the men outside managed to pull the door open an inch. By then, the flashlight was extinguished

"Naw. They'd have stuck around longer, if they were. They're jest a couple of clucks who may have heard

The suggested possibility worried the listeners. They turned to the crook who had mentioned a plan regarding

Working rapidly, they bound Cranston hand and foot, gagged him, and stowed him in the rear of the truck

that stood in the corner. It was a very satisfactory place to hide the prisoner, for the truck was loaded with

Buried beneath the crates, with packing boxes piled over top, Cranston was totally hidden from sight.

Meanwhile, Moe's cab had come along the front street. He saw something that the crooks in the garage

hadn't. The two private dicks were holding a consultation near the corner. They were the persons who had

tried the garage door, and they wondered if Cranston had gone in, bolting it behind him.

Of course, Moe didn't know what the two were talking about, so he decided to drive around the block and

Moe happened to take the long way, and the detectives, about that time, agreed to try the next street, too.

Naturally, they chose the shorter route. Like the cruising cab, the prowling dicks were gone when a wary thug

poked his head out from the front of the garage and reported to the others that all was clear.

Crooks dropped the jacks that were propping the usable sedan. With four men on board, the car coasted out of

the garage; its motor came to life suddenly, and it started away, while two men remained to slide the garage

door shut. That pair then sneaked across the street, to watch the garage from darkness.

PARKED in the next street, Moe Shrevnitz saw Purnell's operatives come stalking from the corner. The two

halted beside a narrow passage that led through to a courtyard, from which they could probably enter the rear

Apparently, each was suggesting that the other go through and take a look. They spent three or four minutes

in such persuasion, and finally both gave it up. They went through the passage together.

Moe waited, expecting Cranston to appear, but he didn't. Remembering The Shadow's instructions, Moe

decided that his chief must have spotted the arguing dicks and gone around to the other street, to meet the cab

Calculating that he'd have time while the detectives were nosing around the old garage, Moe made another

The dicks had finished looking through the garage. The only thing that really impressed them was that the

front door wasn't locked, after all. Their gestures told what they were discussing, which was fortunate for

Across the street, two guns were trained upon the secondrate sleuths. The watchful crooks hadn't been told

to grant special privileges to any snoopers. They'd have blasted away, had the detectives shown signs of

Moe was in luck, too. Instead of stopping his cab, he rolled right through and went around the block again. So

the gunners opposite the garage simply classed the cab as one that happened to be going by.

When he reached that other street, Moe decided to remain there, on the theory that the dicks would have no

Closing the garage door, the dicks went their way, shrugging their shoulders. They could only report to

Purnell that Cranston, after a halfhour of very peculiar behavior, had slipped his tracers somewhere near an

During the next six or seven minutes, lurkers across the way still kept watching that almostforgotten garage.

They couldn't have been expecting Cranston to appear, for they'd done a good job at binding him, and he'd be

weak when he regained consciousness, if ever. They were watching for someone else, who came at the end of

He came along the street, a burly man who wore khaki trousers and a gray flannel shirt under his sleeveless

blue jersey. He was wearing an old cap drawn down over one eye, and he finished a cigarette, flicking it

Pulling the door wide, the tardy man strode right into darkness as though he knew the way. Half a minute

later, the interior was illuminated by big headlights, which started moving. The truck was coming out.

The burly man stopped in the middle of the street, left his truck and went back to close the garage door.

The gunners who watched the garage slipped away from their doorways. They turned a corner, away from the

other street where Moe was waiting, and after a few blocks, the ratty pair found the car containing their

They reported the two prowlers who had come through the garage, and assured their pals that the pair hadn't

found Cranston. Next, the informants stated that the trucker had also come and gone.

"Sure he didn't take a look in the back of the truck" queried one of the listeners.

"Naw. It's too well hid. We couldn't even spot it when the truck went by, and we was lookin' right under the

There were chuckles from the men in the sedan. One of the murderous crew turned his chortle to words:

THE boat must have smacked a big wave, because The Shadow could hear the swash of water against its

sides. He was all tangled up in the blankets, and when he tried to rise, his head thumped the bunk above.

Maybe the bump helped, for with it, he suddenly realized that he wasn't on a boat at all.

The Shadow was in the back of a truck. The splashes he'd heard came from varnish cans in crates that he had

mistaken for a ship's wall. The tangling blankets were ropes that bound his hands and feet; the taste of flannel

from a strip of cloth that gagged him. The bunk overhead was an empty packing case, placed so it would hide

It all went back to the garage where he had taken on six foemen at once, only to be stopped by a cake of soap

that had felt more like a rock. All in all, it wasn't surprising that The Shadow should have awakened with the

The jolt that really roused him was caused by the sudden stopping of the truck. The driver had used the air

brakes rather sharply, and now The Shadow could hear him calling to someone on the road:

From the tone and the invitation, The Shadow recognized that the trucker didn't belong to the bunch back in

the garage. He'd evidently stopped to pick up a hitchhiker, and would probably show friendliness toward an

enforced stowaway already on board the truck. So The Shadow gave the packing case a shove with his

The empty box went over too late. The truck was starting and its jerk helped to dislodge the object, but the

rumble of the motor drowned the noise of the packing box's fall. Head up above the crates, The Shadow saw

the truck driver turn momentarily, then concentrate on the wheel again. The driver had heard a slight sound,

The crooks had bound him well, but there was one thing they'd forgotten: the corners of the crates. Such

corners were a great help when it came to getting out of ropes that didn't provide enough slack. His back to a

crate, The Shadow worked his wrists beneath one of the projections and stretched his shoulders, to throw the

Mobsters had mistaken Cranston simply for a society man who was good with his fists, and as they'd have

termed it lucky. They'd figured that The Shadow had helped him in one fight, and darkness in another. Had

they been on hand at present, to witness Cranston's deftness with the ropes, they might have seen the link

For Cranston was operating in true Shadow style. When the wrist ropes wouldn't give, he hooked his ankles

on another crate corner and slid backward, downward, until all his weight was working on the ankle ropes.

They yielded better, and finally, when The Shadow pulled one foot upward, the ropes themselves helped peel

By then, The Shadow could have stumbled forward and attracted the attention of the truck driver. Being

partly released, he decided to continue the process and regain some portion of the dignity that belonged to

Lamont Cranston. His first move, however, wasn't dignified, for it resembled a contortion act.

With his feet free, he was able to double his body to the point where he could slide his wrists under his feet

and up in front of him, a maneuver that almost threw his shoulders out of joint.

Once he accomplished it, The Shadow brought his hands up to his face and removed the troublesome gag. He

was then free to work on the wrist knots with his teeth. Loosened knots enabled him to acquire slack, and he

Picking up his other shoe, The Shadow eased forward from the pile of crates and sat on a packing box just

behind the driver and the hitchhiker. While he was putting on his shoe, and rubbing the numbness from his

"Every day," replied the trucker. "Sometimes I get over to New York early, if I've got rush loads. I never

come back until evening, though. Always chance of a late pickup, if I stick around the office."

"I'm working for Tim Lanney." The truck driver turned his head, revealing a blunt profile. Then, deciding that

"Glad to know you, Tim," gruffed the rider. "My name's Jerry." Dropping the introduction, as though

considering a surname unnecessary, he remarked: "You said something about an office."

"An agent runs it," explained Tim. "He gets hauls for independent truckers and takes his rakeoff. I'd rather

pick 'em myself. I do in Philly, but it's tougher in New York. Anyway, every job I pick up saves me paying a

"Cash in advance," spoke Tim. "That's my motto. No dough, no haul. I don't mind riding empty, sometimes."

"No." Tim shoved a big thumb over his shoulder, stopping about six inches short of Cranston's face. "Got a

shipment of varnish in back. I'll have to leave the truck in a regular garage, because the place I use isn't safe

enough to keep valuable stuff overnight. The money's safe enough, though" Tim was thwacking his inside

The man who called himself Jerry emphasized that point by suddenly pressing a revolver against his ribs, just

below the wallet. Tim edged a trifle to the left, acted as though he intended to deliver an elbow punch.

"No funny stuff," growled Jerry, "or I'll let you have it! I know how to handle a truck without wrecking it, so

He nudged the gun harder, and Tim took the hint. He was loath to release the wheel, however, even though

his hands did loosen. Jerry told him to "get 'em up, one by one," so Tim did, right hand first.

He was being pressed to the extreme edge of the seat, while Jerry, using his gun lefthanded, was taking

control of the truck, in an expert fashion that showed him to be well trained at the particular task.

"So you were taking the back road," sneered Jerry, "to keep out of heavy traffic. I like to keep out of traffic,

too, and that's why you found me hiking along. I pick up a lot of rides this way, and I look over the guys I

meet. Some of them are smart enough to hand their dough over without an argument."

Jerry's face was in the light, a hard face, with very ugly eyes and a jaw as firm as Tim's. The truck driver's

mouth was open, for he'd guessed who Jerry might be. There had been some bad smashes lately, trucks found

overturned, their drivers dead. The theory was that they'd gone to sleep and let their trucks run off the road.

But Tim was seeing it differently. He visualized this man who used the alias of Jerry as a highwayman who

killed to cover up his crimes. Possibly Tim was right, but there was another rider in the truck who was

He was debating whether or not Jerry belonged to the New York crew, and he decided in the negative. It

would have been easier for them to smuggle a few of their tribe on the truck, hidden away as The Shadow

himself had been. This fellow, Jerry, was an independent in his own line, crime, just as Tim was in the honest

It was The Shadow's turn to take over. Not only would he frustrate crime, but he would be introducing

himself in a way that Tim would appreciate and remember. Afterward, Tim would certainly favor a

THE truck reached a straightaway, with Jerry in control, though he hadn't fully shifted into the driver's seat.

He was darting looks ahead, to pick a place where he could pull off the road; but he was meanwhile keeping

the gun poked Jerry's way, until a hand suddenly swung down from blackness and clamped the revolver,

With a snarl, Jerry turned his head, saw Cranston's face just over his shoulder. Another hand grabbed Jerry's

right, kept it to the wheel. Tim shifted back, to grab the wheel from the left side. All that Jerry had to work

Lunging, the truck began a careening ride along the straightaway. Jerry was yanking it one way, Tim the

other, with The Shadow holding the balance. He was sure he could get Tim back at the wheel before they

It would have been simpler if The Shadow had been wearing his habitual garb of black, for sight of such a

figure would have quailed the fellow. But Jerry wasn't ready to yield so easily to an aristocratic foe like

Cranston, and with the truck cavorting as it was, The Shadow couldn't forget that the main job was to keep on

The break came near the curve. Jerry had lost his gun, but it was on the seat beside him. Tim had the wheel

with both hands, reaching from the left, so The Shadow yanked Jerry clear over to the right. Getting one hand

Lurching over the back of the seat, The Shadow sped two hands for Jerry's shoulders as they stooped,

Actually, The Shadow was in the driver's seat as the truck struck the curve. He wasn't handling the vehicle,

The direction of the curve helped him, something The Shadow had foreseen. It also discommoded Jerry, for

the sudden swing lunged him over to the right, carrying his foot from the accelerator.

It would have been full victory for The Shadow in this strange fray, if something stranger hadn't happened.

An explosion came from the right front wheel of the swaying truck, a sound like a blowout, only ten times

louder. Nor could an ordinary blowout have produced so startling a result with such a heavy vehicle.

The truck acted as though it was suddenly imbued with human knee action, plus a pair of stilts. Its right front

lifted four feet from the road and then thundered downward clear to the axle, as though it had no wheel to halt

it. Tim might as well have been playing with the windshield wiper, instead of handling the steering wheel.

Like a monstrous beast tripped by an unseen force, the truck hoisted itself in a long, crazy somersault over the

NEITHER The Shadow nor Tim Lanney would have had a chance for life, had one of them been behind the

wheel of the stricken track. Only the fact that both were loose was responsible for the result that they attained.

The first lift of the truck, a leftward cant, sent The Shadow past the wheel on the skiddy leather of the broad

front seat. He struck against Tim as the front of the truck was coming down, but The Shadow didn't lose the

He shoved the steering wheel away from him, first with his hand, next with his foot, and the strength of his

That was when Tim participated heavily, because his weight was the thing involved. The door of the truck

was flimsy, and it yielded under Tim's unintended bash. Tim went straight out to the left step as it came up to

The somersaulting truck actually kicked the two sprawlers into the air, its step acting as the foot that

delivered the boot. They were landing on the paving of the bridge as the truck catapulted over the rail. Hard

jolts for both of them, but better than the one reserved for Jerry, the man still in the truck.

As the truck crashed below, The Shadow hauled Tim to his feet and dragged him toward the rail, so they

could see beyond it. At first, Tim was too groggy to see the man who helped him, but by the time they

There was an explosion below and a great roar of flames lit up the gully, carrying its flare across the

It took more than the contents of the gasoline tank to fuel that mighty blaze. The truck's cargo was

responsible those crates of varnish cans that had helped awaken The Shadow with their splash. Possibly by

chance, more probably by design, Tim had happened to be transporting a highly inflammable brand of

Somewhere in the holocaust was Jerry, the modern highwayman. Tim remembered him and actually tried to

climb the bridge rail to his aid. Strong hands restrained the foolhardy truck driver; looking about, Tim saw

"But there's a fire extinguisher in the truck," expressed Tim, too excited to wonder how this new friend had

A real problem. Crackles were sounding as the flames swept higher; they were licking the trees that lined the

shallow creek bed. Tim could feel their scorch as he leaned from the bridge. Drawing back, he saw what

"Jerry was on the wrong side of the truck," remarked The Shadow. "The crash must have killed him instantly.

He was in the spot where you would have been, Tim, if matters had turned out the way he wanted them."

Tim hadn't thought of that. It started him nodding, as Cranston walked him away from the bridge. There was

a dirt road on the other side, visible by the glow from the fire. Before Tim realized it, his new friend was

The flames were lessening behind them, and darkness lay ahead. Tim halted suddenly. Looking back, he saw

"Why?" came Cranston's query. "It would be difficult to explain matters, wouldn't it?"

"But they'll think I'm dead," protested Tim, "after they find what's left of that body in the truck."

"Of course. That would be easier for them to believe than the story you would have to tell them."

The point impressed Tim. He trudged on into the darkness with The Shadow, mulling the whole question.

"I generally pick up hitchhikers," admitted Tim. "With somebody to talk to, you can keep awake. That's kind

of important, considering the way other truckers have gone off the road. It's easy to go off the road "

"Even when you're awake," interposed The Shadow. "If someone forces it with a gun."

"Say, that is an idea!" Tim exclaimed. "That bird was going to wreck me, like he's done with others. I know it

would sound like a yarn, if I told the police. They'd think I was trying to dodge a manslaughter charge on

account of a guy riding with me. Only, you could tell your end of it, to help me out."

THEREWITH, The Shadow told his story, enough of it for Tim's consumption. Tim was one man who could

believe it, and the details convinced him that it would be just as well to keep on moving for a while.

Introducing himself as Cranston, The Shadow didn't explain precisely why he'd been in the New York garage

where Tim parked the truck, but he told about the mob attack, and its consequences.

Having read Cranston's name in the newspapers, Tim immediately linked the garage affair with the Central

"Say, those guys were really out to get you, Mr. Cranston!" expressed Tim. "But why didn't they bump you

"How?" queried Tim. "This Jerry guy couldn't have been working with them. He'd have known you were on

"I wasn't thinking of Jerry. I'm considering the explosion that blasted your truck off the road."

"That was no blowout, Tim. It was some sort of a bomb, intended really to wreck the truck. It was either set

Tim was thus awakened to the fact that crooks had intended to dispose of him, as well as Cranston, a logical

reason why they should have packed their prisoner in the truck as the best way for a trip into oblivion. A lot

of things went on in Tim's mind, and he finally summed them up with the heartfelt words:

The Shadow assured him that he would be, and then decided that they'd both be better off if they could find

It was Tim's turn to supply information. He said they were about a dozen miles from Trenton, and that if they

kept along the dirt road, they would strike a main highway. So they kept along it.

All the while, The Shadow was learning more about Tim, for the trucker was glad to talk about himself to a

Tim lived in Philadelphia, close to the swanky residential district where Kerring's house was located. He

made a regular trip to New York five days a week, getting off as early as he could pick up loads, that were

Once in New York, he made deliveries, then left the truck in the cheap garage where Cranston had discovered

it. Of course, if he was lucky enough to get return hauls, he took the truck out and gathered them up.

The truck was invariably back in the cheap garage at five o'clock, because that was when Tim went to see the

commission man about late pickups, which, recently, had been few and far between.

Tim's usual rule was to eat at six o'clock, get to the garage before seven, and head back to Philadelphia,

generally to the music of a lot of empty crates and boxes. The trip took him about three hours, and he turned

in as soon as he put the truck away, because ten o'clock was pretty late for a man who had to get up at six the

All this seemed to interest Cranston, for he let Tim ramble along uninterrupted. Tim was still giving details

when they reached the main highway. There, The Shadow suggested that the rest of the story be postponed,

THERE was a service station a short way ahead, with two cars filling up on gas. Tim watched Cranston brush

his clothes and stroll toward the service station. Tim hesitated, but his friend calmly beckoned him along.

Approaching the servicestation owner, Cranston said he would like to use his phone for a longdistance call

to be paid for, of course. While speaking, he casually produced a roll of bills that made Tim feel that Jerry

would have done better if he'd tried to stick up the truck's passenger instead of its driver. Cranston was also

He had been looking over a New Jersey estate that he had just bought, and had brought his chief gardener

along with him. The realestate agent had brought them out from Trenton, telling them to call his office when

Unfortunately, the telephone in the house wasn't connected, so they had left a note for the realtor, in case he

returned. It would be better, Cranston thought, to call his Philadelphia home and have the chauffeur drive out

Of course, Cranston didn't mention his name during this discourse. He talked as though he expected the

servicestation man to give him some advice, which the fellow couldn't, his mind not being geared to estates

and limousines. The advice came, however, from another source, the one for which Cranston artfully

All was overheard by a very attentive listener at the wheel of a sedan that bore a Pennsylvania license and

"You'd lose a lot of time, mister," said the sedan owner, "if you wait for your chauffeur to get here. I'm

Cranston accepted the invitation, and so did Tim, because it dawned on him that he was the gardener. In the

rear seat, Tim listened in admiration while Cranston, in front, chatted with the sedan's driver on subjects,

ranging from stock and bonds to the comparative merits of Miami and Havana as winter resorts. They were

rolling along the boulevard within Philadelphia city limits, and Cranston hadn't yet gotten around to

Stopping the sedan, he shook hands with the driver, offered to pay for the ride, which was declined: then

Cranston and Tim were riding away in the cab. In the hurried parting, Cranston still had forgotten to mention

Tim was quite sure, that Cranston hadn't, because his memory was remarkably good on another point.

Turning to Tim, Cranston promptly picked up the conversation from where they had dropped it when they

TIM had been talking about the deliveries he made in New York. He carried all sorts of loads, or had, when

he still owned a truck that was something more than a firescorched chassis. He'd wanted to get into one line

"Seems like I get a chunk of everything," said Tim. "That is, except vegetables. I don't want them. Too many

inspectors bothering you about corn borers and Japanese beetles. Funny, now, but hauling junk from one

secondhand shop to another might be a good business. I get a lot of that trade "

"You told me about it three times," was the reply. "It's right there" The Shadow tapped Tim's breast pocket

"and if you'll hand it over, I won't bother the wallet that you carry in your inside pocket."

Tim laughed. He liked Cranston's dry humor, even though it did flash back to the loss of Tim's truck. He

"There it is," he said. "All the dope on every delivery I've made for the last year. You may as well keep it,

Mr. Cranston." Tim's tone was rueful. "I won't be needing it for some time. Maybe never."

"Probably sooner," corrected The Shadow. "Your truck was insured. You can buy a new one and start

"You won't be dead long, Tim. You're just going on a vacation, with pay. I have a friend" Cranston's tone

was reflective "who likes to dabble in odd cases like this. He will look out for you, Tim. It may surprise

The cab was threading its way through the fringe of Kerring's suburb. Leaning from the window, The

"Here we are," he told the driver. "Stop quietly, please. I don't want to waken the family."

Paying off the cabby, The Shadow insisted, in a Cranston undertone, that he drive away quietly. As soon as

After a quarter of a mile they came to an isolated row of houses, relics of a time when an enterprising builder

had begun to sneak into an ultraresidential district before the larger property owners had time to clamp down

with restrictions. Tim lived in the back room on the second floor of the third house in the row.

"I can't go in the front door," he whispered. "If I do, they'll hear me. What's the next step, Mr. Cranston?"

"I'll get you up to your window," The Shadow replied. "Nobody will hear you, then."

"They'll take you for a ghost. Just remember that you're dead, and act accordingly."

It was whimsical, having Tim play the ghost, a part which The Shadow had carried off, many times.

He might have done a good job as a ghost, even in the guise of Cranston, had he been in New York; but

Boosted in through his window, Tim was gone about ten minutes. He returned without having made too

much noise, bringing along two suitcases packed with belongings that no one would miss when they looked

The Shadow insisted upon carrying one suitcase. They sneaked away together, Tim and his new friend

"What about that garage where you used to keep the truck? There ought to be a few things there tools,

TIM thought it a good idea. He showed his friend to the garage, which turned out exactly as Tim had earlier

The "garage" was really an old stable in back of a crumbling mansion that should have been torn down as a

public nuisance. Tim rented it for a few dollars a month, because it was the only place in the vicinity large

"You see what I told you, Mr. Cranston," said Tim, as he was using a flashlight to gather the tools he wanted.

"Anybody could've sneaked in here and taken anything off the truck. That's why I always leave the truck in

the public garage, the one in Tioga, when I've got a shipment to keep overnight.

"It's a good arrangement, because I have my brotherinlaw's car there, and they don't charge me for storing

The Shadow nodded. He was looking around the stable that had once been a garage, observing its poorly

"They'd think we were a couple of ghosts, if they saw us here," he said. "But nobody ever does come around

"I know of another good place," said The Shadow. "The garage where you kept the truck in New York.

Tim sensed something cryptic in Cranston's statement. He'd noted, right along, that his rescuer put double

They left the empty stable and walked to the trolley line, which was near the park. Near Kerring's house, too,

"There was a murder over that way a few nights ago. I guess you heard about the Kerring case, Mr.

They reached the end of the trolley line and entered a car that was waiting. A new streamliner type, it carried

them rapidly toward the center of Philadelphia. Tim hadn't an idea where they were going next, until The

Tim stared. He thought that Cranston really had picked an impossibility this time. The simplicity of the thing

actually dumfounded Tim more. It was Cranston, not Tim, who entered the garage carrying the license cards.

He introduced himself as Tim's brotherinlaw, who had moved lately to Maryland. Never having seen the

brotherinlaw, the garage attendant, impressed by Cranston's appearance, turned over the car on the strength

The Shadow picked Tim up a block away. He told him to take the wheel and gave him back the license cards.

"Stay at your sister's in Maryland until you hear from me. It will be very soon; meanwhile, here is some

There was a difference between the cases of Tim Lanney and Lamont Cranston. Tim had to play dead,

whereas Cranston didn't. In fact, though The Shadow hadn't mentioned it to Tim, it was better that Cranston

It conformed with a very important detail: namely, that only one body, that of the man who called himself

Perhaps hired thugs would report to their hidden chief that they had shipped Cranston off to oblivion. If they

Nevertheless, it would be quite explainable, without jeopardizing Tim's status as a ghost. They'd figure that

Cranston had regained consciousness, slipped his bonds, and dropped off somewhere before the truck came to

After all, the truck's violent destruction had been arranged for Tim's benefit, with Cranston's inclusion merely

as an afterthought. No one would know that Cranston had formed a partnership with Tim Lanney. Nor that

Indeed, if certain persons even suspected the existence of Tim's little book, they would believe that it had

INASMUCH as Cranston had made one morning trip from New York to Philadelphia, it wouldn't matter if he

made another. So, when the morning dawned or, more properly, a few hours after dawn Cranston was

again seen lingering about the lobby of a Philadelphia hotel, reading newspapers.

This time, he concentrated largely on New York journals, because they were full of the Fitzcroft murder. The

Philadelphia sheets were generous on that subject, for the crime had a definite link with the Kerring case.

At noon, Lamont Cranston dropped in on Director of Public Safety Thurling, who was very glad to see him.

In fact, the safety director had called New York, hoping that Cranston would come over. He wanted to talk

"Lambron's alibi depends on you, Cranston," declared Thurling seriously. "I'm speaking of his alibi, night

before last, when Fitzcroft was murdered in New York. I understand that you were with Lambron from eight

"That clears Lambron, then," grumbled the director, "and Mordan, too, because they were together. You see,

Fitzcroft was murdered in New York soon after ten o'clock. Lambron didn't pull into this office until about

"He could have come back from New York, after killing Fitzcroft first, though it would have meant a very

fast trip. The question was: could he have gotten over there? You've assured me that Lambron couldn't have.

"Confidentially, Cranston," said Thurling, "I suspect Hubert Purnell. He didn't have a good alibi in the

Kerring murder, but I passed it over because of Purnell's importance. Besides, there wasn't any real proof that

Kerring was killed because he belonged to the Manufacturers Security Association.

"But Fitzcroft's murder changed it all. Again, Purnell lacks an alibi, and now the connection is proven. Worse

luck, Purnell is in New York, where I would have to extradite him. If he killed Kerring, he killed Fitzcroft,

too. I'd be a sucker if I went after him for the first crime before the New York authorities accuse him of the

Thurling began to pace his office, with his hands crossed behind his back as if they were tied which,

officially speaking, they were. He was still striding back and forth, when Cranston glanced at his watch and

A short while later, Lamont Cranston stopped at the office of the Triplex Awning Co., and found Ralph

Lambron there. Mordan and three men from the shop were seated facing the desk, and Cranston took the one

Promptly, Lambron dismissed the shop men, retaining only Mordan. Then both Lambron and his secretary

burst loose with thanks. They were glad, very glad, that Cranston had so honestly and definitely accounted

for their whereabouts in Philadelphia just prior to the time of Fitzcroft's death in New York.

"It was fine of you, Cranston," concluded Lambron. "I couldn't show my full appreciation in front of Brenz,

yesterday. He would have used it to deride me. Come out to lunch with me, so I can further express my

"Sorry, Lambron" Cranston's smile was friendly "but I have to be getting back to New York."

The Shadow did have his own car. He had gotten it from the hotel garage. His second trip to Philadelphia had

But that wasn't the reason why The Shadow whispered a laugh as he swung the car along the Roosevelt

Boulevard, to reach the highway that would take him from Philadelphia to New York.

It marked The Shadow's return from oblivion. He was coming back from doom that he had missed. With that

COMMISSIONER WESTON didn't pace his office the way Director Thurling had. To begin with, Weston

wasn't in his office when The Shadow, as Cranston, found him soon after arriving in New York. The

commissioner was in the grillroom of the Cobalt Club, demolishing a doublethickness, charcoalbroiled

Food was frequently an index to Weston's mood. When he tackled an oversized lamb chop, it meant that he

"Inspector Cardona is investigating it," said the commissioner. "It has some special angles, Cranston, so it's

The Shadow could divine the basis behind the statement. It simply meant that Weston was still a jump ahead

of the newspapers. Otherwise, they would have been hounding him for a solution to the crime. Since they

weren't bothering him, Weston was letting the law proceed in the slow fashion that it preferred.

To a degree, the commissioner was showing good judgment. Temporarily relenting toward the lamb chop, he

"Two men, Brenz and Lambron," declared Weston. "Either could have murdered both Kerring and Fitzcroft.

But neither Brenz nor Lambron did. Each has a double alibi, like their respective hangerson, Richtle and

Mordan. But remember!" Weston wagged a finger. "The motive is definitely established, despite the

"You mean, of course, that someone intends to get a strangle hold on the Manufacturers Security Association

"Yes!" Weston was emphatic, but he carried the tone through the rest of his statement: "But remember,

Cranston, the schemer is not necessarily a member of the association. He might be some outsider, planning a

The Shadow understood. Commissioner Weston preferred to consider the whole world as suspects, rather

than place blame on Hubert Purnell. It showed again how New York and Philadelphia were as widely

Had the orders of two murders been reversed Fitzcroft's first, and Kerring's afterward Hubert Purnell

would at this moment be reposing in the Philadelphia clink under the stern wardenship of Director Thurling.

"I was in Philadelphia today," he said. "I saw Director Thurling. When I ran into Purnell. I think I'll tell him

"He might, eh?" queried Weston. "Then why doesn't he ask us to apprehend Purnell?"

Weston's snort proved that it would be troublesome. He, for one, would do everything to block it, if Thurling

tried. He was actually glad that the Philadelphia authorities found their hands tied.

"Thurling is letting local opinion sway him," declared Weston. "A very poor policy. He should appreciate

that I am really helping him, by keeping matters in abeyance until foolish opinion cools. I can assure you,

What might apply to crime, didn't to the lamb chop. It could cool right under the commissioner's nose. So

Weston went back to the business of dining, nodding that Cranston could have the privilege of talking, if he

"I suppose the case will stay hot," he remarked, "until the unknown schemer moves in to take over the

association. But suppose he decides it is too hot, commissioner, and forgets the M.S.A. entirely. What then?"

"We'll learn his identity whether or not," assured Weston. "I've already told you, Cranston, that Inspector

The Shadow wondered if Cardona shared that opinion, but he didn't ask. He left the grillroom and opened a

It said that the Manufacturers Security Association would meet that evening, at eight o'clock. It wasn't yet

He stopped first, as Cranston, at the Park Gardens for a brief chat with Brenz. Quite pleased to see Cranston,

Brenz was the more interested when he learned that the caller had been in Philadelphia, earlier, and had seen

"So Lambron thanked you, did he?" Brenz showed traces of a sneer. "No wonder! You helped him out of a

bad jam. Fellows as crooked as Lambron are always afraid they'll get caught for something they didn't do. It's

The same hazard applied to Brenz but Cranston didn't voice such an opinion. Instead, he speculated on

whether or not Lambron would be at the evening's meeting. Brenz declared that Lambron would be present;

Time was growing shorter, so Cranston left. He was particularly intent on his next purpose, because it

promised a special opportunity. Outside the Cobalt Club, Cranston had picked up a pair of trailers, the two

detectives from the night before. Purnell's hired sleuths were on the job again, hoping for better results this

Since they wanted results, Cranston could give them, in a fashion that might strike closer home to Purnell.

Entering Moe's cab, Cranston glanced at Tim's little black book and gave the address of the Excalibur

Lacquer Co., on the East Side. He added that Moe was to stop near the rear door of the plant.

The Excalibur company was where Tim Lanney had picked up the varnish shipment, the afternoon before.

Tim thought of it purely in terms of a company, but The Shadow personalized it. He happened to know that

the lacquer plant was one of the dozen industries controlled by that wizard of finance, Hubert Purnell. Such

As the cab neared its destination, Lamont Cranston became The Shadow. He felt that he'd trained the private

dicks sufficiently; they were ready to stay on a trail through inference, if properly encouraged.

When the cab halted behind the lacquer works, which showed no lights below the third floor, The Shadow

dropped into darkness. He was actually in the shelter of the gloomy building, trying picks on an obscure door,

Dismissing their own cab, they nosed around suspiciously. By the time they decided that Cranston must have

entered the lacquer plant, he was through the door. He heard them try it on the outside, and caught their

The Shadow had locked the door behind him, but that only reminded them of another door that of the

garage they had visited the night before. It had been locked first, and unlocked later.

This time, the dicks weren't going to bungle around, while Cranston slipped them. They were starting away,

for The Shadow heard them go. Their purpose could only be a prompt report to Purnell, from the nearest

With a soft, repressed laugh, The Shadow used his thinbeamed flashlight to find the groundfloor office of

the lacquer company. He went through storerooms, stacked high with varnish cans, replicas of the load in

The office was near the front of the building; it had a few battered desks, and an old filing cabinet, all

In the filing cabinet, The Shadow found what he wanted a stack of lading bills covering recent shipments.

Among them was the very consignment that Tim had taken out. The order was in triplicate, so The Shadow

Not only was the order marked "Paid," but underneath was the carbon notation: "Cash." Such sheets would be

filed away, and forgotten, since the transaction was completed, but they could be looked up later, should

Unless eventually destroyed, they would remain as hidden, though very damaging, evidence; hence The

These sheets tallied exactly with Tim's little book. Until this moment, however, there had been a chance that

Tim was mistaken. For the order specified delivery of the varnish cans to a Philadelphia contracting company

THE thing had rather puzzled Tim; he'd told Cranston that he'd intended to look into it, on the chance that the

contractor was still operating. But The Shadow had looked into it, himself, and found that the concern way

out of business. The order sheets, therefore, proved that the varnish had been bought by proxy for some other

This was the kind of thing that would support Tim's story of the track accident, when he came to tell it.

Unquestionably, the varnish could have been intended to feed the flames that gobbled the wrecked truck.

Having thus backed his supposition with evidence, The Shadow started a silent departure from the office. He

closed the door behind him, locked it, with a special skeleton key. He was moving toward the door that led to

Things that The Shadow had more or less foreseen when donning his garb of black; but they came sooner,

swifter, and with more concerted effort than even the blackcloaked investigator had anticipated.

A door slashed open on The Shadow's right; with it came the boring glare of a flashlight. Dodging the door's

hard sweep, The Shadow was put at immediate disadvantage. He was only half turned as the man with the

Had he wasted time drawing a gun, The Shadow would have been flattened. Instead, he rolled backward

under his opponent's drive and shoved his foot to the attacker's chest, launching him on a headlong fling.

The flashlight went, too, and in the darkness The Shadow saved more time by completing a short back

Two more men were pouncing out from the doorway; one had a revolver, the other a flashlight. Lunging

straight into the glow, The Shadow used his free hand to clamp the first man's wrist and drive it aside as the

revolver spurted. A cross slash of his own automatic, and The Shadow disposed of the flashlight that the

Then The Shadow was grappling with both, counting on darkness to give him the advantage that did not

come. Timed to the echoes of the revolver shot, another door slashed open on the opposite side of the

passage. It was the door of an elevator, and the light from the car illuminated the passage.

Seeing The Shadow grappling with two combatants, another pair of tough fighters sprang his way. One had a

Twisting, The Shadow dodged the revolver's aim and put the other man in between, while warding off the

swing of the fellow's club. Then, as men surged from four directions, The Shallow swiped hard with his own

Diving through the doorway, he found stairs leading upward. Not the route he wanted, but he took it. Guns

At the top of the stairs, The Shadow found a display room, with cans of varnish arranged in high pyramids.

He dodged behind one stack as his pursuers started shooting from the door. Revolvers didn't pack sufficient

wallop to penetrate the cans completely. They simply punctured them, producing spouts of varnish.

Spreading, The Shadow's opponents tried to flank The Shadow's barrier before he could start shooting

Spreading tactics were a good idea. The Shadow did the same. He spread the varnish cans.

Shoulder first, he drove into the stack, sweeping his arms wide. Cans by the dozen went bounding, rolling,

Two men were lunging for him, only to go sprawling as they contacted the rolling cans. The other pair, trying

to get back toward the door, found themselves stumbling on the metal rollers meant for them.

The guns were talking as The Shadow reached the stairs, but the wideness of the fire proved that the

marksmen still were tripping. Downstairs, the fifth man saw The Shadow coming and hopped into the

elevator, slamming the sliding door. He was helping himself, and The Shadow, too.

For when the rest came dashing through the passage, they found it dark. Before they could use their

flashlights, they were tumbling anew. The whole passage was crawling with approaching varnish cans that

OUTSIDE, half a block away, The Shadow was getting into Moe's passing cab before the men in the lacquer

plant even reached the back door. The cab whipped away, swung a lighted corner, and was gone.

The only two who witnessed its departure were the private detectives. They were coming from the drugstore,

Though they recognized the cab, the dicks still thought it empty. Even as it passed the light, they couldn't see

the cloaked passenger, who rested deep in the rear seat. He looked like what he was a shadow; and the

They heard a sound, though, those staring men; a tone that might have come from anywhere. Unable to

connect it with the departing cab, the dicks looked all around, then stared at each other as the weird tone

It was strange, that tone, and shivery. It seemed to mock them with its trailing note of mirth.

Crisp and pompous, Hubert Purnell was presiding over the meeting of the manufacturers at the Hotel

Metrolite. His steely eyes, always a contrast to his dryish face, had a probing glint, sharper than ever before.

There was steel, indeed, in Purnell's gaze, for he was ready to prove that he could answer any test.

Other members were watching Purnell, thinking that they knew all that was in his mind. Only one member

could have told the rest what Purnell was about to say. That member was Lamont Cranston. He had put

"Before we begin our business," announced Purnell, "I must mention a fact that we cannot ignore: namely,

that an organized plot seems to be in action against the members of this association."

The members listened with interest. Purnell, of all men, was bringing up the subject of Kerring and Fitzcroft.

He, the only member of M.S.A. who had no alibi at the times when two murders had occurred! He was taking

the bull's horns too boldly, they thought, but they were wrong. Purnell was very clever. He tried some tail

"One member of our group can testify to what I say," declared Purnell suddenly. "I refer to Lamont

He stared coldly at Cranston, as though in accusation, and The Shadow returned the gaze with equal coolness.

"Only the other night" Purnell's tone showed a change to sympathy "our good friend Cranston was

attacked by masked men, who tried to murder him. I refer to the incident in Central Park. I fear that it meant

Clever of Purnell, to mention Cranston's case before coming to those of Kerring and Fitzcroft, the men who

had really taken the brunt of crime! It wasn't the limit, though, of Purnell's ingenuity.

"I can understand Cranston's situation," continued Purnell, "because, only a short while ago, I had a fortunate

He stated that he had planned to stop at the Excalibur Lacquer Co. on the way to his meeting. Deciding that it

would cause too much delay, he phoned the plant, instead. Men were working in the label room on the third

floor. One went down to get some papers from the office, so that Purnell could check them over the phone.

Running across a prowler, the worker gave battle, and others came to his aid. Fully armed, the lurker

managed to escape. One of Purnell's men, quite fortunately, was a watchman, who had an extra gun. But for

Police were now investigating the case, and it was quite obvious that the lurker, whoever he was, had been

Of course, The Shadow knew that Purnell had phoned the lacquer plant after a call from his detectives.

If Cranston wanted to suspect Purnell of murder well enough. In his turn, Purnell could wonder why

Cranston had taken such interest in the deaths of Kerring and Fitzcroft, while more active members of the

Definitely, Purnell implied that both he and Cranston were innocent of crime, and was suggesting that they

drop their investigation of each other before it became a full feud. Fair enough, if Purnell had no hand in

murder. In that case, his hiring of two snoopers was a defensive measure to ward off false blame.

Contrarily, Purnell, considered as a double murderer, could be playing a much deeper game. It would be a

very clever thing for him to smother circumstantial evidence through sheer weight of the supposed integrity

If The Shadow had any thoughts along that line, he did not show them. He simply retained his immobile gaze

SATISFIED that Cranston had at least caught his hints, Purnell went on to other matters. First, he took the

bull's horns one by one, by referring first to Kerring, then to Fitzcroft, in very saddened tones. His mention of

the dead men passed easily. He had softened it by first referring to problems of the living; those of Cranston

Then Purnell moved swiftly to his big surprise. His glance was now traveling about the entire group,

"Our funds have been raised," he declared. "We can plan further assessments, for the benefit of all. We have a

great duty, gentlemen: the proper handling of sums that will increase as this association grows. I believe that

the duty must lie in the hands of one man, who can act as an arbiter in all disputes.

"As head of this association, I can insist that such power be mine. Instead" his eyes took in all the listeners

"I herewith announce my resignation, not only as president, but as a member of this association."

It was a master stroke. Men came to their feet, insisting that Purnell stay in charge. Waving them down,

Purnell was gesturing to a thickset man beside him, whose pudgy face was excited like the rest. The man that

Purnell indicated was Peter Dryne, the lone survivor of the crusading three that formerly included Kerring

"Dryne is your man," Purnell argued. "Let him take full charge. He can carry the banner, wherever it should

"No, no!" broke in Dryne. "I haven't your vision, Purnell. You lead, and depend upon me to support you.

In all the furor, The Shadow was studying the faces of Lambron and Brenz. Each, in his own lupine way, was

studying Dryne. Lambron looked as though he would like to devour Dryne bit by bit, while Brenz showed

Certainly Dryne, alone, wouldn't control the association long; not with these wolves in the organization. Two

against one, they could crowd Dryne out and then fight each other for full control. The way they suddenly

forgot Dryne, to glare at each other, was indication of the more distant future that they both considered.

It looked as though Purnell had played right into the paws of Lambron and Brenz, tossing them Dryne as

Purnell could resign, and rejoin the organization later. If Lambron and Brenz reached the top, one would then

eliminate the other. Purnell could dislodge the one who remained, and put affairs in order. All within the

Should Purnell's real watchword be crime, he would be covering his tracks quite neatly. His resignation

apparently disproved any profit motive on his part; thus, suspicions of his hand as one of murder would fade.

Afterward, should Purnell be recalled to head the association, his slate would be clean. He could be the

"outsider" suggested by Weston, but the commissioner would never suspect that Purnell and the unknown

All very speculative, for the present. The Shadow did not need to deal in such conjectures. He had already

come to an opinion. His first step was to keep Purnell right on the spot where he no longer wanted to be, as

chairman of the association. Only with Purnell still in office, could crime be properly cracked.

PURNELL was gradually quieting the many voices that wanted him to remain in charge. He wouldn't listen

to any arguments against his resignation. He was sure that members would agree to it; he was anxious for

Cranston promptly did. With a wise smile, Purnell let him have the floor and immediately regretted it.

"We should be fair to Mr. Purnell," was Cranston's calm comment. "We should remember that he once had

high intentions for this association. A man of such intentions should never be forced to give reasons for his

resignation. It would be unfair to force him into an admission of incompetence. Persons are apt to exaggerate

"Stop!" Purnell's face had purpled. Rage was sweeping aside his accustomed coolness. "I did not admit any

"Whatever kind the rumor mongers might choose. They create their own conclusions, Purnell. I propose"

Cranston turned to the others "that we accept Mr. Purnell's resignation without further discussion."

It was The Shadow's challenge to Purnell, that motion. Others, overlooked its significance, for they didn't

realize that a verbal feud had been going on between Purnell and Cranston, under the guise of general

The sudden willingness of members to accept the resignation indicated that they were tending toward the

very implications that Cranston had presented. Purnell took the one action that could save his face.

"I withdraw the resignation," he asserted. "You have convinced me that the organization still needs in my

He was in time to turn the tide. The meeting adjourned with all present acclaiming Purnell, though neither

Lambron's sallow face took on a shrewdness; he couldn't hide his scheming reflections. Brenz also gave

outward indications. His deepset eyes seemed to recede farther, in contrast to the forward thrust that he gave

Unlike in many respect, these two still had the same ambition. Each wanted to take over the association and

show huge profit from its increasing funds. At least, Cranston had balked them for the time, though he had

left the control in the hands of Purnell, a man who still might be accused of murders with which Lambron and

AFTER the meeting, The Shadow met Margo Lane. In a quiet corner of the cafe lounge, Margo heard all the

The Shadow watched the expression that came to Margo's face as she began to express certain possibilities

"Purnell is craftier than you think, Lamont!" she exclaimed. "Look at it this way: suppose he hired that mob

we met in Central Park. He could have done it easily, without revealing who he was. Money sent to some

"Go on," suggested Cranston, as Margo paused. "Almost anyone could arrange it, including Purnell."

"Well, he used the mob again," continued Margo, "to get rid of Tim Lanney. You said yourself that Tim lived

"There could be another reason, then," declared Margo. "Anyway, those thugs nearly bagged you, too. When

Purnell found out you'd gone to the lacquer plant, he figured you were trying to draw the crooks again. So he

was smart. He called the workmen instead. Don't you see how clever it was? He disassociated himself from

"He did throw me a burden," admitted The Shadow. "It wasn't easy, dodging those workers without hurting

"How clever Purnell is!" added Margo. "He even faked an order for inflammable varnish, so his own workers

wouldn't know about it. You were wise, taking a copy of the shipment order. I'm glad Tim gave you that little

"But you found enough to incriminate Purnell. Why don't you turn it over to the police, Lamont?"

"That's the trouble, in one word," interrupted The Shadow, in Cranston's calmest style. "If. Think it over,

Margo, and you'll see how far 'ifs' can carry us. Take Lambron and Brenz for example. If Lambron hadn't

been able to account for all his actions at the time when Kerring was killed, or if Brenz hadn't been in New

"If Brenz hadn't a perfect alibi the night when Fitzcroft was slain, or if Lambron hadn't been in Philadelphia

at the time, how different it all would be. Or, to make it even more speculative: if Kerring had been murdered

in New York and Fitzcroft in Philadelphia, circumstances would have been utterly changed."

"You're reaching the preposterous stage, Lamont," she said. "Maybe I deserve a little sarcasm, because I've

been jumping to too many conclusions regarding Purnell. But let me tell you something. With Kerring and

you dead, there's only one crusader left. I mean Peter Dryne. If Purnell is the murderer and no one else in

the association can be you have practically handed Dryne a death warrant, by keeping Purnell in office."

There was an ardent ring to Margo's words, and she saw that she had struck home. Never before had

"You are right, Margo," he said. "But there is one point with which you will agree. Dryne will be safe so long

"No. That sort of stuff is out. It was a makeshift, in my case, and it didn't work. Whereas Kerring and

"It won't be necessary, Margo. It's simply a case of watching one or the other. When they get together, all the

better. That's when something can happen. Or, to be even more specific, something may happen as soon as

"Certainly. Otherwise I wouldn't risk it." Cranston's tone had a conviction that gave Margo a sudden thrill.

"The prevention of Dryne's death, at the right time, can solve the murders of Kerring and Fitzcroft in just the

style we want. It won't leave a doubt as to who killed them. Theories, no matter how farfetched, will stand as

Listening, Margo felt sure that she understood the whole motive behind Cranston's challenge to Purnell. But

She saw Cranston as The Shadow, master of justice, behind the challenge that was to place the blame for

SWIFTMOVING crime had reached a brink, to pause. In contrast to the thrillpacked days when two

murders had occurred in rapid style, those that followed were very slow indeed. A week full of days in which

In Philadelphia, the director of public safety was wearing out his office carpet while he held fire on the

Kerring murder, waiting for the New York police commissioner to do something about the Fitzcroft case.

Meanwhile, in New York, said commissioner, one Ralph Weston, was waiting for his ace inspector, Joe

Cardona, to bring in proof of murder committed by anyone other than Hubert Purnell.

He'd never struck a case like this before. Joe would have liked to slap it on Purnell, to get some action, but he

knew that Weston wouldn't let him. The commissioner read Cardona's reports, and approved them, even

Cardona couldn't even express himself to Weston. The only friendly listener he found was the commissioner's

Thus, Cardona, quite unwittingly, unburdened his woe to the law's most powerful ally, The Shadow.

First, Cardona mentioned the Kerring case. The Philadelphia police had something to go on, with that one.

They could take it for granted that Kerring had been at home all day, alone in the house.

As soon as dark came, at approximately six o'clock, someone had dropped in and given Kerring a slug from a

.38 revolver, right through the heart. The body had stayed on the rug where it fell until Lambron and others

First, nobody knew when Fitzcroft had come home. He went out often, unlike Kerring. Why he had decided

to be in his apartment at ten thirty in the evening was a neat little mystery in itself. Anyway, he had been

there when somebody called and treated him to the same dose that Kerring had received.

This time, the murderer had used a different gun, one of .32 caliber. That didn't fool Cardona. Different guns

didn't mean a different murderer. Joe had a theory that accounted for the shift to a smaller caliber, which was

He figured that Fitzcroft must have been a trifle wary. The killer couldn't have packed too large a gun, or

There was another trouble: the length of time between the murder of Fitzcroft and the discovery of the body

the next day. Many people had been in and out of the small apartment house during the intervening period.

Milkmen, delivery men, canvassers, even some of Fitzcroft's friends, and persons from his office.

Cardona had found a half a dozen people who had knocked on Fitzcroft's door and gone away before Purnell

and Cranston had come to find the stiff body seated in a chair. It was too bad that the people who knew

Fitzcroft well had supposed that he was simply out of town. Fitzcroft had a habit of making trips without

"Remember how Lambron, the guy with the longterm alibi, found Kerring's body?" queried Cardona. "The

same thing nearly happened over again in Fitzcroft's case. Brenz was with friends all evening pretty near all

"We'll, anyway, Brenz went around to see Fitzcroft the next morning, about eleven o'clock. Had his chauffeur

with him, the same as Lambron had his secretary. Brenz hammered at the door, and sent the chauffeur down

"So they waited around a while, hoping Fitzcroft would slow up, which he didn't. If they'd only tried the door,

the way Purnell did later, Brenz and Richtle would have found the body and reported it. Well, it doesn't

"Yes," said Cardona. "They left a lot of things. The place would have been cluttered up outside the janitor's

door, if a junkman hadn't come along and taken a pile of boxes and other rubbish that was waiting for him.

"The janitor has been fired. It was too good for him. The intruder should have practiced on the guy before

SCARCELY observing the slight smile on Cranston's lip, Cardona changed the subject by asking him a

"Nearly every day," The Shadow replied. "He'd moved one of his companies, the Industrial Paper Roy Corp.,

"No. He is still at the same place. He is having it altered into special offices for the Manufacturers Security

"He ought to," said Joe. "The outfit will need some more members, considering the way they've been

"Speaking of the members," commented Cranston, "Peter Dryne is out of town, but will be back late this

"Yes." Cranston's tone was very casual. "I supposed that you would remember him. He was a very close

friend of Kerring and Fitzcroft. I might say that Dryne was the one man who saw things precisely as they

"He has a penthouse not far from Times Square. The next time I go up there, I shall phone you, inspector. I

Two purposes were accomplished through that chat with Joe Cardona. The Shadow learned the sum and

substance of all that Cardona had uncovered during more than a week of intensive investigation.

Cardona's results were very meager; they didn't supply The Shadow with anything that he really needed. The

important point was that Cardona's facts did not refute any of The Shadow's own findings.

As for the second accomplishment, The Shadow had drawn Cardona into the case, more definitely than the

inspector could have possibly realized. Keeping tabs on chance meetings between Purnell and Dryne had

With Purnell in New York and Dryne out of town, the whole thing was covered by Cranston's own visits to

Even Purnell couldn't have suspected the full meaning of those visits. He'd insisted that all the members of

the association drop in to see him, and Cranston hadn't called more frequently than others. However,

True to his veiled promise, Purnell had called off the blundering detectives who previously sleuthed Cranston

THE afternoon was getting late. Soon, Dryne would be back from his extended trip. He'd been getting new

members for the Manufacturers Security Association. Naturally, Purnell would want to see him this evening,

in a private conference the very thing The Shadow wanted to watch. To keep everything under control, The

As Cranston, he had suggested that other members of the association drop in to see Dryne as soon as he

returned. It would be something of a surprise party, but not for Dryne. The real surprise would strike Purnell,

It was not quite five o'clock when Cranston dropped into Purnell's office. Purnell greeted him with a friendly

smile. He'd seen most of the members today, he said. Brenz was among the callers, and so was Lambron, who

happened to be over from Philadelphia. Rather proudly, Purnell showed Cranston around the place.

Purnell's office was refurnished, and it contained some squatty metal filing cabinets, which were stocked with

data concerning the association. More cabinets would be bought as soon as needed, but they were

Purnell wanted Cranston to see the outer offices. Men were redecorating them, and the workers were busy

day and night. A painting job was under way at present, and Purnell actually enjoyed the smell of it, because

"The painters wanted to charge overtime for night work," declared Purnell. "I wouldn't hear of it. I finally

found men who would work at the usual price. I'm going to wait here until they come, and see them get to

Maybe Purnell was saving money, but certainly not in the careful way he insisted upon, when his own cash

Purnell hadn't redecorated any of his own offices in years. To him, normal expenses were extravagances, and

he was indulging in them at present because the association was paying the bills. He would probably have

Purnell suggested that Cranston go out by the freight elevator, because the regular exit was blocked off by the

painters. Purnell had trouble finding the elevator operator, so Cranston went down by the stairway.

It was dark outside, and Moe Shrevnitz's cab was waiting. Entering it, Cranston waited a short while, then

Well obscured in his cloak and hat, the human blackout ascended the stairs and approached Purnell's office.

The Shadow's return was timely. Purnell was on the telephone, talking to Dryne, who had just arrived at his

"Yes, I'm going home," he snapped, "but I wanted to see you first... What? Come up to your place, with a lot

of people there? Nonsense!... Very well, when you get rid of them, I'll see you. Not before... Of course, our

business should be confidential. I want to know how you really made out on your trip

"I'll tell you what, Dryne. I'll go home and come down to see you later... Yes, after dinner, of course... What's

that?... More people coming in? You're getting too popular, Dryne... No, don't worry about it. If they won't

Since Purnell was finishing his call, The Shadow moved away. Instead of going directly to the rear stairway,

They had just arrived, and were very busy. Too buy to see the blackcloaked form that observed them from

the semidarkness of a doorway. Of course, The Shadow saw the painters perfectly. They were in the light and

Their faces interested him. He remembered those toughened countenances. The Shadow was still picturing

them as he reached the darkness of the stairs. Descending in the gloom, he indulged in a soft, but significant

They were faces that he had glimpsed twice: once in Central Park; again, in an obscure garage where Tim

Lanney had kept his truck while in New York. Faces that belonged to thugs; features that The Shadow had

The murder crew that Purnell disavowed was back, on duty outside his private office. Why they had been

AS Cranston, The Shadow had arranged for guests to be at Dryne's. As Cranston, he didn't have to keep those

guests there. They did it for themselves, smothering Dryne's hints whenever he tried to end the party. In fact,

the only guest who seemed at all sympathetically disposed toward Dryne was Cranston, himself. He could

afford to ride with Dryne. Two other men were insisting, in much louder tones, that the party ought to last all

When it came to throwing parties, Brenz was an expert, whether at home or elsewhere. He insisted upon

being the life of the party, and making his life a long one. Tonight, Brenz had a rival in Lambron.

Tired of commuting between Philadelphia and New York, Lambron had decided to stay in Manhattan

overnight. Having nowhere else to go, he was willing to stay in Dryne's penthouse until dawn.

Peter Dryne was a very earnest man. He tried to make everybody happy, but there were times when it went

With a dozen guest all over his penthouse, and more due to arrive, he didn't know what to do about it. So he

asked Cranston's advice. Very considerately, Dryne urged Cranston out to the entry by the elevators, so that

"I don't know what to do about it." Said Dryne in an unhappy tone. "There's only one place where I can go, if

I want quiet" he gestured along a hallway, from which the noise of merriment came crashing "and that's

"Why should you want quiet?" inquired Cranston. "You should be in the mood for a party, Dryne, now that

"It's on account of Purnell," said Dryne. "I told them he was coming here, and they said fine. They'd all like

to see Purnell, but he doesn't want to see them. He and I have business to discuss."

"You don't know Purnell. He likes results. He says that tomorrow is another day, and he would like to begin it

with complete facts covering my recent trip. You haven't been active enough in the business end of our

Dryne was actually complimenting Cranston. The Shadow had taken great pains to show disinterest in the

business of the association. On questions of raising funds, or policies of expenditures, Cranston always voted

He couldn't be active in the M.S.A., he said, not with his penchant for travel. Within a few months, he

intended to start on a long excursion up the Amazon, in search of forgotten jungle cities; hence, he wouldn't

All of which simply meant that Lamont Cranston had avoided the tag that had been placed on Kerring,

Fitzcroft and Dryne. Once the M.S.A. became a racket, Cranston would be where could not even object, let

True, there had been reason to get rid of him, as evidenced in Central Park, but that had been a matter of

Definitely, Cranston was just another member of the association, under no danger, unless someone chose to

annihilate the whole group. Such wholesale slaughter would never happen. One man, alone, was an obstacle

Odd that Dryne should be worrying about a gettogether with Purnell, when such a meeting was the

"I've told them that Purnell wants to confer privately with me," insisted Dryne. "The sooner I can see him, the

sooner I can return and tell them the results. Purnell might even join the party after the conference. But I must

"I'm afraid not. I thought you might help me talk the crowd into leaving, but I suppose it won't work,

Cranston. Well" Dryne shrugged wearily "I'll have to put up with it until Purnell telephones me. I'll tell

THEY were strolling back along the hall, past the study and into the living room. The party was spreading

itself into other rooms of Dryne's ample penthouse. Some of the overflow was moving out on a roof terrace,

which Dryne had arranged in the style of an Italian garden. Dryne could only speak hopelessly to Cranston:

"The more, the merrier, I suppose. I might as well let them overrun the place. I hope they don't get so

"Suppose I call my friend, the police commissioner," suggested Cranston, "and invite him over. He likes

parties, particularly if they fit in with his work. I think that Weston would welcome a chance to keep an eye

on Lambron and on Brenz. It is something of an opportunity, finding the two together."

Dryne liked Cranston's suggestion. He said that Cranston could call the commissioner from the telephone in

the study. Dryne had already begun to regard Lambron and Brenz as the main reasons why the rest were

staying. As usual, each was trying to be the life of the party, at the other's expense. However, this evening,

neither Lambron nor Brenz had an echo. The party was for association members only. So Lambron had left

his secretary, Mordan, downstairs; while Brenz's chauffeur, Richtle, was outside in the limousine.

After looking over Lambron and Brenz, The Shadow decided to see what their toadies were about. He

Pushing through the two dozen guests, he headed for the study, but didn't stop there. Strolling past, he

reached the elevators and pressed the button. In Cranston's manner, The Shadow looked idly about and

thoroughly surveyed the squareshaped hallway that formed an entry to Dryne's penthouse apartment.

There were two elevators, but only one was in operation at night. There was also a door to a fire tower,

tightly shut and latched, so it couldn't be opened from the outside. Turning about, Cranston looked at the

open doorway of Dryne's apartment. The study was at the left of the short hall, but the rest of the apartment

As Dryne had said, the study was secluded. But, even with the door shut, the loud noise of the party might

The elevator arrived. Reaching the ground floor, Cranston strolled around the foyer. There was a desk, with a

clerk behind it, and telephone booths in a corner beneath a stairway that led up to the second floor.

The elevators were around a corner from the desk, out of the clerk's view. They had indicators, marking the

floors. The arrow above the unused elevator pointed to "B," indicating that the extra car was in the basement

Calling the Cobalt Club from a phone booth, The Shadow invited Weston to the party. Judging from

Cranston's quiet tone, the commissioner must have supposed that the affair was a formal one, quite free from

horseplay. Hearing that both Lambron and Brenz were present, with Purnell coming later, Weston declared

Leaving the building, Cranston stepped into Moe's cab, which was parked up the street. He received a brief

report from his agent. It was The Shadow, not Cranston, who stepped from the cab. Fully cloaked, The

Shadow was indeed a living blackout as he moved through a space beside the apartment building, to reach the

A few cars were parked there; among them, Brenz's very elaborate limousine. It was the only car that had

occupants, and they were very easy to see, because the convertible top of the limousine was drawn down.

Two men, both in the back sent, holding a little conference of their own. Two who shouldn't have been so

One was Brenz's chauffeur, Richtle. The man that he had invited into the open car was Lambron's secretary,

Neither saw the slouch hat that lifted over the side of the car, followed by cloaked shoulders that blurred into

the surrounding darkness. The Shadow listened to their buzzed conversation, which came in snatches.

Richtle slid out from the deep cushions in order to reach the front seat. He turned on the headlights and

started the big car. It didn't travel very far; merely to a short service alley under the shelter of the apartment

Moving along the wall, The Shadow saw the limousine stopped just beneath the small balcony of a

secondfloor apartment, which was dark, and looked empty because its broad French windows lacked

It would have been easy for Mordan to stand up on the rear seat and reach that balcony. Instead, he decided to

go with Richtle, who was out from behind the wheel and starting toward a basement door at the end of the

Following, The Shadow watched the pair enter the basement; he noted the direction that their flashlight took.

With a lowtoned laugh, The Shadow retraced his own route, but he didn't stop at Moe's cab. Instead, he

slipped from his cloak and hat, folded the hat inside the cloak and draped the latter on his arm. It looked as

though Cranston carried a light overcoat, or an evening cape, when he reentered the apartment house.

Stopping at a telephone booth, The Shadow made another telephone call, this time to Inspector Joe Cardona.

Though his guise was Cranston's, The Shadow spoke in the strange, whispered tone that was identified with

Cardona had heard that voice before. He listened, punctuating The Shadow's weirdtoned orders with short

words of agreement. When The Shadow voiced instructions, Cardona was always willing to accept them,

Crossing the foyer, the cloak still inconspicuous on his arm, Cranston entered the only operating elevator and

rode up to the penthouse. Inside Dryne's apartment, he stepped into the study, opened a closet door and

The Shadow was still Cranston, quite unburdened with any extra garments, when he rejoined the party.

Soon, Commissioner Weston arrived, to be greeted by his friend Cranston. The friendship underwent an

Brenz was handing Weston a glass, bawling for the others to join the commissioner in a drink.

Lambron wouldn't join. He wanted another drink, but would take it later. He wouldn't waste a good drink on

any police commissioner. He liked directors of public safety. They had a good one in Philadelphia, better

The crowd was too hilarious to consider Lambron's words an insult to Weston. So the commissioner

swallowed his pride, along with his drink. The only serious interruption came when Dryne answered the ring

of a telephone bell that clamored from his study. He was gone a little while, and the guests quieted down

"I've just heard from Purnell," announced Dryne. "He won't think of coming here! Why, he could hear all the

shouting, even over the telephone! I'm going to gather all my papers" he glanced at his watch "and leave

"That will get me to Purnell's office by the time he arrives there; perhaps sooner. If only a few more of you

With that, Dryne stalked to the study. Weston stepped away from Brenz, who was offering him another drink;

The commissioner was looking for Cranston, the man held up by Dryne as a serious example for the others.

Commissioner Weston had gone the wrong direction. The man who had really found Cranston was Dryne.

But Dryne didn't know it. Closing the door of his lighted study, Dryne had stiffened, rooted in his tracks.

Near the desk stood a figure cloaked in black: too weird to be human, too real to be a ghost. Eyes from

beneath a slouch hat burned like living fires. Cloaked shoulders were fronted by a gloved hand that held a

leveled automatic. The voice that spoke was sinister, a whisper that would have suited a being from another

"Sit down, Dryne," spoke The Shadow. "We have matters to discuss, you and I. Your best plan is to listen."

STILL transfixed, Peter Dryne kept staring at the strange guest who had hitherto remained unseen, wondering

how The Shadow had invaded the penthouse. Only Dryne's features were mobile. They underwent a

Faced by The Shadow, men revealed their true selves unwittingly. Crooks and honest men alike, their

emotions flooded to the surface under The Shadow's probe. Dryne was honest; he was standing the test, but

Dryne couldn't believe that anyone confronted him thus would be friendly in intent. Nor could he realize that

Seized with a mad impulse to prove that The Shadow didn't exist, Dryne hurled himself upon the human

specter. He was sore that he couldn't receive bullets from a phantom gun muzzle.

No bullets came, though the gun was real enough. Instead, The Shadow grappled Dryne, hooked an arm

around his neck to stifle any shouts, and reeled the man to the chair behind the desk.

Dryne's attack wasn't all madness. He had plenty of strength in his thickset shoulders. However, The Shadow

soon had him clamped, and they were staring eye to eye, Dryne searching The Shadow's burning gaze with a

The Shadow mentioned Kerring and Fitzcroft in a tone that only impressed Dryne the wrong way. His glare

seemed to ask why hadn't The Shadow saved them first? Dryne's eyes tuned to challenge, as though he

believed The Shadow to be the actual murderer, intent on adding Dryne's own scalp to those of Kerring and

No, Dryne wouldn't take The Shadow's suggestion: namely, to stay here and let someone else go to Purnell's.

When The Shadow gave him a chance to speak, Dryne gurgled that the whole thing was a trap. There was

only one thing to do with Dryne that was to put him where he would have to stay; so The Shadow did.

Taking a half nelson on Dryne's shoulders, The Shadow flattened the sturdy man on the floor and began to

bind him with straps that The Shadow had wisely taken from Dryne's suitcase in the closet. Dryne saved his

breath, at first, in order to struggle. When his writhing didn't get him anywhere, he decided to shout.

Too late. By then, The Shadow had him properly trussed, and was able to gag him before his calls could be

The closet was large, so The Shadow not only put Dryne inside, but also locked the door and took the key. It

would be fatal to The Shadow's plans, should Dryne be found too soon. Time, incidentally, was looming as a

very important factor. The Shadow had spent several minutes dealing with Dryne, and couldn't waste any

more. Gliding from the study, The Shadow closed the door behind him, hiding its motion by his own form.

It was as if blackness had suddenly blotted the door; then dispelled itself. Noting a small table in the hall, The

Shadow removed his hat and cloak, bundled them in the darkness under the table, and rejoined the party in

THE first person he ran into was Weston, but before the commissioner could express indignation at being

Lambron and Brenz were having an argument. It was over the last round of drinks that had been brought up.

Each wanted to pay the check, which came to a little under nine dollars. Lambron was trying to force a

tendollar bill on the attendant who had brought the drinks, while Brenz was shoving a bank roll in between,

"The privilege is mine," insisted Lambron. "You can take care of something else, Brenz."

Others were gathering about, laughing. Cranston stepped aside, and Weston became interested. Lambron and

Brenz had changed tactics; they were behaving in Alphonse and Gaston style, bowing to each other and

"If I leave this to you, Brenz," said Lambron, "you must leave something else to me."

"Suppose I leave this to you, then," returned Brenz, "and thus end the argument."

Lambron bowed, but when he proffered the tendollar bill toward the man who waited for it, Brenz thrust his

wad of money into it, much to the amusement of the onlookers. It was Cranston, however, who provided the

"Suppose we split it three ways," he suggested. "Give the man your ten dollars, Lambron. Let him keep the

Lambron handed the tendollar bill to the attendant and sent him on his way. Cranston counted three

onedollar bills on the table, inviting Brenz to do the same. Brenz counted three from his roll; placing them

He placed another on the heap and handed the lot to Lambron, who started to wad the money and put it in his

pocket. An odd look came on Lambron's face; his fingers had felt something in the heap. The Shadow could

see him drawing something from his pocket; whatever it was, Lambron hid it by bringing out two onedollar

"You each gave me an extra," reminded Lambron. "Take them back. I've already paid the odd dollar."

Lambron was turning away. From the corner of his eye, The Shadow saw what he had in his hand. It was a

visiting card, with something written on it; the card had come to him among the dollar bills. But Brenz wasn't

giving Cranston much opportunity to watch Lambron. Brenz was waving the dollar that Lambron had handed

"I guess we're each in a dollar," he said to Brenz. Casually, Cranston brought out a dollar bill. "Do you like to

Brenz stiffened, for a moment, at the possible reference to the hidden enterprise that accounted for his wealth.

He plucked Brenz's dollar, adding, it to his own, and turned the two over as he laid them on the table, one

diagonally across the other. Cranston reached in his pocket for a coin, and Brenz did the same. They flipped

AT that moment, Brenz's eyes went toward the dollar bills. The green side of the lower bill was upward, and

on it Brenz saw words, inscribed in ink. He remembered that he hadn't looked at the green side of his bill

Brenz took a look at his coin, but didn't show it. He simply flipped it into his hand, and then to his pocket,

meanwhile reaching his other hand to gather in the dollar bills, which he quickly crumpled.

With a nod, The Shadow turned to chat with Weston. He didn't have to watch Brenz move away and open the

bill that bore the message. He knew that Brenz had lied, when saying his coin lay tails.

Brenz knew that Cranston wouldn't call his bluff over a mere dollar. Brenz had simply wanted to keep the

dollar that Cranston had given him. He'd regretted that he hadn't looked at it before Cranston suggested the

Lambron and Brenz had drifted far apart, each drawing some of the guests with him. With the whole

penthouse as a strolling ground, it gave them a wide range. Cranston suggested that Weston come with him to

the roof terrace, so Weston started. When he arrived there Cranston was no longer with him.

The Shadow had decided to change direction. Still Cranston, he was strolling toward Dryne's study. He ran

"I'm looking for him, Lambron," returned The Shadow. "Where is your friend Brenz?"

"My friend," he repeated sarcastically. Then, even more emphatically: "My very good friend Mr. Brenz!"

Cranston was turning at Lambron's gesture. The sallow man indicated another doorway, through which Brenz

Then, seeing Lambron with Cranston, Brenz changed tone. He became sarcastic, too. "Don't match money

Before Lambron could retort, they heard the ringing of a telephone bell. It was in the study, and its

They went into the study, which was still lighted, though Dryne wasn't in sight. Cranston was picking up the

telephone, when Weston appeared at the door. The others told the commissioner that Dryne had gone. In fact,

"Mr. Dryne has gone... This is Mr. Cranston speaking... Certainly, come up if you wish... Oh, very well "

Hanging up, Cranston approached the door, remarking that it was some friend of Dryne's, who wasn't coming

up. As they walked through the penthouse, Cranston suddenly found that he was out of cigarettes. He decided

to return to the empty study and call the desk, to have some cigarettes sent up.

BUT Cranston didn't return to the study. From beneath the table in the hall, he produced a hat and cloak and

put them on. He was The Shadow again, as he waited just within the door that opened to the elevators.

The Shadow was looking at two other doors. One was the door of the unused elevator. It was slightly ajar. So

was the door that opened to the fire tower. Someone had opened it and wedged it slightly, so that it wouldn't

Soon, the regular elevator arrived, and Cardona stepped off. He was the person whose call Cranston

answered. But Joe had said he would come up; not that he wouldn't. Cranston had simply stated the case in

The elevator door went shut, the car was going down, when Cardona stepped into Dryne's hallway. There,

"Quiet, inspector," it said. "Sorry that I have to use persuasion, but we have no time to waste. I know that you

Cardona nodded. He understood the gun. It had stopped him like a trip hammer, better than anything else

could have. The Shadow lowered the automatic and turned Joe about. They moved out to the elevators.

Joe was back to the unused elevator, when The Shadow reached into the slight crack at the edge and slid the

door wide. He drew Cardona backward, into what Joe almost feared would be the elevator shaft. Instead, it

Pressed by The Shadow, the inspector stumbled into something like a closet, just large enough to receive him.

Before he could guess what it was all about, The Shadow was closing the door. Cardona heard the final

"Stay right where you are. You won't have to worry about what's going to happen, inspector. You'll find out

Then The Shadow had closed a metal door, twisting a knob that locked it. Cooped up in darkness, with cold

metal all about him, Cardona began to wonder why he'd agreed to cooperate. Having gone this far, however,

Stepping from the darkened elevator, The Shadow closed the door as he had found it. He pressed the elevator

button, giving it a series of shorts and longs that brought sharp buzzes from the darkened car. They sounded

Of course, the regular elevator arrived, summoned by the button. By then, The Shadow had become Lamont

Cranston. As he entered the lighted elevator, he looked back and saw a tremble of the firetower door. On the

Someone had answered the buzzes, sneaking in from the fire tower to enter the spare elevator where The

Shadow had left Cardona. Reaching the ground floor, Cranston looked back as he strolled across the foyer.

He saw the dial of the extra car, its arrow moving downward, until it stopped at the second floor.

Instead of leaving immediately, Cranston laid his cloak and hat across a chair arm and approached the desk.

The clerk wasn't sure: in fact, he didn't remember seeing, Mr. Dryne. So he called to the elevator operator,

who couldn't remember, either. He was a new man and wasn't positive what Dryne looked like.

"Sorry, Mr. Cranston," expressed the clerk. "But I've been busy answering calls, sending up orders, and what

A buzz was coming from the switchboard. Answering it was one of the clerks duties. He picked up the

"Whoever is on the phone," said the clerk, "is speaking for Mr. Dryne. He says that Mr. Dryne wants the

Commissioner to join him right away. He'd like his friends to come along, too, but he doesn't say where."

"Call the penthouse," was Cranston's suggestion. "Give them the message. They know where Dryne went."

With that advice, Cranston left, picking up the garments he had laid on the chair. Outside, he nodded to

Weston's chauffeur, who was in the commissioner's official car, which, as usual, was parked in a choice space

By the time the cab was rounding the corner, Cranston was putting on the cloak and hat that transformed him

into The Shadow. He was going to need his black regalia, for his part as Cranston was finished. Moe caught a

The Shadow didn't have to name the destination. Moe already knew where this trip was to lead. Straight to

the end of an alibi trail, where The Shadow, in person, would solve the riddle of double murder by revealing

IT was, indeed, a double trail that The Shadow had arranged. The cloaked avenger was following one route,

and Joe Cardona another. Never before, however, had the ace inspector taken a trail like this one. Joe had

First, Cardona couldn't figure what kind of a contraption contained him. It wasn't a coffin, nor was it a closet,

though it might have been a cross between them. At least, it wasn't airtight, so Joe didn't find it troublesome

It was after the trip that hands had taken Joe's container, tilted it, turned it upside down, and let it over what

seemed the edge of a precipice. Fortunately, they hadn't dropped it, though it did take a slight jolt. By then,

The handlers had laid it flat after lowering it, so Cardona rode quite comfortably for a while. He decided that

they were taking him somewhere in a truck. When the ride ended, he expected some more peculiar handling,

and got it. The metal box was slid down to the sidewalk, but this time, Joe congratulated himself because he

Next, it was on an elevator, going upward. Finally the contrivance was being rolled, smoothly, easily, to its

Though uncomfortably stiff, Cardona was able to poke his hand into his pocket and make ready with a stubby

gun. He was none too soon, for voices were telling him what was to happen next. Two voices.

"We'll have to move him, then," spoke the other. "We can't leave him right in front of the cabinet."

The metal door came open and Cardona started the flop that the men expected. It wasn't strategy: it was

something he just couldn't help. His cramped legs buckled and he went forward, because his weight was

Right then, Cardona was proving he wasn't dead. Catching himself, he swung upon the two men in the

dimness of a room that seemed to be an office. One against two, but Cardona had a ready gun, that glimmered

in the filtering light from a window. More than that, he was a dead man come to life!

One man, rather thin but rangy, went backward with a plaintive bleat, his hands shaking as he lifted them.

Sight of a dead man back in circulation was enough to break the fellow's nerve. The other, of blocky build,

found himself immediately and made a lunge for Cardona, who wheeled to cover him with the gun. Joe's

Both men were swinging for Cardona, intent upon making him a substitute for the corpse they hadn't brought,

when a strange laugh froze them. It came from the doorway through which they had entered. Whispered

mirth, that carried identity with challenge. Only one being on earth could provide that sibilant mockery.

KNOWING that the laugh meant death to crime, the two men didn't wait for the blasts of an automatic to

succeed the mirth. They came about, the blocky man quaking like his thinner pal, to face the muzzles that

they knew awaited them. Each looked into a yawning .45 that was meant especially for him. Side by side, the

crooks kept jostling each other's arm, because of the shivers that they couldn't restrain.

Then, the shakes were accompanied by a clanky obligatio. Cardona had clamped a pair of handcuffs on the

crooks, a bracelet for each man's wrist. He frisked them, but found they had no guns, so he pushed their hands

With a nod of thanks to The Shadow, or rather, to the mass of blackness that represented Joe's timely rescuer,

"In a hurry to lam, were you?" he queried. "Let's have a look and see who you are."

Cardona's look rather surprised him, though The Shadow's lowtoned laugh was one of expected recognition.

Crime had indeed produced an odd alliance. The prisoners were Mordan and Richtle. Joe's finding of

Lambron's secretary in collusion with Brenz's chauffeur smacked of something that closely resembled a

Looking around the office, Cardona could see its fixings, because his eyes were now accustomed to the light.

He even saw The Shadow, standing near the blocky cabinet in which Joe had been brought to the place.

The Shadow, didn't have to answer. Cardona had reached the desk, on which lay a large, flat, check book.

Opening it, Joe read the printed name that ran across the end of each check: HUBERT PURNELL.

It backed Cardona's hunch that Purnell was crime's brain. Great stuff, The Shadow letting Joe take a free trip

to crime's headquarters. Otherwise, Cardona never would have uncovered the missing links: Mordan and

Cardona wanted to see something else. Observing that The Shadow had approached the cowering prisoners

and was keeping them quite helpless, Joe took a look at the metal box that had brought him.

It was a very interesting contrivance. Outwardly, the thing matched the new filing cabinets that stocked

The drawers of the cabinet were nothing but dummy fronts, made into a single piece, which formed a hinged

Having opened the door, to let its contents sprawl, Mordan and Richtle had planned to clamp it shut again

"I'm beginning to get it," declared Cardona. "Some other guy was supposed to be in this thing. A dead guy,

and I know who he is: Peter Dryne!" Pausing a moment, Cardona turned to The Shadow and inquired

"Quite alive," assured The Shadow. "A trifle uncomfortable, but safe. He's in the closet of his study,

inspector, doing his bit toward crime solution. He isn't as uncomfortable as you were during your recent trip."

Cardona turned to the desk, to reach for Purnell's telephone. The Shadow halted him with one word:

FOOTSTEPS were sounding outside the door. They came from the rear elevator, which served as a route to

When The Shadow gestured Cardona over near the door, Joe felt quite sure that the arrival must be Purnell. It

was ten minutes since The Shadow had certified Cardona's capture of Mordan and Richtle. About time for

All was silent, for The Shadow was close beside the prisoners when the door came open. A hand found the

light switch and pressed it. Cardona recognized Purnell, saw him turn toward the desk, only to halt at sight of

Mordan and Richtle cowering by the window, so huddled that their mutual handcuffs didn't show.

Purnell didn't see The Shadow; the cloaked visitor had faded behind a filing cabinet when the lights came on.

"I'll tell you, Purnell." The offer, in Cardona's gruff tone, caused Purnell to swing about, new surprise

wrinkling his withery face. "They didn't have a chance to lam before you got here."

"I mean they couldn't beat it. Run away. Or flee, as you would probably describe it. You didn't expect to see

Purnell's eyes had turned toward the special filing cabinet that stood with its trick door wide. Cardona had an

"You expected Dryne, all right," declared the inspector. "You expected to see him dead, right here on this

floor! A neat stunt, Purnell, hiring Mordan and Richtle to bring the body here. Clever, your buying out a

"I'll make it plain for you, Purnell," said Cardona. "You murdered Kerring and Fitzcroft without bothering

about cooking up a shaky alibi in either case. You wanted to get rid of Dryne, too, so you figured it was time

you covered things. So you killed Dryne in one place, and arranged to have him taken somewhere else."

Purnell's eyes lost their steely glint and actually registered horror, as he queried:

The question stumped Cardona. His whole theory was suddenly deflated. Here he was, accusing Purnell of a

murder that hadn't been done, for The Shallow had declared that Dryne was still alive. Assuming Purnell to

be the killer, the situation no longer made sense. In fact, it was slipping worse and worse, the more that

Why, of all places, should Purnell have wanted Dryne's body in this office, where it would incriminate him

A strange whisper crept to Cardona's ears; at least, he fancied that he heard one: a suggestion from The

Shadow, waiting in the darkness, that Cardona try another tack. Joe turned to Mordan and Richtle.

"One thing is sure," Cardona gruffed: "You two thought you were bringing, Dryne here, instead of me.

Somebody was supposed to step up to Dryne when he was leaving the penthouse, poke him with a gun, and

shove him into the wrong elevator. Right into that thing" Cardona nudged at the trick filing cabinet "and

"It was your job to pick up and deliver when you heard the elevator buzz. You'd know that sound all right,

better than a muffled gunshot that you mightn't hear at all. You two were thinking you were bringing a body,

NEITHER Mordan nor Richtle offered to supply the answer. Both were looking dumb, as they could properly

Cardona was confident, though, that he had the general facts. Someone, certainly not Purnell, had planned to

Again, Joe had a vague impression of The Shadow's whispered laugh; this time, approving in its tone. On the

right track, Cardona used his head anew. He took another look at the filing cabinet. Then:

"I get it!" he exclaimed. "The thing is a plant! Purnell was to walk in here and find Dryne's body! Before he'd

know what to do about it, people would show up, and there Purnell would be, with the goods right on him!

Pinning Dryne's death on him would mean he'd take the rap for Kerring and Fitzcroft, too."

Swinging toward Purnell, Cardona saw a grateful expression on the financier's withery face. Urged by The

Shadow, Cardona had turned his hunch inside out and now was getting somewhere, on the theory that Purnell

"Look at that thing, Mr. Purnell!" exclaimed Cardona, pointing to the fake filing cabinet. "Do you know what

they were going to do with it? They were going to leave it right here. I'll tell you why, too. Because when we

found it, we'd think that you had it here, to ship Dryne's body away. Get it? The very thing they used to bring

Lowvoiced approval was whispering from The Shadow's corner, only to be drowned by other sounds: the

pounding of hurried footsteps coming to the office door. It was the sequel that The Shadow knew was due,

Men were arriving, as Cardona had finally guessed they would. All part of the plant to find Purnell with

Blackness was stirring from the corner. Cardona didn't see it, because he had turned toward the door. The

Shadow, master of darkness, was stepping into light. It would take the hand of The Shadow to write the last

THEY came across the threshold Commissioner Weston, flanked by Ralph Lambron and Andrew Brenz.

Behind them were others, pushing forward, who practically shoved the firstcomers into the room. Everyone

The fact that someone had phoned the hotel clerk, and told him to summon Dryne's friends to Purnell's office,

was proof, it seemed, that Dryne expected trouble. However, Dryne's absence was suddenly forgotten, when

Purnell's presence was natural; but seeing Cardona was something of a surprise. Sight of Mordan and Richtle

In full view, he stood beyond Purnell's desk, his arms folded, while his hidden lips phrased a mirthful

greeting. A strange tone, with a sinister touch, that men of evil could regard as mocking challenge. To

everyone who crossed the threshold, the burn of The Shadow's boring eyes meant challenge.

Men stood silent, awed, as though they faced the head of a strange tribunal, a being who was to serve as

They saw The Shadow nod. Cardona understood. Briefly, Joe told his story, and traced the facts it

"This proves Purnell is innocent. Nobody would have tried to plant this on him, otherwise. I only wish I could

It was The Shadow who spoke. His words gripped the listeners. They waited, breathless to a man.

"You have proven a very obvious fact," revealed The Shadow. "Namely, that a scene of murder can be faked.

Death may be delivered in one place, and found in another, even when such places are different cities!"

Two men shifted suddenly, but their moves carried them mere inches. The Shadow's folded arms had

whipped apart, thrusting two gloved hands forward, each with a leveled automatic. Like pointers, the

weapons picked out the shifters and held them frozen. One gun covered Ralph Lambron; the other weapon

"You two are friends," declared The Shadow, "though it was your game to pretend otherwise. The proof of

your friendship is there." His eyes glanced momentarily toward Mordan and Richtle. "Those two are very

Something incredible was striking home to both Weston and Cardona. The Shadow was placing the murders

of Kerring and Fitzcroft upon Lambron and Brenz, the two men whose alibis were absolute!

"I SHALL reconstruct the Kerring murder first," declared The Shadow. "On a certain afternoon, you, Andrew

Brenz" his eyes were fixed upon the man he named "stopped at the home of Donald Kerring, in

Philadelphia, and invited him to ride to New York in your car, to attend a meeting there.

"At six o'clock, your chauffeur, Richtle, drove the limousine into an obscure garage midway between your

hotel and the Metrolite, where the meeting was to be. Before Kerring could guess why you had stopped there,

"Aided by Richtle, you wrapped Kerring's body in a scatter rug that you had brought from your hotel suite.

You placed the body in an empty box on a truck that was in the garage, ready to leave for Philadelphia. Then

you hurried to the meeting, Brenz, taking Richtle with you, so that he would have an alibi, too."

Brenz's deepset glare, the thrust that he gave his heavy jaw weren't enough to refute The Shadow's

statement. The whole thing was plausible, as The Shadow described it. Brenz could have murdered Kerring in

"The truck was driven by a man who did not suspect its cargo," continued The Shadow. "His name was Tim

Lanney, and he kept the truck in an old stable not far from Kerring's Philadelphia residence. At half past ten,

Lambron" The Shadow concentrated on the sallow man "you and your secretary, Mordan, stopped in the

"You carried it, rug and all, to Kerring's house. Using his own keys to enter, you framed the death scene in

Kerring's library, then left by the window. You backed your sedan from the driveway and waited in front of

Kerring's until the neighborhood watchman came along. You talked him into finding Kerring's body."

How perfectly it fitted! Lambron's alibi was one of time, not place. He and Mordan had been with the

Philadelphia director of public safety for hours, before and after six o'clock, which Lambron knew would be

established as the time of Kerring's death. But that didn't prevent Lambron from faking the Philadelphia

murder scene between ten thirty and eleven; the deed which was to give his secret teammate, Brenz, an

Having found the weak spots of the Kerring case, The Shadow came to the Fitzcroft murder. His accusing

"It was turnabout, this time," declared The Shadow. "You murdered Noyes Fitzcroft. Not in New York,

Lambron, but in Philadelphia. He came over there to see you, probably at your invitation, on the nineo'clock

"That evening, you insisted upon taking Lamont Cranston to the North Philadelphia station." The Shadow

was quite impersonal in mentioning Cranston's name. "Cranston's train left just before Fitzcroft's arrived.

Unfortunately, Cranston had not yet gained an inkling of your contemplated murder.

"You met Fitzcroft and took him to your office. You shot him through the heart while he was seated in a

chair. You cut the slip cover off the chair, and had a piece of furniture that duplicated the chairs that you had

"Aided by Mordan, who had been with you right along, you crated Fitzcroft's body, chair and all, in a solid

box. The next morning, Tim Lanney stopped at your awning factory, on call, and picked up the box, which he

Lambron's attempt at a derisive grin was more like a sickly leer. In his case, The Shadow had also stayed

within the bounds of established fact. Lambron's alibi was one of place, not time. He could certainly have

"The box was delivered at Fitzcroft's apartment house, in New York." The Shadow's gaze turned to Brenz.

"You were there, Brenz, to receive it, before noon. You and Richtle carried it upstairs and left the chair, with

"An easy task, since Fitzcroft's janitor was never about. You took the box that you had broken apart and left it

"You and Richtle didn't have a worry, Brenz. You had both been at a night club called the Spotlight all during

the preceding evening, long before and after ten thirty, the time at which Fitzcroft's death was accurately

LAMBRON and Brenz looked at each other, momentarily forgetting that they were supposed to be enemies.

Then, rather than give themselves away, they glared separately at The Shadow. He had more to tell them.

"Tonight, you both planned to murder Dryne," declared The Shadow. "A simple thing, to slay him as he left

the penthouse, and have Mordan and Richtle bring him here, to pin three crimes on Purnell, the man who

lacked an alibi in every case. One of you had to murder Dryne, and you were trying to decide which, when

"You were veiling things by arguing about paying for the drinks. Cranston's offer, to split the check three

ways, delayed you. As you were putting money in your pocket, Lambron, you found a card from Brenz on

"In your turn, Brenz, you received a message on a dollar bill. It said that Lambron would settle Dryne's fate.

You each left murder to the other, and Dryne escaped death entirely. It only remained for Inspector Cardona

to make his trip in the delivery box intended for Dryne's body, and your whole game was broken wide."

Lambron and Brenz were exchanging glares that ended in dumfounded headshakes. They hadn't written those

messages, either of them! It was Cranston who had slipped a written card among the dollar bills that went to

Lambron! Cranston, too, who had put a message on the dollar bill, which he added to the one held by Brenz!

He'd seen to it that only he would handle Dryne, and thereby save him from scheduled death. For Cranston

Neither Lambron nor Brenz voiced that discovery, for fear it would entangle them more. Instead, they broke

into a sputter of denials regarding the murders of Kerring and Fitzcroft. Both killers were arguing that there

For answer, The Shadow opened the door and Tim stepped into the office. A wire from Cranston had brought

Tim to New York. Moe had gone to bring Tim, after delivering The Shadow at Purnell's office.

With him, Tim had his little book. From it, he showed Weston the time when he had picked up Lambron's

socalled awning shipment in Philadelphia; also, when he had left it at Fitzcroft's New York apartment.

The Shadow reminded Tim about the varnish crates. Tim showed the book to Purnell. The Shadow had given

"This was to help frame you, I guess," said Tim to Purnell. "These fellows" Tim motioned toward Lambron

and Brenz "must have sent the cash for some varnish I picked up at your plant. My truck got wrecked in

Jersey, and if I'd been in it, I'd never have come out alive. Not after the way that varnish blazed."

Lambron and Brenz were silent but contemptuous. Tim's testimony was just another parcel of circumstantial

evidence. Neither Lambron nor Brenz intended to talk, and they were sure their tools, Mordan and Richtle,

were equally determined to say nothing. They thought that no one could crack their hidden partnership; not

Almost through the door, he paused to look back at the defiant pair. He spoke a few words to Brenz.

"You took the lion's share, Brenz," declared The Shadow, "when you hired the crew to plant the time bomb

"Your name is appropriate, Lambron," The Shadow added, "because you were the lamb. How fully you

trusted your partner, Brenz! Remember how you counted upon Cranston to prove that you were in

"Brenz found that out, Lambron. Having a crew all hired to dispose of Tim Lanney, later, he used those men

ahead of schedule. He phoned them to go after Cranston, that night in Central Park. He wanted to kill your

"You were working fiftyfifty. One of you was to take over the manufacturers' association, and split with the

other. It would have been so easy, with Kerring, Fitzcroft and Dryne dead; with Purnell standing trial for

"But it wouldn't have stayed fiftyfifty, Lambron, if Brenz had disposed of Cranston. It took you a long while

to crate Fitzcroft's body, and then get down to see Director Thurling. Only Cranston's statement could prove

that you hadn't hopped over to New York and back to Philadelphia, Lambron, with time out to murder

THE SHADOW'S words were interrupted. Lambron was flinging himself upon Brenz. So was Mordan,

because he, too, would have been a victim of Brenz's double cross. Richtle had to come along with Mordan,

because the two were handcuffed together. And Richtle, realizing that no one could afford to trust a

They couldn't stop Brenz from pulling his revolver, a weapon which he had carried in case he had lost the

toss and been delegated to murder Dryne. Brenz used his gun swiftly, with Lambron as the target.

Staggered by a bullet in the chest, Lambron sagged, but didn't lose his grip on the gun that he, too, had pulled.

Clutched by Mordan and Richtle, Brenz couldn't dodge when Lambron fired. Despite his mortal wound,

Lambron didn't miss. His shot found Brenz's heart. Hitting the floor, the bigjawed murderer was dead when

his sallow partner gave a last convulsive cough and slumped across the body of his companion in guilt.

A door slashed open, bringing armed men from the outer offices. They were met by a cross fire from The

Shadow's ready automatics; shots accompanied by a challenging laugh that they recognized too late.

These were the men that Purnell thought were painters. Actually, they were the crew that Brenz had twice

used, when trying to dispose of Cranston and Lanney. Brenz had planted them here, hoping they'd be

The Shadow's big guns stopped that startled tribe. Weston and Cardona piled out to seize them. Two men

popped in from a hallway, to aid the capture. They were the private detectives hired by Purnell for a truly

legitimate reason. He'd wanted them to help in solving the murders of his good friends, Kerring and Fitzcroft.

With Lambron and Brenz dead, their accomplices crippled and captured, crime's reign was through. All that

remained was to answer Purnell's telephone, for its bell was clanging as though the rattle of guns had started

Purnell smiled when he recognized Dryne's voice across the wire. Dryne had wriggled out of his bonds and

Dryne wanted the arrest of the blackcloaked intruder who had imprisoned him; but his demand ended quite

abruptly when Purnell explained how the blackclad visitor had saved Dryne from death. In mentioning The

Shadow, Purnell looked toward the doorway, where he thought the cloaked fighter stood. So did the others,

From darkness below, they heard the parting mirth of a triumphant laugh. Weirdly, it faded, but its

significance remained. Listeners knew that only The Shadow could have solved the riddle of the alibi trail!