ATOMS OF DEATH..........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. WORD TO THE SHADOW.............................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. CRIME'S VANGUARD..................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE BLIND TRAIL .......................................................................................................9

CHAPTER IV. THE INTERVIEW.......................................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE MIDNIGHT STROKE ..........................................................................................17

CHAPTER VI. SHADOW'S STRATEGY ............................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. THE DECISION.........................................................................................................25

CHAPTER VIII. THE SHADOW'S THRUST ......................................................................................28

CHAPTER IX. DOUBLE FACES DOUBLE.......................................................................................33

CHAPTER X. BRUCE DUNCAN'S STORY .......................................................................................37

CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW'S VIGIL .............................................................................................42

CHAPTER XII. CLIFF'S PROPOSITION ............................................................................................49

CHAPTER XIII. CRIME COMES THROUGH...................................................................................52

CHAPTER XIV. THE FALSE THRUST ..............................................................................................56

CHAPTER XV. LUKE MAKES A DEAL...........................................................................................62

CHAPTER XVI. CRIME STRIKES AGAIN.......................................................................................67

CHAPTER XVII. THE TRAP SPRINGS.............................................................................................72

CHAPTER XVIII. AGENTS CHOOSE ................................................................................................78

CHAPTER XIX. THE WAY IS PAVED ..............................................................................................82

CHAPTER XX. THE NEW PREY.......................................................................................................86

CHAPTER XXI. HANDS FROM THE DARK ....................................................................................90

CHAPTER XXII. WITHIN THE HOUSE............................................................................................93

CHAPTER XXIII. JARK TRIUMPHS.................................................................................................99

MANHATTAN formed a changing scene to the man who watched from his window. Dusk was settling over

the metropolis; twinkling lights had appeared upon streets and in buildings. Myriad points of illumination

To most observers, this would have been an assuring spectacle. To the man at the window, it was the

opposite. He saw those lights as pitiful spots that could only temper darkness; not overpower it. His eyes, as

they looked toward the street below, spied deep, shaded patches, where grim blackness already reigned.

Lurking spots. Places where enemies might be waiting. The faroff glitter of Times Square, already glowing

against the sky, was one district that might offer safety by its glare. But Times Square was distant from this

young man's lookout. Intervening spaces would have to be traversed should he begin a dash for those faroff

The street was five stories below. Its darkness became more ominous the more the young man watched it.

Fading sunlight showed the man's face pale at the window. A keen face; a firm face youthful, yet haggard.

Turning from the window, the watcher looked about the room wherein he stood. Although he had been

watching lights, the young man had avoided using them in the room itself. The furniture that loomed in the

Hunted, avoiding enemies, the young man had chosen this haven. Here, while he awaited some development,

he was seeking to give the impression that he was not in his room. His worriment, however, was indication

Stepping in from the window, the young man trod softly toward the door. There he listened, tensely, trying to

catch any signs of movement in the hall. His ears, straining in the darkness, caught a slight, muffled sound

A foe? Or merely some chance passer? The listener did not know. But his breath came in a muffled hiss as he

moved back toward the center of the room. The suspense had brought his nerves to a point where any noise

meant danger. The solitude of the hotel room had quickened his imagination to an unreal pitch held him on

A telephone bell jingled from a table in the corner of the room. With a stifled gasp, the young man pounced

upon the receiver. He raised the receiver from the hook; waited as the bell buzzed on; then spoke in a low

A voice across the wire. The young man sank to a chair beside the table. A sigh of relief came from his lips.

He had recognized the tones of the speaker. He had at last made the contact that he sought.

"Hello..." Finding his voice, the young man spoke steadily. "Yes, this is Bruce Duncan... Yes, Harry, I called

you five times... I see. You just returned to your hotel. Well, I'm mighty glad you got my message...

"I didn't want to call you again. Because of danger... Yes, great danger... Don't ask for the details yet. I'll tell

you all about it when I see you. But there's someone you must notify at once. The Shadow "

Bruce Duncan broke off suddenly as he heard a warning word across the wire. He understood. Mention of

The Shadow was unwise. Warily, Bruce looked around toward the closed door of his room. He chewed his

lips as he realized the mistake that he had made. He had forgotten that there might be listeners in the hall.

A careful voice was coming over the wire. The friend at the other end was making statements of assurance.

"Yes..." His voice was one of agreement. "It's best that I should get away from here... Before it is too dark... I

understand. Yes, I can be there in just half an hour... Good... Leave that to me, Harry."

Hanging up, Bruce breathed with confidence. He looked toward the window and smiled, despite the fact that

the sky had fully darkened. For he had found the solution to his problems. No long, hopeless trip to safety,

Half an hour. The time was more than ample. But time, from now on, would be working in his favor, so

Bruce thought. Listening at the door, the young man could detect no new sounds; but he still held a suspicion

There was safety in this room; there would be safety for a short while when he reached the outside air. But

both would become too precarious if he waited too long. Ten minutes here; then it would be time for prompt

HOLDING his watch as he stood by the window, Bruce Duncan surveyed his present position. Last night, he

had escaped from a most threatening situation. He had come to this hotel believing that his trail would be

All had been well until noon today. Then Bruce had realized that he had underestimated the power of the foe

that he had eluded. Lunching in the hotel restaurant, he had noted that he was under observation. Men who

Coming back to his room, Bruce had summed the present. He realized that this hotel the Palladium had

been an unwise choice. Bruce had picked it believing that its obscurity would serve him. He had discovered,

too late, that this isolated, rundown hostelry would be the very place where searchers would try to find him.

Men of evil had sought Bruce Duncan's life. The Shadow had thwarted them in the past. A strange, weird

personage who fought for right, The Shadow was one who could never be forgotten. The closeness of new

Bruce had known of but one way to reach The Shadow. Back in that dim past, Bruce had made the friendship

of a man who he knew must be in The Shadow's service. That man was Harry Vincent; when Bruce had last

By reaching Harry; Bruce knew that he could reach The Shadow. He had made a call to the Metrolite and had

learned that Harry was stopping there. But when Bruce had made his first call, he had been informed that his

friend was out. Bruce had followed with four more calls throughout the afternoon. He had finished with

Harry's call had come at last. Aside from Bruce's error in mentioning The Shadow, the conversation had

produced complete results. Harry had pictured Bruce's present dilemma and had offered the best way out. It

was not wise for Bruce to remain much longer at the Palladium Hotel; nor was a long trip advisable. The best

Wisely, Harry had suggested a corner on Third Avenue. That thoroughfare lay east of the Palladium Hotel.

By heading eastward, Bruce would spring a surprise on followers who would be expecting him to take a

westward course. Moreover, the chosen meeting place was but ten minutes distant. Allowing more time,

The total space of thirty minutes would be ample for Harry Vincent. Bruce had a hunch that it would enable

other friends to be with Harry. Moreover, it meant that Harry might have time to communicate with The

Darkness was The Shadow's habitat. Night increased his formidable powers. Until now, Bruce had dreaded

the fading of day. But with word gone to The Shadow, the darkening of night promised greater security.

TEN minutes had almost ended. Bruce stepped away from the window. A new thought inspired him. His was

a double task. Not only was his own security at stake; that of many others lay in the balance.

Crime was in the making. Hazy, indefinable crime that Bruce could not analyze. Its existence; its imminence

these, however, were indisputable. It was Bruce's duty to make that threat known; and he could think of no

one better fitted to cope with it than The Shadow. In fact, as Bruce considered it, only The Shadow would

Seating himself at the writing desk, Bruce took pen and paper. The darkness of the room made it difficult to

write. Time had become short; and not until this moment had Bruce dared give thought to placing facts upon

paper. Realizing the double difficulty, the hunted man chose a course that promised brevity.

Instead of using words, he drew a diagram. The slight glow from the window enabled him to trace lines in

rough, exaggerated fashion. His chart completed, Bruce scrawled explanatory words at the bottom of the

sheet. Instead of using blotter, he carried the paper to the open window and blew upon the page to make it

Ten minutes had passed. Bruce folded the paper and thrust it in his pocket. He glanced hurriedly at his watch;

then moved toward the door. Softly he unlocked it. With fists clenched, body half set for a spring, Bruce

No one was there. Bruce looked about, half puzzled. Though he had not anticipated a horde of enemies, he

had at least expected a few pretended loiterers who might be ready to make trouble. Bruce began to wonder if

When an elevator came in response to Bruce's ring, there was no one in it but the operator. When Bruce

reached the lobby, he noticed that it was almost deserted. The few guests that he did see looked more

Heading for the street, Bruce felt increasing confidence. The thoroughfare looked brighter and more peopled

than it had from above. Among the wayfarers, Bruce spied none who aroused his suspicions. Smiling to

TWO plans had occurred to Bruce Duncan. One was to take a cab and keep changing directions as he drove

along if necessary, changing to another taxi. The other was to travel by foot, holding to lighted districts

The second plan seemed preferable, under present circumstances. As with the first, Bruce intended to follow

a circuitous route. As he walked along, however, his sense of security so increased that he saw no reason for a

Harry Vincent had named a definite corner of Third Avenue. Reaching the street that led to it, Bruce decided

Turning from the lighted street, Bruce threw a hasty glance over his shoulder. He saw none but passers; he

smiled with satisfaction as he increased his walk to a brisk pace. Fears, Bruce thought, had been groundless.

But had Bruce troubled himself to take a longer look at the turning point, he would certainly have reverted to

original plans. From across the street which the young man had left, a stoopshouldered figure came

shambling out of a doorway. Ugly eyes, peering from a grimy face, were quick as they spotted the street that

This spy gave a signal with his arms. Back along the street, others emerged from hidingplaces. More signals

were passed. Down a side street, a rakish touring car moved from the curb. Men on foot shuffled hurriedly

The hunted man had not been wrong in his original fears. Enemies had been watching the Palladium Hotel

since noon. Spies had been posted in the fifthfloor hallway, listening. Full word had been passed to the

Watchers had let their quarry pass. They were keeping tab on his trail until he reached some spot where

quick, ugly action could be sprung more effectively than close by the Palladium Hotel. Bruce Duncan,

heading eastward in advance of schedule, was putting himself into the hands of the foemen who awaited him.

BRUCE DUNCAN was looking straight ahead as he neared Third Avenue. The darkened structure of the

elevated loomed in front of him. The roar and clatter of a passing train, accompanied by the lights of cars,

reduced the impression of blackness. Bruce saw security rather than danger in the gloomy depths beneath the

Harry had named an opposite corner. As Bruce reached the avenue, he waited to make sure that traffic was

clear. No cars were coming from the north. A taxi shot by from the south; then Bruce saw a clear spot, the

Halfway across the street, Bruce stopped short. The bare quiver of dull, approaching light was the cue that

gave him sense of danger. Looking quickly, he saw the car that he had spied before. With only its dim lights

aglow, the automobile was bearing down upon him at a speed of fifty miles an hour.

Had Bruce sprung forward to gain the pillars opposite, the whirling car would have mowed him down.

Instinct and luck combined to save him. With a sudden twist, Bruce swung about and made a dive back in the

With that move, Bruce outguessed the driver. At the same time, the ruffian at the wheel allowed no doubt as

to his murderous intention. Instead of keeping straight ahead, he veered left in hope of overhauling his victim

Luckily, an elevated pillar was close at hand. Diving for it, Bruce escaped death by a scant three feet. The

driver had swung in; Bruce was directly in the car's path; but to avert collision with the pillar, the driver was

Brakes shrieked as a long touring car spun its length about. The driver had jammed for a stop as he passed the

pillar. Finding open space beyond, he was madly making halt, that he and his companions might leap after

BRUCE DUNCAN was dashing for the sidewalk. He knew that murderers were after him. He saw safety in

the darkened street that he had left. It was not until he reached the curb that he realized his error. From the

Thugs were seeking to deliver death without gunfire. They had the car into which they could pack a slugged

victim. Swift, silent evil was their aim. Revolvers flashed; but the hands that held them were raised as though

Bruce tried to spin about. A thug grappled with him. Ready for fight, Bruce clipped the fellow on the chin. As

two more sprang up, he sent one sprawling and dodged the swinging gun hand of the other. Madly, he started

Mobsmen from the touring car had him as their target. A new reason made them withhold their fire. Their

companions were piling after the escaping man. A revolver shot might have clipped one of their own number.

Five in a row, the rogues from the touring car spread out to block Bruce's flight.

Odds were too great. As Bruce made a leap for the first man who confronted him, another thug leaped up

from behind. This time, a swinging gun hand was not dodged. A revolver barrel thudded hard against the side

Another thug swung hard with his gun. Bruce sprawled; as he tried to rise mechanically, his first assailant

piled upon him and bashed his head sideward against the cobblestones. Pummeling fists landed on Bruce

Two maulers dragged their quarry to his feet. As they started to haul Bruce to the touring car, their leader

snarled a vicious command. A huge mobster sprang forward to deliver a final blow that would end the

Bruce's hat was gone. His head sagged forward uncovered, while blood trickled down his face. Almost at the

side of the touring car, his carriers paused to give their murderous companion a chance to swing his cudgeled

A revolver gleamed in the big fist that held it. The downward stroke began, driven by a malletlike arm. But

the killing blow was doomed to fail. An interruption came from the last spot where wouldbe murderers

expected it. An automatic roared from the darkened street that Bruce Duncan had left.

With the burst of the gun came a pointing tongue of flame. Like an arrow from gloom, it thrust its reddened

shaft straight toward the villain who was about to drive down a death swing. The bullet from the speaking

With a wild cry, the big thug spun about. His swinging hand poised in midair; then quivered as his body

toppled sidewise. The upraised arm dropped helpless; the body spin became a backward stagger as the

Hard on the echo of the gun shot came a taunting cry. A weird laugh rose; then blended with the thunderous

roar of a train that sped overhead. But that mockery had reached the ears of the killers for whom it was

intended. They knew the author of the shot that had spilled the big gorilla. Men of crime were faced by The

MOBSMEN swung their guns toward the corner whence the shot had come. The thugs who gripped Bruce

Duncan let their prey slip to the street as they, like their fellows, brought weapons into play. Revolvers spat

Crooks had seen the flash from midstreet. Blackness, however, had obscured The Shadow. When thugs aimed

for where The Shadow had been, they found their foe no longer there. Automatics answered suddenly; their

Killers broke before The Shadow's cannonade. Eight at the outset, their force was reduced to five. Another

fell as he tried to deliver a shot when he backed away. A gangleader's command came in a highpitched

Crooks were leaping for cover behind the touring car, into the shelter of elevated pillars. Before them lay

the body of Bruce Duncan, ready to be riddled with bullets should they fire at the man whom they had

Out from his shelter sprang The Shadow. Entrenched mobsters raised a shout as they caught a flash of a

cloaked figure sweeping toward the elevated. Revolvers barked to stop The Shadow in his new maneuver.

Almost as if he had timed the exact second of the outburst, The Shadow swung back.

Shots whizzed wide. Thugs were forced to change their aim. As they did, gloved hands swept from beneath

The Shadow's cloak. Diving into blackness, the dread fighter unlimbered a new brace of automatics.

Just as the mobsmen had failed to pick off The Shadow, so was he failing with his present volley. But The

Shadow had purpose in his actions. By presenting himself as a momentary target, he had made the crooks

forget Bruce Duncan. By sending them to shelter, he was still keeping the intended victim from their minds.

Apparently, The Shadow was wasting his ammunition. Attackers were holding their own bullets in reserve.

Again the snarl of the mob leader rose above the din. Triumph of evil seemed imminent, should The Shadow

A sudden pause. Mobsmen were tense, watching the spot where they had seen the last flashes. The mob

leader barked a sudden order. Henchmen sprang out, opening fire into blackness. Automatics spurted hastily,

DOWN the avenue came a taxi that jolted to a sudden stop half up on the sidewalk. As the mob leader

whirled about to view this cab that had defied the danger zone, three men sprang from opening doors.

Harry Vincent and two others had arrived. Their faces could not be seen in the darkness; but the rattle of their

loaded automatics meant disaster to the cause of crooks. The Shadow's laugh rose triumphant. He had tricked

four thugs into exhausting their guns, that his expected agents would have a clear field before them.

One mobster dived away from beyond the touring car. His gun empty, he wisely took to flight. He was

beyond The Shadow's range of vision; the shots of agents failed to drop the scurrying rat. Two others snarled

as they dived for pillars to fire their last shots. They sprawled, clipped by bullets from guns of The Shadow's

Then from behind a pillar leaped the leader of the mob. Squarely into the path of one of The Shadow's agents,

he came face to face with this comrade of Harry Vincent. From the mob leader's bloated lips came a snarl of

The mob leader had spotted a face he knew. He had learned a secret that the underworld had failed to guess.

He had identified Cliff Marsland, man of repute in gangland, as an agent of The Shadow.

Cliff, chiselfaced and firmjawed, recognized the man who had snarled his name. The ugly, distorted face

of the mob leader was that of "Stinger" Lacey, who sold the services of his gorilla crew to bidders who

Stinger's gun was coming up. Cliff swung his automatic to meet the revolver thrust. Harry Vincent and the

third agent swung about. They were too late to stop the duel. It looked like a double finish: Stinger seeking

An automatic barked from beside an "el" pillar. It beat the trigger finger of both contestants by a

splitsecond. The Shadow, too, had held one bullet in reserve. Catching the profiles of the fighters, he had

The mob leader wavered. He tried to press trigger as he sagged; then Cliff's automatic boomed

spontaneously. The leader of the murderous crew went down, clutching an elevated pillar with the slipping

fingers of his left hand. His revolver clattered on the cobblestones as his weakened effort ended.

Police sirens were whining. From somewhere along the avenue, a harness bull was clattering his night stick

on the sidewalk. A hissed command came from near the touring car. The Shadow's agents swung about to see

No need to aid The Shadow. He had picked up that unconscious form as one might raise a child. His

command was for departure. Acknowledging it, the agents leaped back into their cab as The Shadow headed

When police cars came spinning to a stop beneath the elevated, the taxicab was gone.

HALFWAY up the side street, a luxurious limousine was rolling away. A puzzled chauffeur was wondering.

He had stopped halfway down the block and had turned about to await his master's return. He had listened,

In the back seat, a shrouded figure was leaning above the form of Bruce Duncan. The Shadow's rescue was

A gloved hand took the speaking tube. It was a quiet, almost methodical voice that spoke to the chauffeur.

"Stanley," came the order, "turn left at the next street. Then continue to Doctor Sayre's."

"Tell him," continued the quiet voice, "that you are from Mr. Cranston. That he is to keep this gentleman,

Again Stanley nodded. He swung left at the next corner; slowing to let traffic pass. The Shadow, blackened in

the rear of the limousine, had eased Bruce Duncan into a comfortable position. Gloved hands were probing

The light of a street lamp gave The Shadow a flash of lines drawn on a sheet of paper. Then the limousine

completed the left turn. It came almost to a standstill as Stanley was forced to let a car cut in, turning right.

The door opened softly. A figure stepped out and dropped easily to the curb. The door closed, just as Stanley

shifted gear. The limousine pulled away; the light on the corner gave a fleeting flash of a cloaked shape in

Then the figure had blended with total darkness. Stanley was driving on, unwitting that his master had left the

car. Bruce Duncan was being carried to a haven where his wounds would be attended.

The Shadow had dealt with crime's vanguard. In the effort of eight killers to obliterate one lone victim, he

had seen impending evil beyond. Choosing blackness as his habitat, The Shadow was ready for new plans.

His first step would be a study of a solitary clue: the paper which he had gained from the unconscious form of

BRUCE DUNCAN'S diagram was an odd one. The Shadow recognized that fact as he surveyed the rough

chart beneath the rays of a bluebulbed lamp. In his sanctum, hidden headquarters somewhere in Manhattan,

Of Bruce Duncan's loyalty, The Shadow had no doubt. He had rescued Bruce from danger in the past. Then

Bruce had gone his way; even Harry Vincent's contact with the young man had ended. Tonight, Bruce

Harry Vincent had relayed word to The Shadow. The chief had seen no reason to change his agent's plans for

meeting Bruce Duncan. In fact, the very strangeness of Bruce's situation had indicated to The Shadow that

The Shadow, too, had headed for the meeting point. His rescue of Bruce Duncan had been timely; the fact

that evil workers had nearly murdered Bruce was capping proof that the young man's danger had not been

Hence The Shadow, as he consulted the diagram, was convinced of two points. First, that its purpose was

important; second, that no time should be lost in following the clue which this chart offered.

Though The Shadow felt confident that Bruce would recover from the blows that thugs had dealt him, he

knew that the victim's condition was serious. There would be no chance of getting a statement from Bruce

Duncan for at least twentyfour hours, if that soon. In the meantime, Bruce's chart represented the only

THE diagram was obviously the floor plan of a house. It showed three entrances: front, back and side, thus

indicating that the chart marked the layout of the ground floor only. Both the front and back doors were

marked with the letter "S." Below the chart was the brief statement that "S" represented "signal."

The front door opened into a large hallway, with a staircase indicated at the inner end. At the beginning of the

stairs, Bruce had marked wavy lines, with the letter "D." This was explained by a bottom notation, "D"

Similar lines appeared just within the back door of the house. Even less leeway was afforded at that point.

But, the side door, obscure at the edge of the chart, bore neither the letters "S" nor "D." It led, apparently, to a

totally detached section of the building. A second stairway was marked just within the door. An arrow

A soft laugh betokened The Shadow's understanding. The objective must be the second story of the house. It

could not be safely reached by either of the regular entrances. Only the obscure side door would provide sure

At the very bottom of the sheet, Bruce Duncan had scrawled the notation: "18 Delavar." That provided

information regarding the location of the house itself. Delavar Street was a short, oneblock thoroughfare

The Shadow recalled the street as one of those forgotten spots where a few old residences lay hemmed in

between warehouses and loft buildings. In fact, the name of the street had been dropped, except for address

reference concerning the few houses that still remained in use. Familiar with the most isolated sections of

Manhattan, The Shadow could picture the very building to which Bruce Duncan's chart referred.

It was obvious that Bruce must have come from 18 Delavar. Either he had known how to pass the danger

zones at front and back; or he had taken that unprotected side exit as his means of departure from the building

where menace lurked. The fact that Bruce had been trailed and thugged was proof that his absence was

Until this night, The Shadow had heard nothing of a lurking menace at the house on Delavar Street. Bruce

Duncan's call for help had come from clear sky. The diagram which The Shadow had gained gave no further

Mystery like this intrigued The Shadow. Not only because his chief investigations concerned the unusual; but

because the most dangerous of crimes invariably lay concealed behind masked fronts. To The Shadow, one

WHILE The Shadow was thus engaged in mapping his campaign, a tiny bulb glittered on the wall across

from the table. The Shadow reached for earphones. He spoke; a voice responded across the wire:

"Vincent at the Metrolite," came Burbank's words. "Marsland and Hawkeye at the Black Ship. Marsland

"Report, from Burke. At headquarters. Stinger Lacey one of those killed in the Third Avenue fight. Wounded

prisoners taken by the police admit Stinger to be their leader. No other information."

A soft laugh was The Shadow's answer. Some of the wouldbe killers had survived that fray in which Bruce

Duncan had been rescued. But the only one who could have passed Cliff Marsland's name to the underworld

Cliff, with "Hawkeye," the third agent in the fight, was now stationed at the mobland dive called the "Black

Ship." That meant he would soon report to Burbank for new instructions. Clyde Burke, reporter of the staff of

the New York Classic, had covered detective headquarters to get information there.

All was well, despite the fact that one mobster had fled and others had been crippled but not eliminated.

Apparently the crew had taken orders direct from Stinger Lacey. This, though it meant complete coverage of

The Shadow's agents, also signified that there could be no tracing of the connection between the mob and

events at the house on Delavar Street. Stinger was the only man through whom such information might be

Burbank's voice came once more. This time the contact man was making a report of his own. He stated in

"Call made to New Jersey. Richards has received word from Lamont Cranston. He will arrive within the next

A pause. The Shadow was considering this information. Tonight, as often, he had played the role of Lamont

Cranston, taking the personality of a millionaire globetrotter who seldom lived at his New Jersey home. The

Burbank, as a radio technician, visited Lamont Cranston's home on occasions, to take charge of a sending

Tonight, therefore, Burbank had been posted to keep tab on the real Cranston's return. Doing so, he had just

learned that Richards, Cranston's valet, had received a wire from his employer. The Shadow laughed in

whispered tones as he thought of the servant's perplexity. Richards had believed that his master was in New

"Call the Cobalt Club," ordered The Shadow. "Leave word that Mr. Cranston wants his limousine brought to

New Jersey. The message must be given to Stanley, as soon as he arrives at the club."

"New instructions," announced The Shadow. His right hand was inscribing words upon a sheet of paper.

The Shadow paused as his hand wrote on. Then he spoke again; the words that he gave were those that he had

written in ink of vivid blue. Singularly, his hand continued writing as his voice spoke. One step ahead in his

At times, the hand slowed, indicating that The Shadow was contemplating some detail. Then, before his voice

approached that point, his hand sped its work, driving further ahead. Oddly, too, the writing on the paper was

Thus The Shadow was making swift plans; he was repeating those that he had completed, that Burbank might

follow them; and automatically, all written traces of The Shadow's campaign were disappearing from view.

The writing ceased. The Shadow's steady voice kept on speaking for five full seconds. Then the tones

stopped. Written lines faded; as the last was disappearing, Burbank's voice gave acknowledgment across the

Earphones moved across the table. Enshrouding darkness echoed a solemn laugh. The Shadow had completed

his plan of campaign. Information from Burbank had given him an unusual opportunity. The Shadow was

The blue light clicked out. There was movement in the darkness; then, moments later, came the hush that

indicated the departure of The Shadow. He had left this hidden, blackened room by his own secret exit.

HALF an hour later, a taxi stopped a few blocks from the shortened thoroughfare that was known as Delavar

Street. A tall passenger alighted, paid the driver, and strolled away in leisurely fashion. Garbed in evening

The black of the evening clothes merged oddly with darkness in front of buildings. The stroller had pressed

his coat lapels together. His garb had the same blackness of cloak and slouch hat. Only The Shadow could

A few minutes later, this same shape was gliding past a darkened warehouse that marked the corner of

Delavar Street. Enshrouded by darkness, The Shadow reached an old, twostory brick house. He saw dully

lighted windows on both stories; he noted a glass transom above the closed front door. Against the light that

There was a narrow passage space between the house and the corner warehouse. That opening loomed black,

to The Shadow's liking. Cautiously, this strange prowler entered the narrow passage. A flashlight flickered its

A glimmer showed an alcove. It was a peculiar niche with steps that led downward. The Shadow took this

course; it ended with a door at the bottom of the steps. The location of this barrier corresponded with the side

The Shadow tried the door. He laughed softly as he found it unlocked. He stepped into a little entry and

closed the door behind him. The flashlight showed another door at the left. This, too, opened at The Shadow's

Straight ahead was a stairway illuminated by a single light at the top. It offered access to the second floor of

the building. With easy, steady stride, The Shadow ascended the steep stairs to reach a landing at the top.

Here another door led inward to the house itself. The Shadow tried the knob. This door was locked. A thin

smile appeared upon the lips of the steady countenance which The Shadow wore. Again, the tall visitor

The Shadow wheeled about in darkness. He was too late to reach the stairs. Clicks came from portions of the

wall; there was a flash of blinding light from every side. The atmosphere was charged instantly with the odor

Huge arcs had shot a powerful current through the landing. As flaring carbons faded, new clicks announced

the closing of the walls. The landing light came on. It showed the tall figure in evening clothes flattened on

The knob of the single door was opening. A trap had done its work. Entering by the path that Bruce Duncan

Rendered helpless by a terrific electric shock, the master investigator had become a prisoner. The Shadow

The greeting was uttered in a sarcastic cackle. The words came from the lips of a dryfaced old man whose

To The Shadow, looking upward, the speaker's face was a blur, in which the spectacles appeared as a pair of

owlish eyes. Above the face was a mass of whiteness; as The Shadow stared more steadily, he made out the

Limp in an easychair, The Shadow formed a weakened figure as he turned his head to survey his

surroundings. To his left, The Shadow saw a stocky, hardfaced man who looked like a mobster. A glance to

These two rowdies were acting as servants of The Shadow's captor. Their disguises, however, were thin. The

Shadow knew them for smallfry gangsters recruited from scumland. His lips formed a thin smile as his eyes

"Allow me to introduce myself," came the old man's crackly voice. "My name is Professor Baldridge Jark.

Perhaps, Mr. Cranston" again the tone had a sarcastic tinge "perhaps you have heard my name before?"

The Shadow had finished his study of the room. His chair and a table were the only articles of furniture. The

floor was uncarpeted. An old, unused fireplace was in back of Professor Jark. On the mantel above it was the

"Half past eleven," chuckled Professor Jark, as he saw his prisoner's gaze turn toward the clock. "You arrived

here shortly after nine. That was the time at which you experienced the forcible electric shock on the stairway

landing. Perhaps, Mr. Cranston, that episode will jog your memory. I ask you again: have you ever heard of

The Shadow moved leisurely in his chair. In the manner of Lamont Cranston, millionaire clubman, he

reached in his pocket and found a cigarette case. Extracting a cigarette, he lighted it with a lighter that he

"Yes," remarked The Shadow, in the deliberate tone of Cranston, "I have heard of you. Professor Baldridge

Jark, the electrical wizard. I suppose that it was one of your inventions that I encountered on the landing?"

"It was," chuckled Jark. "You walked into a highvoltage area, Mr. Cranston. The direct current was not

designed to kill. It merely stunned you and I have been waiting more than two hours for your recovery."

"Quite considerate of you, professor," acknowledged The Shadow, dryly. "It is a pleasure to meet you,

although I feel that the circumstances could have well been less overwhelming. Tell me, professor have you

gone back to your inventive processes? I understood, from the last report I heard, that you were in

The Shadow's words were well calculated. He had learned immediately when addressed as Cranston that

his pockets must have been searched for cards of identification. Jark had found some bearing the name of

Lamont Cranston. But he knew also that the professor must have found Bruce Duncan's diagram. In reaching

for his cigarette case, The Shadow had gone to the pocket in which he had placed Bruce's floor plan. He had

"I went into seclusion," declared Professor Jark, "not into retirement. I had greater work to do. New

inventions commanded my skill. That is why the public has heard but little of me, lately.

"And now, Mr. Cranston" again the old man emphasized the name as he uttered it "it is my turn to ask

some questions; ones that I shall expect you to answer, since you were trespassing on my premises."

THE SHADOW made no reply. Instead, he arose from his chair, smoothed the coat of his full dress suit in

fastidious fashion and turned to face the professor. A quizzical smile showed on The Shadow's steady lips. It

indicated, as much as words could have, that he was ready for the professor's quiz.

"Tell me, Mr. Cranston," suggested the professor, "how you first came to be acquainted with my secretary,

"Bruce Duncan?" questioned The Shadow, in a puzzled tone. "Who is Bruce Duncan?"

"Come, come!" snapped Jark, in an irritated manner. "I have every right to demand fair answers to my

"The name is not familiar to me," affirmed The Shadow, in a convincing tone. "I have given you my answer,

professor. It is I who should be annoyed; not you. Let me ask why you have kept me here after subjecting me

to the peril of an electric shock? What has warranted such behavior on your part?"

"This!" ejaculated Jark, bringing a paper from the pocket of the old jacket that he was wearing. "This paper,

found in your possession. Not only do I recognize words in Bruce Duncan's handwriting; but the information

The Shadow stared curiously at the paper in Jark's hand. His lips phrased a slight laugh as he extinguished his

cigarette in an ash tray on the table. Chuckling slightly, he spoke, still in Cranston's fashion.

"So that was Bruce Duncan," remarked The Shadow. "That wildeyed chap without a hat, who came barging

into my limousine. Of course, I would have recognized the man, professor, had you prefaced your question

"This has been an adventurous evening, professor. It has caused me to miss my bridge game with the acting

police commissioner, Wainwright Barth. I was to have met him at the Cobalt Club this evening. However, I

doubt that Barth will start the police searching for me much before one o'clock. He never worries about

A look of worriment appeared upon Jark's face. The thuggish servant shifted uneasily. Seating himself in the

"BARTH will have no trouble locating me," mused The Shadow. "I told the head waiter in the grillroom that

I was coming to this address. Barth always goes to the grill after he plays bridge. But that, of course, is

irrelevant to our present conversation. I suppose, professor, you would like to know how I came in contact

"It is a most curious story," stated The Shadow. "You see, professor, I have just returned from San Francisco.

Immediately on arriving, I went directly to the Cobalt Club. I had wired Barth that I expected to be in tonight.

But I had informed no one else. Therefore, you can imagine my surprise when I found Stanley, my chauffeur,

"I noticed the car as I was going in the door. As I hailed Stanley, the doorman stepped up and gave me a

message. It was marked 'urgent,' and it bore the simple statement that the meeting would take place at a

"Twenty minutes of eight," returned The Shadow promptly. "The message intrigued me. I called Stanley and

told him to drive to the address given. It was just about eight o'clock when we neared there."

"Stanley stopped the car as we heard gunshots beneath the Third Avenue elevated. I told him to turn the

limousine about, even though we were on a oneway street. While he was doing so, I slipped from the car.

"As the firing ceased, I saw a taxicab speed away. Then a man came dashing in my direction. He had no hat;

he was panting; and blood was streaking his face. He saw me by the car; he thrust that paper into my hands.

"Police cars were blowing their sirens from the avenue. I hastened to enter my limousine; I had Stanley drive

me to back to the club. When I arrived there, I asked him why he had come in from New Jersey. He said that

the club had phoned, stating that I wanted the limousine there. So I sent Stanley back to New Jersey, stating

that I would either drive out in a friend's car, or would remain at the club overnight."

The Shadow paused to light another cigarette. He was chuckling over the circumstances which he had related.

"Barth was not due until half past nine," declared The Shadow. "I had supper in the grillroom and while I was

eating, a jolly idea struck me. I decided to use this chart that the running man had given me; to find out what

mystery lay within this house. I thought that I might gain some unusual news for my friend, the acting

The Shadow paused abruptly. He smiled as he shrugged his shoulders. His story was told; idly puffing his

"An interesting tale, Mr. Cranston," gibed the old man. "Unfortunately, it does not fully bear out

circumstances. At about half past nine tonight, I had a friend put in a call to your New Jersey home. Do you

"He learned that Lamont Cranston had been at his home this evening. That he had just left, shortly before half

past nine, for a trip to New York. So it seems, Mr. Cranston, that you are a most unusual person. One who

The Shadow leaned back in his chair. He indulged in a chuckled laugh that made the professor stare, while

"What a joke on Stanley!" exclaimed The Shadow. "Finding me at home when he arrived there. He must have

thought that I flew over by autogyro. Well, Stanley has been perplexed before; so this time it won't matter."

Rising to an upright position, The Shadow ended his laugh. A sternness replaced the smile that had shown on

"The joke, however, has gone too far!" announced The Shadow. "I shall tolerate no more of it! This impostor

who uses my name, my home, my club I shall end his lark at once! I thought before that it was foolish to

allow the hoax to go on. Tonight has proven that the whole masquerade is dangerous."

Professor Jark was staring, as if demanding an explanation. Before the old man could put a question, The

"I do not know the bounder's real name," he declared, "but he calls himself 'The Shadow.' He had the

audacity to write me a letter, stating that he chose to pass himself as Lamont Cranston during my absence

from New York. If I objected, I was to say so, by an advertisement in the want ads of the Globe.

"I never raised that objection. When my servants spoke of my having been at home when I was absent; when

strangers addressed me by name, I took it all as a friendly game. Particularly because I was never really

"In fact, I never connected tonight's message with this chap who calls himself The Shadow. But now when

you tell me that I was at home when I was actually here, I see the whole scheme of things. That message at

the Cobalt Club was not meant for me. It was sent to this fellow who was masquerading during my absence

"What a mess it has become. The cheeky fellow must have called Stanley into New York, so he could return

to New Jersey after his escapade. Since I had taken the car, he did not find it at the club, so he went to my

PROFESSOR JARK was still staring, totally swayed by The Shadow's indignation. He saw his prisoner arise.

"If this cad has been troubling you, professor," declared The Shadow, "deal with him as you choose. But do

not blame me for his meddling in the affairs of others. He has troubled me too much, this impostor who calls

The clock on the mantel was approaching twelve. Professor Jark stroked his chin. He watched his prisoner

pace back and forth. An annoyed expression showed on the firmfeatured face that resembled Lamont

"If you will excuse me, Mr. Cranston," declared Professor Jark, in a mild tone, "I shall take up this matter

later. The facts that you have told me are most astounding. I should like to discuss them in greater detail.

The Shadow nodded in absentminded fashion. Preserving his role of Cranston, he was still pacing,

apparently more annoyed by the facts that he related than he was by his present predicament.

There were two doors in the room. The professor went out by the one at the left, which had been standing

ajar. The criminallooking servants maintained their vigil. The Shadow, fuming to himself, seemed oblivious

to their presence. It was not until he again seated himself that he again adopted the placid manner that was

Drawing a cigarette from his case, The Shadow placed it between his thin lips and lighted it methodically.

But all the while, The Shadow was noting the clock on the mantel. The hour of twelve was approaching.

Midnight would bring the result he wanted. For then, if all went well, Professor Jark would be fully sold on

the idea that The Shadow had given him. He would have proof that the prisoner he held was the real Lamont

WHEN Professor Baldridge Jark closed the door of the next room, he turned to face two men who were

awaiting him. This pair had been listening at the partly opened door. They had heard every word of the

One man was tall, darkcomplected, with bushy eyebrows and bristling hair. His face, though hard, was

The other, short and sandyhaired, was a fellow whose face had a downward droop. His countenance was

pale; his lips held a halfsmoked, unlighted cigarette that hung downward like the corners of his mouth.

Though more intelligent than the thugs who acted as the professor's servants, these fellows likewise had a

criminal look. They were strange companions for a man with the scientific standing of Professor Baldridge

He addressed the tall man, who shrugged his shoulders. Jark wheeled to the short fellow.

"Digger don't know what to make of it," interjected Theblaw, speaking for Wight. "He's left it for me to

Matt Theblaw sat down. This room was as poorly furnished as the other. Its only furniture consisted of three

folding chairs. "Digger" Wight took a second seat, lighted his cigarette and tossed the burnt match on the bare

"Well," began Matt Theblaw, "it's a cinch that Duncan called some guy who knew The Shadow. One of

Stinger's men was listening outside of Duncan's door, at the hotel. He heard Duncan say something about The

"Perhaps," admitted Jark. "At the same time, the man appears adventurous. Does he look like The Shadow,

"Say, prof," scoffed the little man, "who do ya think has ever seen The Shadow, anyhow? Do you think he

goes aroun' lettin' people spot his mug? I'd say he don't! The Shadow's a fox, he is!"

"So I have heard," cackled Jark, dryly. "But tonight if our prisoner is The Shadow we have seen the

Digger looked puzzled by the professor's references. Matt, however, was quick to get the point.

"I'M glad you brought that up, prof," he asserted. "I must admit I was sort of on the fence. But The Shadow

"He had that map," put in Digger. "He seen the way was clear. Duncan had marked it that way."

"Yes," admitted Matt, "but The Shadow, whether he talked with Duncan or not, could have guessed that

Duncan had scrammed out of this place. That would mean that we knew Duncan was gone."

"And The Shadow should have figured that we'd trap the side entrance," continued Matt. "You know what I

told you, prof. I said put the extra apparatus on that landing. Have it ready if Duncan or anybody else tried to

come back here. We needed time while we were getting the rest of the equipment away."

Matt paused while Jark nodded. A short silence followed; then the professor spoke.

"Your comments, Theblaw," said the old man, "make it appear quite evident that we have captured the wrong

"He appears to be antagonistic toward The Shadow because The Shadow has caused him trouble. Therefore,

it would be to our advantage to deal well with Cranston. Release him, with an apology. I can handle that in a

"What's the good of lettin' the guy go?" demanded Digger. "Say he's worth dough, ain't he? Why not hold

"Can it!" snapped Matt. "We're running no snatch racket, Digger. This guy's a pal of Barth's. What do you

"The only thing is, we don't want to make a mistake. No use in letting this bird go until we're sure he's not

The Shadow. We can grab the other Cranston, talk to the two of them together, and find the right one that

"Say, Matt," commended Digger, "That's a real ticket. Even if the other mug's The Shadow, we ought to be

"The only objection, Theblaw," inserted the professor, "is this. If our present prisoner is really Lamont

Cranston, holding him will cause me to lose his friendship. I would suggest therefore that you lose no time in

"Unless you can think of some other test," proceeded Jark. "Some clever bit of questioning that will settle our

problem rapidly. We have too great an opportunity ahead. We must not jeopardize matters by false steps."

Theblaw paced across the room. At last he wheeled to Jark and made a definite assertion.

"LET'S think about Duncan for a moment," he declared. "We know he got away from Stinger's crew. That

"Certainly," retorted Matt. "If we've really got The Shadow, we know he's seen Duncan. If he isn't The

Shadow if he's Cranston he's given us a straight story. All right, supposing we've really got Cranston.

"So we can figure," continued Matt, "that Duncan's passed the word to The Shadow. And if I know The

"The longer we wait, the better," asserted Digger. "There's the test you want, prof. Hold our prisoner for

twentyfour hours. No that's too long. Twelve hours are enough. If The Shadow is coming, he'll be here

"It'll mean that we've already got The Shadow," sneered Matt. "All we've got to do is wait. Sit up with this

prisoner of yours, prof. Keep him awake talking boloney about your inventions. And if nothing's hit before

Another pause. Professor Jark was nodding as he rubbed his chin. Matt decided to drive his argument home.

"Anybody's liable to be dumb," said the tall crook. "Even The Shadow. Maybe he's pulled a boner and that's

how we got him. What I've said still goes. If we've got the real Cranston, The Shadow will show up. If he

"Because he'd figure it was trapped by this time," replied Theblaw. "If this prisoner is the real Cranston, the

best argument he's got is one he hasn't mentioned. The fact that he came in the side door. The Shadow

"Or crossing the dope," agreed Matt. "After all, you can't tell just what The Shadow's likely to spring. But my

"On account of the hall being clear. If Duncan's tipped him, The Shadow would know that the wiring don't

begin until the foot of the stairs. Anyway, that's beside the point. If we haven't got The Shadow, we'll know it

"The only thing we can do is plan what to do if he does come. He can't get by those stairs. Nobody can. So

he'll have to beat it, and not knowing we've Cranston, he'll go back to New Jersey."

"Sure thing," agreed Matt. "Understand, of course, this is all figuring that The Shadow's still due. If he comes

"And then," interposed Jark, dryly, "you will perpetrate a deliberate kidnapping. A mistake, Theblaw. A bad

mistake. We have done too much already, seizing Lamont Cranston. We must cause no more furor."

FOR a moment, Theblaw fumed. He glared angrily at the professor, who met his gaze steadily. Then the

darkbrowed crook laughed. His mirth was an admission that the professor had spoken wisely.

"It won't be a snatch, prof," assured Theblaw. "I'm glad you brought it up. It'll work different, and I'll tell you

why. We can drop the real Cranston, if we have to grab the phony. Both at the same time, see?"

From a hallway outside the room, came the jangle of a muffled bell. It was ringing in steady fashion.

"That's it!" acknowledged Theblaw, grimly. "Stay here with the prof, Digger. I'm moving out to shove those

With that, the tall crook darted for a door. The barrier opened just as he reached it. A darkfaced mobster

thrust his visage into the doorway. Theblaw motioned the fellow back into the hall.

Then Theblaw shouldered through and closed the door behind him. Digger grinned as he turned to the

"Matt called it, didn't he, prof?" chuckled Digger. "Said maybe The Shadow was still comin'; that if he was,

he'd be due. Take it easy, prof. There's nothin' to worry about. Matt an' them gorillas will take care of him, if

Professor Jark nodded, smiling. With an expression of relief, the old man resumed his chair. Like Digger

Across the street from the house on Delavar Street, two men were crouched in the doorway of a halfempty

loft building. They were watching another man whose figure they could scarcely discern. He was huddled

"Tapper's working slow tonight, Cliff," whispered one of the crouched men. "Say I don't figure why he's

"Psst!" Cliff's warning was an interruption. "Keep your ears open, Hawkeye. Hear that? Sound like a bell!"

A faint jangle was barely audible. It probably could not be heard at the front door of number 18. The location

that Cliff and Hawkeye had taken must have placed them on a line with an opened upper window in Professor

Jark's present residence. They were listening to the same alarm that Jark and his companions had heard.

The faint tingling ended. Hawkeye gripped Cliff's arm and pointed across the street. The huddled figure was

moving down the steps. The front door opened an inch or two; a streak of light could be seen at its edge.

"Tapper's got it!" whispered Hawkeye. "He's easing back, like he was going to be ready to join us. Say, Cliff

Again, Cliff stopped his companion's words. Blackness had appeared against the grimy whiteness of the

house steps. An outlined figure was moving upward. The door swung wide; against the light from the opened

portal, The Shadow's agents saw the cloaked figure that represented their chief.

"Come on, Hawkeye!" ordered Cliff. "That's our cue. Orders to follow The Shadow into the house. Don't

A beckoning motion from a cloaked arm. Running forward, Cliff and Hawkeye saw a turn of the slouch hat

that topped The Shadow's garb. Then the cloaked figure strode straight into the house. The agents reached the

As Cliff and Hawkeye edged into a vestibule, someone came up behind them. It was "Tapper." Like the other

agents, he held a ready automatic. He apparently had the same orders to remain upon this threshold while

THOUGH they themselves were in semidarkness, The Shadow's agents could see the scene before them.

Straight ahead was a lighted hallway. Across it rose a flight of stairs. In the center of the uncarpeted hall was

Almost at the stairway, the figure paused. Cliff saw the black shape wheel about; he caught a glimpse of

cloak collar muffled high about the face beneath the slouch hat, giving no chance to discern the hidden

features. Then again, The Shadow's form turned toward the stairs. Sweeping arms suddenly displayed a pair

The weapons were a challenge that came as the advance ended. The Shadow had stopped short of the

stairway. Harsh shouts sounded above. The cloaked figure swung backward just as wild shots broke out at the

With surprising haste, the cloaked figure made retreat. Swinging about as he hurried toward the door, the

attacked fighter loosed one round from each automatic. Derisive cries greeted this insufficient thrust.

Mobsmen were dashing down to open fire on their retreating foe. They thought they had The Shadow on the

But the agents at the outer door knew differently. Their chief's retreat was their cue. They understood the

Up came automatics. As the cloaked figure sprang to the side of the hall, the entrenched agents opened a

barrage from their darkened post. Guns crackled; bullets ripped the stairway. One mobster, clipped by

A second ruffian received a slug from Cliff. With a terrorized shout, the thug pitched forward and came

whirling down the stairs. He struck headfirst at the bottom, kept jouncing on and rolled over three times. He

That was enough for the rest of the descending mob. As someone rasped an order from above, three gorillas

turned and dashed upward. The ceiling of the ground floor took them beyond range of The Shadow's agents.

As the agents stopped their useless fire, they saw that cloaked figure spring out from the wall. Cliff chuckled

as his chief swept forward. Big automatics thundered from thingloved fists. As two of the fleeing mobsmen

reached the top of the stairs, the third floundered to hands and knees, wounded by a zipping bullet.

Half crawling, half diving, the fellow managed to reach the safety that the other two had gained. The retreat

had become a stampede. Crooks were madly fleeing from terror of The Shadow. Not one remained, to fire at

FROM the outer door, Cliff watched the cloaked fighter step over the sprawled body of the mobster in the

hall. The rogue on the steps was huddled against the banister, his gun arm sagging. He could put up no fight.

The Shadow's figure stopped just short of the stairway. Fists came up; automatics roared a brief barrage

toward the second floor. These shots were a preventive measure to keep the crooks cowering above. One pace

For some reason, Cliff decided, The Shadow chose to go no further. That, to Cliff, was puzzling. He could

see the purpose of the false retreat. It had drawn the gang into a range of fire. But why was The Shadow

At that instant, the cloaked figure made a move. It looked like a feint on The Shadow's part. A quick stride to

the very bottom of the stairs; then a sudden whirl about for a new, deceptive retreat. It was at that instant that

Blue lights blazed with roaring crackle from both sides of the stairway. Hidden arcs shot ripping streaks of

manmade lightning about the spot where the cloaked figure was turning. Dazzling, blinding glare made The

Then, as blankness faded, they saw the figure of their chief rocketing toward the floor. Turned full about as

the current was loosed, the cloaked fighter was hurtled outward by the shock that he had received. He had

Cliff knew instinctively that the shock had been little more than staggering. He realized now why no advance

had been made beyond the foot of the stairs. In one glimpse, he had seen leaping currents obscured by the

cloaked figure of The Shadow. Closeness to the current had felled the turning fighter.

Someone above must have recognized the same. New footsteps were clattering. Rallied mobsmen were

springing downward to aim shots for their crippled foe. Cliff snapped a command to Hawkeye and Tapper.

Mobsters faltered before they could deliver shots at the cloaked body on the floor of the hall. One man

sagged; the others made another wild dash up the stairway. Cliff and the other agents barked slugs in plenty,

AS Hawkeye and Tapper still continued firing, Cliff leaped forward and caught the cloaked shoulders of the

prone man on the floor. Dragging the victim to safety, he barked another order to Hawkeye and Tapper. They

Carrying their cloaked burden, they reached the street. Again Cliff spoke as temporary leader. Pointing

Hawkeye and Tapper toward the corner past the warehouse, he ordered them forward, while he hurried to a

Some sniper started fire from a darkened upstairs window. Cliff fired at the blackness where he had seen the

flame spurt. The sniper dropped back, no longer anxious to aim for the men who were hurrying to the corner.

Then came police whistles, a block away. Scudding from his post, Cliff followed after Tapper and Hawkeye,

who had turned the corner. Shots broke out behind him as he ran; Cliff swung about at the corner to fire at

Then, passing the corner, he saw a waiting cab. Cliff leaped aboard. Hawkeye and Tapper were already

aboard, a slumped black shape between them. A craftyfaced driver saw Cliff enter. The cab shot away as

shots sounded wildly from the corner. Cliff responded with a quick volley from the cab window, just as the

The belated move was Cliff's one error. The cab had run into the path of a police car, coming from the street

into which they had turned. Shots came from the police, as they sped in pursuit of the cab. The chase that

Luckily, this was no ordinary cab in which The Shadow's agents rode. The driver was Moe Shrevnitz, an

agent of The Shadow. The cab was The Shadow's own, which Moe drove as an independent. Like other cabs,

No jehu in Manhattan could outdo Moe Shrevnitz. The twisting course that he took gave the patrol car no

opportunity to deliver damaging fire. Moe was half a block ahead when he turned into the broad space of a

The officers in the patrol car thought their opportunity had come when they reached the corner that Moe had

turned. But to their surprise, they saw the cab a full block ahead, walking away from them with ease. After

CLIFF MARSLAND breathed easily, five minutes later, when Moe threaded into a darkened street and

brought the cab to a halt. Cliff knew that he had brought on the chase; not only had it caused temporary

trouble for Moe, it had also allowed respite to those in the house on Delavar Street.

Cliff knew that mobsmen could easily have scurried back to safety; that the closed door of 18 Delavar would

give no clue to the police. The law would put down this episode as a running mob fight. Thus had Cliff's

But Cliff had another matter in mind. The figure in the cab was stirring. Cliff gave an order to Hawkeye and

Tapper. The two slipped from the cab and moved away in the darkness. While Moe waited at the wheel, Cliff

That action brought the final surprise. As Cliff looked at the cloaked figure, he saw shoulders move. The

slouch hat slipped from the head that it covered. Bewildered, Cliff found himself staring into the face of

"Hello, Cliff." Harry spoke with a weak grin. "Got me out of it, didn't you? I should have kept further from

"Pinch hitting," returned Harry. "Don't ask me why. I don't know. Burbank's orders, that's all. A package

arrived for me at the hotel. I was to hit that house at midnight, to wait until Tapper cracked the door. Then

"You faked it fine," acknowledged Cliff. "You had me buffaloed. Hawkeye and Tapper, too."

"I faked it too well," decided Harry. "Burbank told me those stairs meant danger. Well, it worked out well

CLIFF opened the door of the cab. He sidled out into darkness; then spoke to Moe and told him to drive to

the Hotel Metrolite. In the cab, Harry Vincent settled back on the cushions. He shifted the cloak from his

shoulders, bundled it with the slouch hat and automatics; then dropped the load into an open bag that he saw

Tonight had been a succession of surprises for Harry Vincent. The rescue of Bruce Duncan; the orders to

attack the house on Delavar Street; the masquerade that he had played; that powerful shock at the foot of the

Harry could divine only that The Shadow had wished to trick the occupants of the house. To make them

believe that he had come there; that he had picked the lock of the door and had waged battle as a sequel.

Through Tapper as the lock picker and Harry as the cloaked fighter, The Shadow's ruse had doubtless

But Harry, recalling orders, remembered that retreat was to have been the finale of a swift, hot fray. The

retreat had come, all right, thanks to Harry's own misfortune. It had been precipitous; but convincing,

But what could The Shadow have to gain by making enemies think that he had lost a battle? That was the

question to which Harry Vincent could not even imagine an answer. For once, Harry felt himself believing

Harry's thought was erroneous. The agent would have been amazed had he known the value of the service

that he had performed tonight. Already, The Shadow was reaping the fruits of prearranged strategy.

The Shadow had issued tonight's instructions knowing that he was bound on a most dangerous mission that

might lead to his capture. Actually a prisoner, The Shadow had bluffed his captors.

Well had The Shadow bluffed, and with confidence that he could keep up his pretended role of Lamont

Cranston. The prearranged attack at midnight, with Harry Vincent faking himself as The Shadow, was the

Matt Theblaw gave this verdict as he faced Professor Baldridge Jark. The two were in the room where they

had held previous conference. As before, Digger Wight was witness to the confab. Digger had remained with

"He blew in big as life," asserted Matt. "Pulled a smart stunt on us, too. Dodging back from the stairs, so the

gang would follow. With a bunch of heels laying back to plug our mob on the stairs."

"Between him and his outfit," calculated Matt, "Charley and Fritz took the bump. Luke and Brodie got

"You're asking me that?" scoffed Matt. "What about Doc Baird? We've got him tucked away, haven't we? On

your account, prof" Matt smiled cunningly as he turned to Jark "but I guess you won't squawk if we make

"Not at all," commented Jark, dryly. "Suit yourself, Theblaw. It is all for the common cause. This means, of

"Yes," nodded Theblaw. "Suppose we work it this way. You ride with Digger, in the sedan. Parsons can sit in

back, looking out for Luke and Brodie. Digger knows the way to that flossy hideout of ours. Meanwhile, I'll

take the rest of the mob in the other cars. We'll dump Charley and Fritz out of one; we'll carry this bird

"You and the prof can pack it," suggested Matt. "Leave the furniture; it's no account. The equipment is all

"Quite satisfactory," assured Jark. "With this exception, Theblaw. I would recommend that Wight dismantle

the equipment before you start. Unless the wounded men are in critical condition, it would be advisable for

"That's right," decided Matt. "Sure thing, prof; the gorillas can wait. I want to listen in and hear how Cranston

takes the spiel you hand him. Make it snappy, prof. Don't spill too much about the shots he heard."

"I doubt that he heard them at all," assured Jark, with a smile. "The noise of the firing was scarcely audible in

this room. The closed door would have prevented Cranston and his watchers from having heard it."

With that, the old man went to the door of the next room. Matt gave a nod to Digger, who sidled out into the

Jark, when he entered the adjoining room, was careful to leave the barrier ajar. Peering through the crack,

THE gorillas who guarded The Shadow looked restless, as though they had sensed that a fray was on. But

The Shadow, calm in the guise of Lamont Cranston, gave no indication that he had noticed anything unusual.

Matt Theblaw attributed that to weariness, following the powerful electric shock that the prisoner had

received. The crook watched Professor Jark approach the easychair; he saw a listless gaze on the features of

Lamont Cranston. Apparently the prisoner was not worrying about his present situation.

"Well, Mr. Cranston" there was no sarcasm in Jark's present mention of the name "I have attended to my

"It is apparent that you came here under a misapprehension. You chanced to meet my secretary, Bruce

Duncan. He passed you a paper that he was anxious to be rid of and did not have the opportunity to destroy."

"Interesting," observed The Shadow, becoming less languid. "I should like to know more about this man

"He was my secretary," stated Jark. "In that capacity, he had access to plans that concerned my new

inventions. Duncan, as I learned by chance, saw opportunity to sell his knowledge to rogues who wanted to

"Unfortunately" the old professor smiled blandly, and ran his clawlike fingers through his moppy hair "I

suspected Duncan of complicity and moved all my files and apparatus from this residence. Duncan had

already accepted money from his bribers. That put him in a most embarrassing position.

"He left here last night. Undoubtedly he formed contact with the rogues who had paid him. He must have

arranged to meet them; to give them the floor plan that would enable them to come here for themselves. But

he was dealing with dangerous persons. The meeting proved to be a trap. Duncan barely escaped with his life,

"And handed me the paper," chuckled The Shadow. "Of course that was the best step he could make. Had

"The others might have found it," interposed Jark. "Perhaps, in justice to Duncan, we may believe that he saw

my life in menace also. Duncan was crooked, but not murderous. But whatever his motive, he felt after that

"Possibly," mused The Shadow, "Duncan thought that I was the impostor who calls himself The Shadow."

"Possibly," agreed the professor. "That, however, does not concern us. Let us forget Duncan, Mr. Cranston.

Instead, picture my own position. I have always feared intruders here. Thieves robbers adventurers

coming to steal my inventions. That is why I installed electric devices at every door.

"Duncan knew of the ones at front and back; but he did not know that I had also equipped the side door.

Naturally, I was on guard after Duncan's surprise departure. When you arrived tonight, you received the

"Having convinced me of your innocence, Mr. Cranston, you are entitled to my profound apology. I can

assure you that your unpleasant experience will leave no ill after effects. But before you depart, I feel that we

The professor paused emphatically. He eyed the prisoner steadily. A fixed smile showed on The Shadow's

"I SUPPOSE, professor," remarked The Shadow, calmly, "that you refer to the rather unusual circumstances

which marked my visit here. I presume that you would prefer that they remain unmentioned."

"Quite a logical request," assured The Shadow. "I can readily appreciate your situation, professor. The very

fact that you are still actively engaged in inventive effort is something which you do not care to have the

"Exactly! What is more, should the authorities begin prying into my affairs, I should be forced to go into

"This matter, professor," interposed The Shadow, rising, "does not concern the police whatever. I understand

the point of your worriment. You require assurance that I shall not mention my experience to my friend,

"In fact" the fixed smile was steady on The Shadow's lips "I feel that we both have mutual cause for

indignation. Not only against your crooked secretary, but against the masquerader who calls himself The

Shadow. If you, professor, could use one of your electrical devices to give that chap a lesson, I should be

"Anything to rid me of his troublesome intrusion. He has annoyed me quite as much as Duncan has annoyed

you. Well, professor" The Shadow glanced at the clock upon the mantel "it is considerably past midnight.

Too late for me to visit the Cobalt Club. I should like to return home and call the club from there, simply to

The Shadow extended his hand. The professor received it in clawlike grasp. With his free hand, the old man

"My men will drive you to New Jersey," informed Jark. "I have a small sedan that will be suitable for the

journey. Perhaps, Mr. Cranston" the professor's smile was subtle "they may encounter this impostor who

calls himself The Shadow. Should they do so, they will be instructed to bring him to me.

"I should like to talk with him; to inquire what he knows concerning Duncan's treachery. Should I have the

opportunity to talk with him, I shall convince him that it will be unwise for him to trouble you further."

Professor Jark walked across the room and opened the closed door on the right. He watched his tall, leisurely,

prisoner stroll out with a guard on each side. One of the gorillas looked back to catch a nod from Jark. The

AS soon as the trio had left, Jark hurried back to the door on the left. The barrier opened as he approached it.

"Good work, prof," commended the tall crook. "You fixed Cranston, all right. He won't do any squawking.

"He understands nothing about our plans," assured Jark. "I watched him closely, Theblaw, all the while that I

"I'm following over to Jersey" Matt made a gesture toward the doorway and three rowdies entered "so we

He handed a folded paper to one of the gorillas, who hurried through the far door after the pair who had

"Tipping them off," explained Matt, "so's they'll hang on to Cranston until after we've snatched The Shadow.

That's my part of the job. In the meantime, when you and Digger leave here, put in a call to the Cobalt Club.

Give the message that Mr. Cranston has gone home. Tell them to pass that news to Barth. He'll call New

"But, after all, why worry? Nobody knows anything. Just so long as we don't have a search on for a wealthy

guy like Cranston, there's nothing to worry about. We covered the snatch when we grabbed Doc Baird. So if

Cranston does any talking it won't put anybody wise. Especially" Matt spoke with assurance "after we've

The tall crook crossed the room, followed by the other two gunmen. At the same moment, Digger Wight

entered from the door on the left. Turning about, Professor Jark saw the little crook. With a dry smile, the old

IN a space behind the old house; The Shadow was smoking a cigarette as he sat in a coupe. Behind him, in

the rumble seat, was one of the thugs whom Jark had termed a "servant." The other rowdy was at the wheel.

A man came up in the darkness and passed a folded slip to the driver. It was Louie, contacting Pete.

The driver read the note by the dashlight. He tore up the paper and growled his understanding. Louie stepped

away; Pete shoved the car in gear and drove off. The Shadow, half reclining, could see Pete's eyes watching

From behind came the roar of another motor. A glance in the mirror gave The Shadow a glimpse of a second

It was still wise to continue his ruse. A horde of enemies was still concentrated upon him. He saw that it

would be well to prolong the game, postponing action until his captors were totally off guard.

Matt Theblaw growled this news to the men with whom he was riding. Seated in the rear of a sedan, the tall

crook was leaning over the back of the front seat, watching the taillight of the coupe ahead. Louie was at the

"The whole thing will look like a bum job," continued Matt. "But it won't be. Because there are two guys who

look like they were each other. Just as much as if they were twins. When we grab the new bimbo, Pete drops

Matt paused to poke Louie's shoulder. Pete's coupe was drawing ahead past a turn in the road. Matt wanted

"We don't want a squawk," explained Matt, "so we're going after this guy in a hurry. No fireworks, unless he

yanks a gat. But he don't know we're after him, so that gives us an edge. When you fellows snatch him, Louie

"Bet you we will," he volunteered. "Say, Matt the way you talk about it, you'd figure this mug we're after

Chuckles from the other mobsters. They liked the jest. Matt maintained silence. He had not wised his men to

the identity of their prey. Only Digger and the professor had shared Matt Theblaw's knowledge. There was no

But Jark had suggested nothing that indicated murder was afoot. To preserve the friendship of the prisoner

they dropped, it was essential that they should avoid a killing under the very windows of Lamont Cranston's

home. But if the new victim should put up a fight, Matt intended to mow him down, with Louie's aid.

Matt Theblaw was clever. Two of his men knew what was up. But those two were the pair up in the car

ahead: Pete and his pal. They had been present during Professor Jark's interview with the prisoner. They

knew the part they were to play; but they had gained no chance to talk with Matt's crew.

All this was to Matt's liking. The crook was thinking of the surprise his men would get after snatching The

Shadow; when he revealed the identity of their new victim. For Matt, relishing the idea of a surprise attack,

Matt wanted The Shadow alive. He had so he thought a golden opportunity to trap the master fighter.

Never before, to Matt Theblaw's knowledge, had raiders managed to catch The Shadow unaware. For once,

Guised as Lamont Cranston, not knowing that his counterpart had returned to New York, The Shadow would

be enjoying a respite from battle when he returned to his New Jersey home. Tonight so Matt believed The

The gorillas with Matt were men who had fought from atop the stairway. They were still exultant over The

Shadow's retreat. Not elated enough to tell them that they would again be up against The Shadow. The

But they were confident enough to seize a man from ambush. That was sufficient for Matt Theblaw.

Watching the road ahead, the big crook smiled to himself as he listened to the chuckles of Louie and the other

THE coupe ahead had taken to a lonely road. Matt Theblaw knew the general vicinity of Lamont Cranston's

home. He had looked into that after the early evening capture. He was sure that they must be close to the

Then the coupe began to slow. It pulled up past a gateway, where Pete piloted it to a stop beyond some

bushes. Matt gripped Louie's arm and told the driver to stop in front of the gate. Louie complied.

"We're heading in," informed Matt, "without lights. Feel your way, Louie, by the gravel on the tires. Pete's

holding that guy he's got until we make the snatch. Look there; see the lights of the house? Guide by them."

Louie blinked off the lights. He turned the sedan into the driveway. A slight glow from windows of the

mansion ahead showed that the driveway separated to form a circle in front of the house. Matt gave another

"Take the left," he whispered. "Stop before you get to the house. I don't think the bird's home yet. If he comes

Louie obeyed the instructions. He brought the sedan to a stop at the edge of the circle. Matt motioned the two

gorillas out into the drive. They moved up to the steps of the house and crouched there, ready for a new

OUT on the road past the gate, Pete and his pal were waiting in the coupe. Their prisoner was between them;

both thugs had hands upon revolvers, but they were keeping the weapons out of sight.

The Shadow was calculating. He had played his ruse almost to the limit. He had brought Pete to Lamont

Cranston's, believing that Matt Theblaw might have learned the exact location of this estate. The Shadow

knew that Matt had followed; he knew that the tall crook was posted with his crew.

Moreover, The Shadow had figured Matt's game to the dot. He knew that the crook would want to make a

silent capture; that there would be no fireworks, if Matt could help it. But The Shadow did not care to trust

Here, in the confines of the coupe, he was waiting for the right opportunity to deal double attack against Pete

and the fellow's pal. Unarmed, The Shadow faced bad odds. But he had a plan of action that would work.

Soon, he was sure, either Pete or the other mobsman would get the idea of stepping from the car. Then would

come opportunity. Already Pete was shifting at the wheel, one hand on the handle of the door.

Then, just as The Shadow saw success before him, a new event spelled finish to the plan. A glare of light

flashed suddenly from the road at the gateway; the glow turned suddenly and cut off into the drive. With it

Lamont Cranston's limousine had come in from New York. The millionaire was riding straight into the trap

that Matt Theblaw had provided for him. Pete and his pal became rigid, guns half drawn from their pockets.

A battle in the coupe would prove fruitless. Shots here would cause hubbub by the house. A man's life was at

stake. The Shadow could not afford to risk a disturbance that might bring wild action elsewhere. He still,

however, had one factor upon which he could count. The chances were that the capture at the mansion would

UP by the house, Stanley had alighted from the limousine. The chauffeur was opening the door of the big car.

The front door of the house opened also. Richards, the valet, stood in view. A shaft of light showed the

Then, from the limousine, stepped the real Lamont Cranston. Light showed full upon the millionaire's face.

Lurking mobsters recognized the double of the prisoner who had been at Professor Jark's. As Cranston

The millionaire was caught entirely off guard. The attack bowled him over. As he rolled upon the ground, the

thugs pounced fiercely and dragged him to his feet, half dazed. While Stanley and Richard stood astounded,

the captors swept their bewildered prisoner toward the car where Matt and Louie awaited them.

On came the lights. The sedan was in reverse as the mobsters bundled their captive aboard and leaped in

after. Revolvers were pressed against Cranston's body; then the guns were raised as the victim sank helpless

The sedan swished backward through a shrubbery bed. Louie spun the wheel to head it for the gate. At the

house, Richards gave a cry of alarm and dashed in to find a weapon. Stanley, in turn leaped to the wheel of

Out on the road, Pete had seen the blinks of lights. Hearing the cry of Richards, the driver of the coupe gave a

hoarse laugh. The job was done. It was time to get rid of his first prisoner. Pete grunted to his pal, who

"Hop out," ordered the gorilla, shoving The Shadow forward. "We're goin' places."

"And call off the bloodhounds," added Pete, remembering orders in Matt's note. "Tell'em you're all right.

The Shadow dropped from the step. As Pete shoved the coupe in gear, his companion leaned forward to close

the door. Then came The Shadow's stroke. Like a flash, he dropped lethargy for action. Long arms shot

PETE was stepping on the gas as The Shadow grabbed his pal. Turning, Pete saw the fellow go headlong

from the coupe. The Shadow had whipped the thug clear with the precision of a mongoose attacking a

Pete jammed the brakes. As he did, he heard a terrorizing sound. From that figure on the ground came the

burst of a wild, outlandish laugh. It was a cry that had until now been silent the mocking merriment of The

Wildly, Pete stepped on the gas. As the coupe shot away, The Shadow dived to the ground and grabbed up a

gleaming revolver that had come from the clutch of the man whom he had overpowered.

Whirling, The Shadow dashed through bushes, toward the gate. As he took that direction, he again emitted

his strident, unmistakable laugh. The weird crescendo quivered upon other ears. Matt Theblaw's sedan was

whizzing from the gate. Matt and the gorillas with him caught The Shadow's challenge.

A revolver barked from blackness. The bullets sizzled past the opened window of the sedan. A second shot,

as The Shadow dashed forward. With the echoes of his fire came that gibe that only he could utter.

Matt Theblaw fumed as he dropped his hold upon Lamont Cranston. Whirling about, the tall crook jabbed his

"The wrong guy!" muttered the crook. "We've got the wrong guy!" Then, in a harsh rasp to Louie: "Get

The Shadow's laugh had ended. Again came the staccato bark of a revolver. The Shadow was at the gate,

squarely in the middle of the road, when suddenly his eveningclothed form was outlined in a blaze of light.

Stanley was coming from the driveway in the limousine. The chauffeur applied the brakes when he saw his

"Mr. Cranston!" cried Stanley, leaping from the big car. "Are you hurt? How did you get free?"

Trembling, the chauffeur was holding a revolver that he had pulled from a pocket in the car. Without a word,

The Shadow swung and plucked the weapon. With agile stride, he sprang to the wheel of the limousine. With

Stanley's gun as reserve, The Shadow shot the big car forward, leaving the chauffeur bewildered by the gate.

Far ahead, The Shadow caught the twinkle of the sedan's taillight. The limousine, heavy and powerful,

clung hard to the winding road as its driver impelled it forward. Steadily, The Shadow was closing the gap

Raising the gorilla's gun with his right hand, The Shadow delivered three quick shots. Revolvers answered

from the sedan. The chased car veered to the center of the road, almost into oncoming traffic. Approaching

The Shadow sped the limousine up on the right. His laugh rang clear, taunting, vengeful, terrifying. His left

hand flashed the revolver that he had snatched from Stanley. A mobsman fired blindly toward the limousine.

Matt Theblaw fired once and ducked. The cars were almost alongside. A mobster took pot shot from the front

seat. The Shadow picked him off with the second of two swiftly delivered slugs. Lamont Cranston's face was

Again, The Shadow raised his strident laugh. He had a bead on Louie, but he did not fire. The driver must

have known his danger; he slung the sedan to the right to force The Shadow's car to the ditch. The Shadow

Then, as Louie saw a clear path to the left, the sedan kited suddenly in that direction. Half skidding, it took to

a side road as the limousine kept straight. Louie caught his grip on the wheel; the sedan righted and kept in

From the limousine came final shots; with them, the last taunt that The Shadow chose to give. The tones of

that fearprovoking mirth brought tremors to Matt Theblaw and Louie. But to Lamont Cranston, The

The sedan kept on in its flight for safety, far along the side road that Louie had thought himself lucky to find.

But the limousine, still on the main road, was following a course to Manhattan. The Shadow had given up the

HALF an hour later, the big car stopped near Delavar Street. Stepping from his post behind the wheel, The

Shadow strode in the direction of the house that bore the number 18. He found the front door unlocked. He

Downstairs and up, the building was empty. Professor Jark had left with his electrical equipment; only odd

pieces of furniture remained on the second floor. Still in his guise of Lamont Cranston, The Shadow turned

on lights and laughed sardonically as he viewed the room wherein he had played his game of bluff.

The big clock on the mantel was gone. Jark had evidently taken that one item with him. Turning, The Shadow

extinguished the light and made his departure through darkness. His laugh was soft and prophetic.

The Shadow had no fear for the present safety of Lamont Cranston. Crooks had not wanted the real Cranston

before; they would not want him at present. Deliberately, The Shadow had restrained himself from shooting

Louie; for had he wounded the driver, he would have wrecked the sedan with Cranston in it.

Lamont Cranston would come to no harm, thanks to The Shadow's chase. For in that pursuit, The Shadow

had pronounced his own identity in a manner that Matt Theblaw would remember. Crooks had grabbed the

wrong man after all. They would release Cranston as willingly as they had The Shadow.

Having driven Matt Theblaw into flight, The Shadow had chosen to let him go, that Cranston's safety might

be assured. Instead of continuing the chase of the sedan, he had come swiftly to this house on the chance that

Those birds had flown; learning that, The Shadow had searched for some clue. None found, his trail was

ended. Crime still lay ahead; and, as yet, The Shadow had gained no inkling of its purpose.

Though he had saved Bruce Duncan's life; though he had bluffed and extricated himself from captivity;

though he had assured Lamont Cranston's safety The Shadow was back almost to his starting point.

Stinger Lacey and various mobsmen had fallen in strife against The Shadow. The master fighter had

displayed amazing prowess. Yet the real men behind crime were still at large; and The Shadow had no

AT eight o'clock the next morning, a coupe pulled up in front of Lamont Cranston's mansion. As tires

crunched on gravel, Stanley came into view from the garage, while Richards, the valet, appeared from the

house door. Both men stared in surprise as they saw their master stepping from the coupe.

"I thought you were still asleep, sir," exclaimed Richards, from the porch. "It was after four o'clock when you

arrived home, Mr. Cranston. I did not suppose that you would be rising until noon."

"I decided to rise early," came the dry comment. Richards saw a smile fixed on his master's lips. "You were

not about when I called; so I strolled out without your knowledge. You should be more alert, Richards."

The valet nodded at the rebuke. Yet Richards was puzzled. He would have sworn that his master was still

"How did you get the coupe, sir?" inquired Stanley. "You usually keep it in the Manhattan garage. And what

about the limousine, Mr. Cranston? I asked you about it when you came in at four o'clock."

"One question at a time, Stanley," was the chuckled rebuke. "I drove the limousine into New York and left it

there. When I came back, I used the coupe, but left it at the garage near the station."

"An excellent guess, Stanley. The air was so delightful at four o'clock that I preferred a stroll; and I decided

Strolling past the puzzled servants, the tall arrival went up the steps to the house. There he paused, to remove

"By the way, Stanley" a toss sent a glimmering gun to the chauffeur "here is the revolver I borrowed from

you. I forgot to give it to you at four o'clock. And Richards, I am going to my room. Do not disturb me. If

STANLEY and Richards exchanged astonished glances as their master disappeared through the door. The

"I can't understand it," asserted the chauffeur. "The master, coming in at four o'clock, all ragged. Why should

"He was very taciturn," recalled Richards. "And very tired, Stanley. Exhausted, Stanley."

"He didn't tell us where he had been. But the air was not delightful, Richards. It was drizzling. Indeed it was."

"As if I didn't know it, Stanley. Why, the master's evening clothes were drenched and bedraggled. It

astonishes me! Here Mr. Cranston has slept but four hours; and look at him, as vigorous as ever."

"He showed surprising agility, Richards, when he sped after those ruffians last night. Well, we did right not to

The servants separated, shaking their heads. They knew their master for an eccentric person; but on this

occasion, he had shown activity that seemed almost incredible. Stanley, recalling other perplexities, turned

"Last evening," declared the chauffeur, "I had the limousine in town at the club. Mr. Cranston rendered aid to

an unfortunate man; then I returned to the club and received word to come back here "

"But Mr. Cranston had already notified me to expect him," put in Richards, "and he was here before you

"And then to return to be trapped by those abductors. He was helpless when they seized him, Stanley."

"But he was free from them, Richards, before they reached the gate! There he was I saw him with my own

"And walking in at four o'clock, only to arise at half past seven. Strike me, Stanley, I have never known the

UPSTAIRS, the tall arrival had reached the door of a front room. Opening it softly, he peered into a chamber

where blinds were lowered. A man was sleeping in the bed. The visitor approached, after closing the door,

The glare troubled the sleeper. A hand shook his shoulder. Mumbling, the man in the bed sat up, while the

other took his seat at the foot. The two were face to face the man in bed blinking, his visitor smiling. It was

a strange scene; for the visages of these two seemed absolutely alike. Double was facing double.

"Good morning, yourself," returned Cranston, rubbing his eyes without noticing the visitor.

Cranston was pulling down the sleeves of his pajama jacket. He sat bolt upright, staring. Then a slow smile

"So it's you," remarked Cranston, sleepily. "Well, I knew that last night. It was about time we crossed paths

"I expected that they would release you," stated The Shadow, "They didn't want me when I made them think

that I was you. So it was logical that they would not hold you after they learned you were yourself."

"They didn't," admitted Cranston, "but they were so anxious to elude you that they did not stop for a dozen

miles. Then they ditched me most unceremoniously in the middle of a country road. I walked back through

fog and drizzle, across fields and meadows, cursing the bounders all the journey."

Cranston leaned back and chuckled. The Shadow watched him with a smile. It was but another test that

"I said nothing to the servants," remarked Cranston. "I merely told them that I intended to sleep. I supposed

that by morning I might hear something from you. But I had not expected a personal visit. How did you

"I told them," declared The Shadow, "that I had left the limousine in New York, to come back to the station

garage in the coupe. Desiring a pleasant walk, I came up from the station at four o'clock. Rising early, I went

"And all the while, you actually stayed in New York? Leaving the limousine there and bringing the coupe

CRANSTON shoved bedclothes aside and perched on the edge of the bed. He found cigarettes on the

telephone table; The Shadow supplied a flame from a lighter before Cranston could ignite a match. The

"You handle every detail, don't you?" questioned Cranston in admiration. "Jove! I remember the first time I

met you. (Note: See Vol. I, No.8) In this very room. You dropped cloak and hat and left me looking at my

"And I advised you," recalled The Shadow, in Cranston's own tone, "to take a trip abroad, while I used your

"I must admit that I was. I threatened to have you arrested, as an impostor, until you proved that you knew

more about my affairs than I did. Jove! I really believe that if it had come to a showdown, I would have been

"Jove," repeated The Shadow, quietly, "You have acquired that expression recently, Cranston. I shall

remember it for future reference. You have a penchant for acquiring anglicisms during your sojourns in

"Bounder and blighter," laughed Cranston. "Don't forget those. I still use them occasionally."

"I worked those words last night," recalled The Shadow. "Cranston, you have my confidence to some degree.

Naturally, you do not know my identity. You appreciate that I am a capable disguise artist, inasmuch as I can

play your part as well as yourself. Outside of that, you know only that my life purpose is one of counteracting

"And criminals," smiled Cranston. "Like our enemy who called himself the Black Falcon. (Note: See Vol.

VIII, No.5) Jove! That blighter did kidnap me proper. He thought he had you like those rogues did last

"The Black Falcon was a different sort," reminded The Shadow. "At present, I am campaigning against

criminals who play a much deeper game. One so involved that I do not as yet know its hidden significance.

"Last night, I fell into the hands of the foe. I expected danger; I went on my adventure in your guise. After I

was captured, I tricked my inquisitor I had contact with only one important man and made him believe

"I backed my bluff by having one of my agents attack the house, wearing my familiar black. My captors

decided to release me. I was sure that they did not want Lamont Cranston. Therefore, I had no qualms when I

"Indeed, I actually offered them suggestions along that line. I showed them the way, so that they would bring

me here. I intended to prevent the exchange altogether; but, unfortunately, you arrived too early for my plan.

"So you were seized. I nullified your abduction by means of a prompt pursuit, which left no further doubt as

"There were two of them," stated the millionaire. "One called Louie; the other, Matt. Louie was the driver;

Matt was in command. I say there were two; actually there were four when the chase began. You managed

"I allowed the escape," said The Shadow, "so that you would not be involved in a wreck of the car. Now I am

"Yes. And in order that no new complications may arise, I suggest that you start on another trip. You have

worked well with me in the past, Cranston. In fact, we have become very much in accord."

"I'm game for the future. Another trip? Certainly. I have been considering a voyage to the Argentine. I have

"Excellent!" The Shadow arose and extended his hand. Cranston gripped it. "You are sure about the passport?

"I have it. But you forget nothing, do you? Well, cable me in Buenos Aires when it is time for me to return."

RICHARDS was not in the hall when The Shadow emerged. On looking through an upstairs window, the

visitor saw the valet out front talking with Stanley. Descending to the ground floor, The Shadow went out to

a side veranda. He paused as he neared the front of the house. He could overhear the servants talking.

"Most alarming, Stanley," Richards was saying. "As I chanced to pass the master's door, I heard him talking

"I could not distinguish the words," stated the valet, "but he seemed to be engaged in an actual conversation.

Questioning himself and answering. Chuckling and laughing. One would have thought that two persons were

Stanley shrugged his shoulders as he went to the coupe. He intended to drive into New York, to get the

limousine. Richard went back into the house, wondering if he should awake his master from what he believed

The Shadow stepped into view as soon as Richards had closed the front door. He reached the coupe just as

Stanley was about to start. Opening the door, he smiled in greeting, then took his seat beside the perplexed

"Cobalt Club, Stanley," ordered The Shadow, in Cranston's easy tone. "Leave me there and go up to the

garage. Drop the coupe. Have the limousine washed and bring it back here. I may be home again before your

Stanley was silent as he drove along. He decided that his master must have been awake when Richards had

heard him talking to himself. Stanley made no comment, however. Lamont Cranston's servants were trained

While The Shadow was riding Manhattanward with Stanley, Richards, passing Lamont Cranston's room,

heard a slight motion from within. The valet decided that his master must have returned to bed; that the talk

Once again, the servants of this household had a new problem to baffle them. Yet the fact that they served

two masters had never yet dawned upon the faithful attendants of Lamont Cranston!

LATE that afternoon, a taxicab stopped in front of an uptown apartment house. The figure that alighted was

that of Lamont Cranston. The Shadow, traveling about in Manhattan, had still retained the millionaire's guise.

The ground floor of the apartment building housed a physician's office. The name that appeared upon the

A few moments later, an inner door opened. A seriousfaced young man peered into the reception room.

This was Doctor Rupert Sayre. Despite his youth, Sayre had already gained a high reputation as a medical

practitioner through study both in America and abroad. To counteract his young appearance, he had

cultivated a solemn air that made him look half a dozen years older than he was.

Sayre recognized the features of Lamont Cranston. Well he might, for he had contacted this visitor in the

past. In fact, The Shadow as Cranston had himself been a patient of the skilled young physician on more

The Shadow had originally performed signal service in Rupert Sayre's behalf. The physician owed his own

life to The Shadow's intervention, when one Eric Veldon, selfstyle master of death, had held Sayre prisoner.

Since then, Sayre had ever been ready to perform services for this personage whom he knew as Lamont

Cranston. Sayre had hazily identified Cranston and The Shadow as one. He knew that this mysterious friend

was constantly battling for right. Under such circumstances, Sayre believed that the rendition of medical aid

Last night, Sayre had accepted Bruce Duncan as a patient. There had been no question in the physician's

mind. Bruce had been brought here in Cranston's limousine. That was sufficient. Today, Sayre had received

telephone calls concerning the condition of the patient. He had suggested that Lamont Cranston call at

The question came in Cranston's quiet voice. Sayre smiled as he heard The Shadow's query.

"I owe myself a compliment," remarked the physician. "My patient was still in a stupor this noon; but I was

confident that he would be fully conscious by five o'clock. I was right. Save for the after effects of a slight

Sayre ushered The Shadow through a hallway. They reached an inner room Sayre's apartment adjoined the

office and there The Shadow saw Bruce Duncan propped in bed. The young man's head was bandaged. His

The Shadow nodded to Sayre. The physician stepped back into the hall and closed the door, leaving visitor

with patient. The Shadow took a chair beside the bed. He spoke in a slight, almost inaudible whisper. Bruce

BRUCE'S vision was still blurred. He could barely distinguish the features of his visitor. But he knew, from

the whisper that he had heard, that The Shadow had arrived for conference. Bruce tried to speak; then he

"Tell your story," urged The Shadow. "But use no effort as you do so. Merely mention names as they occur to

"Some months ago," he stated, "I met Professor Baldridge Jark. It was purely a chance meeting; but when

Jark learned that I had some knowledge of electrical apparatus, he offered me a position as his secretary."

"Yes," acknowledged Bruce. "Much of my income was tied up and I had become confidential secretary for

Talbot Lowberry, the banker. It was at Lowberry's home that I met Jark. The professor, learning that I

"Professor Jark wanted seclusion," declared Bruce. "He was working on a new invention, a disintegrating ray

with which he had gained some success. I saw designs of the apparatus. It was a concave projector,

Bruce paused to rest. The Shadow made no comment. He watched the young man's eyes close and waited

until Bruce had again opened them. Bruce reached for a glass of water on the table. The Shadow tendered it.

"In his experiments," said the young man, "Jark discovered that by lengthening the bowl of the projector, he

could considerably increase the range of the ray. Roughly, a bowl projector, one foot in depth could cast rays

only one foot from its mouth. But by increasing the bowl to a twofoot depth, it would gain a range of eight

"I understand," nodded The Shadow. "The ratio of the range increase would be the cube of the bowl depth. A

"That is right," stated Bruce. "With a projector thirty feet in length, the professor knew that he could drive his

"But he must also have learned," remarked The Shadow, "that the power of the ray would diminish in

"Right again," announced Bruce. "I believe that his experiments showed a onehalf loss of intensity for each

added foot of the projector. That meant that the power of the ray would be quite feeble in a thirtyfoot

"Powerfully, I am sure, although the professor was very loath to make admissions. I am positive, though, that

his original projector one foot in depth was capable of disintegrating substances less than one foot away.

Professor Jark must have experienced that much success. Otherwise he would not have proceeded with

"IT was Jark's hope," resumed Bruce, "to produce what he termed an atomic gun. He believed that if he could

construct a thirtyfoot projector, it would be possible to insert coils all along the tube. He would thus have

thirty units combined in one; with this steppedup power, the atomic gun would gain the strength of the

"And that," inserted The Shadow, "would mean that his gun would destroy any object that came within a

"So Professor Jark believed," said Bruce, wearily. "He needed capital for his experiments. He gained it

through a promoter named Basil Tellert. It was Tellert who introduced the professor to Lowberry and other

Another pause while Bruce took a second drink of water. Eyes fully opened, Bruce was surveying his

calmfaced visitor more clearly. A bit of enthusiasm showed in Bruce's voice as he proceeded with his story.

"I handled the correspondence between Jark and Tellert," stated Bruce "The Professor had his apparatus in

the house at 18 Delavar Street. I was living there; and there was also a servant named Harkins. Jark was

always eccentric and closemouthed about his experiments. The only reason I learned as much as I did was

"A few weeks ago, Jark wrote to Tellert in reply to a letter from the promoter. In his letter, the professor

stated that his atomic gun would surely be a success; but that because of its amazing power, he had decided to

offer it to the government. He added that when he did this, he would insist that the original investors be

"Was one of indignation. He wrote a letter stating that he doubted Jark's sincerity. He intimated that Jark was

a swindler, his disintegrating ray a fake. He told Jark that unless he came clean, within a reasonable period,

"That brings me to the strangest part of my story," declared Bruce, emphatically. "The professor wrote a letter

to Tellert stating that he was overworked and needed a rest. He told Tellert that he intended to go on a

vacation. That did not surprise me, for I had already overheard Professor Jark making a telephone

conversation to a specialist named Doctor Nordis Baird. Apparently, Baird intended to take a trip somewhere

"Yes, and his life really depended upon Baird's treatment. I never learned the exact nature of Jark's ailment;

but I did know that it required certain changes in medicine at irregular intervals. Baird alone could diagnose

Professor Jark's varying condition. If Baird went away from New York, Jark would have to accompany him."

"Tellert must have accepted Jark's statement. Like myself, others who knew Jark understood the importance

of his treatments. I wondered, when Jark sent the letter, whether or not he was trying to deceive Tellert. A

few days later came a most remarkable proof that some hidden game was under way."

Bruce paused to rest. He was coming to the crux of his story, gathering his latent strength in order to be

"PROFESSOR JARK left the house one afternoon," declared Bruce, "stating to me that he had an

appointment with Doctor Baird. The next day Jark remained indoors. That evening two men came to call.

One was tall and darkcomplected. He said that his name was Theblaw. His companion was short and

"They looked like bad customers. With them was another pair, who had the appearance of mobsters. Theblaw

and Wight told me that Tellert had sent them; that they wanted they see Professor Jark. Their introduction

sounded like a false one; but the whole crew looked so dangerous that I was forced to announce them to the

"They went into an upstairs study, leaving the two toughs on guard downstairs. I realized that the thugs were

watching me, so I went about my business in matteroffact fashion. The rowdies watched me when I went

The Shadow raised his hand for a pause, partly because Bruce was tiring and partly because he had a

question. He waited for a few moments; then put his interrogation in an easy tone.

"About a half an hour after they came in," replied Bruce. "I was wondering if the professor had encountered

trouble. That was why I thought it imperative to go upstairs. It happened that the door of the study was ajar; it

had never latched properly. I could hear the conversation that was going on within.

"To my astonishment, I overheard Professor Jark talking in a most crafty tone. He was chuckling, almost

gloating, enthusiastic as he talked of success. I heard Wight address Theblaw as 'Matt'; while Theblaw called

Wight 'Digger.' From their remarks I gathered that Matt Theblaw had important gang connections while

"Then came a buzzing sound. I knew that the professor must have brought in his original disintegrating

apparatus, to give a demonstration. After the buzzing ended I heard Jark say that it would require only a few

weeks to properly adjust the machine; that if it gave trouble, he could always repair it.

"Theblaw and Wight seemed satisfied. Then I caught some anxious remarks from the professor. He was

referring to Doctor Baird. I heard Theblaw assure Jark that he and Digger would see that Baird was at the

new place. By that I inferred that Jark intended to change his residence. At that point, I considered it wise to

Another pause. Bruce had a faraway look, as though reviewing tense days that he had experienced. His next

"MATT THEBLAW and Digger Wight remained," declared Bruce. "So did their henchmen. Harkins was

dismissed. Jark retained me. I knew too much. I knew I was under observation both from Jark and these

"Professor Jark had previously equipped both the front stairs and the back door with electrical devices to

surprise burglars. There was also a side entrance. Its equipment had caused a short circuit; and Jark had

"So I knew that if I once managed to leave the house, there would be a method of reentry. Everything was

being moved out apparatus, furniture, files. Where it was going, I did not know. I realized, though, that I

"My one opportunity was to escape before moving day. I found my opportunity night before last. I fled by the

side doorway. I went to the Palladium Hotel. From there I communicated with Harry Vincent."

Bruce rested back wearily. He knew that The Shadow knew the rest. As Bruce's eyes closed, the tall visitor

arose. Passing into the hallway, The Shadow continued to the office, where he found Doctor Sayre.

"I am starting on a journey tomorrow," informed The Shadow, in Cranston's tones. "To Buenos Aires. Take

care of the patient, doctor. Allow him to communicate with his friend, Harry Vincent. A friend of mine may

also call here a gentleman named Henry Arnaud. Should he visit you, you may speak to him as

"Mention that to your patient also. It may prove wise for him to talk to Arnaud on certain occasions. Good

night, doctor. I should say, rather, goodby, for you will not see me during the next few months."

Leaving the physician's office, The Shadow entered a cab and rode toward Times Square. As he neared the

brilliant district, glowing light showed the firm features of the disguise that he still wore.

The Shadow's expression was meditative. His keen brain was piecing Bruce Duncan's story, adding Bruce's

findings to facts that The Shadow had already gained. Bruce's reference to Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight

Jark Theblaw Wight Tellert Baird five names had been mentioned by Bruce Duncan. From one of

these, The Shadow might gain a clue. That point managed, the master sleuth would have a start along the

ON the following morning, a tall man of distinguished appearance entered a medical building on Fiftieth

Street. There was something about this individual that was dimly reminiscent of Lamont Cranston. Perhaps it

was the firm mold of his features. It could have been nothing more, for facially, he did not resemble Cranston

Arriving on the third floor, this visitor entered a physician's office and inquired for Doctor Nordis Baird. The

girl at the desk informed him that Doctor Baird was out of town; but that certain of his associates were

"Another will not do," remarked the tall man, almost coldly. "I must see Doctor Baird personally. I am Mr.

"I am very sorry," informed the girl, seriously. "It is absolutely impossible to reach Doctor Baird. No one has

"They told me that when I called his apartment house. But they added that I might gain information here."

"We do not know ourselves, Mr. Arnaud. He left about a week ago, for a complete rest. He may be gone for a

A smile showed on the lips of Henry Arnaud as the visitor left the office. It was a smile that differed from

that of Lamont Cranston. For Arnaud and Cranston were two contrasting personalities, even though both

As Henry Arnaud, The Shadow had more leeway in his work. For there was no real Henry Arnaud. The

Shadow could let the role suit his own convenience. As a rule, however, he preferred the role of Lamont

The Shadow had reverted to the Arnaud role because of his recent experience while playing the part of

Cranston. As Arnaud, he was brisker at times. More of a business man than a leisurely gentleman of millions.

At the same time, he possessed wellfaked credentials, and could summon influential friends to prove that

Henry Arnaud was a man of means and ability. Therefore, the part of Arnaud was eminently suited to The

As he reached the street and summoned a cab, The Shadow's disguised face showed plainly in the daylight. It

carried something of the hawkish trace that marked The Shadow's impersonation of Lamont Cranston. But

the features of Henry Arnaud were thicker and heavier. Somehow, also, The Shadow appeared shorter as

HALF an hour after his departure from Doctor Baird's, The Shadow reached an office building south of

Times Square. He took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. There he entered an office that bore the

This suite, numbered 1409, was equipped in modernistic style. The reception room had chromiumplated

chairs and settees; an oddly designed rug adorned the floor. It was obvious that Basil Tellert was in business

The Shadow knew that these signs of affluence were not faked. Basil Tellert was a man who had been in the

news. He had been connected with the promotion of certain sporting events and spectacular stage

Moreover, when Tellert dealt with investment promotions, they usually showed themselves sound. The

Shadow had this information direct from an investigating agent, Rutledge Mann. Presumably an investment

broker, Mann was actually an aid of The Shadow; and he had contacts that frequently proved valuable. This

morning, Mann had forwarded a preliminary report that spoke highly of Tellert's dealings.

The Shadow gave a secretary a card marked with the name of Henry Arnaud. He stated that he was here to

see Mr. Tellert. The girl surveyed the visitor; then entered an inner office. A minute later, she reappeared

with the announcement that Mr. Tellert was ready to see Mr. Arnaud. The Shadow entered the inner office.

Basil Tellert was a man whose face was a symphony of curves. His florid countenance was wellrounded.

His hair line formed a perfect arc; his eyebrows matched the exact curve. His forehead bore three creases

His lips curved upward in a welcoming smile that looked like a forehead crease inverted. Spreading from

each side of his nose were vertical curves that gave his face its final symmetry. Tall, heavy of build, Tellert

"Good morning, Mr. Arnaud," greeted Tellert, in a rich baritone. "Kindly be seated. I would appreciate it if

you would begin by stating the nature of your business. That is usual, when I hold interviews."

"Very well." The Shadow seated himself and accepted a cigar that Tellert offered. "I have come here, Mr.

Tellert, at the advice of a friend who stated that you were promoting a project that might interest me."

"Carstairs Townsend. At present in Florida, where I met him last week. Like myself, he is a member of the

"So he told me. But he has a friend whom you know quite well. At least, so Townsend told me. I refer to

"Townsend mentioned that fact. He stated also, Mr. Tellert, that you had interested Lowberry in some new

electrical marvel an appliance invented by an eccentric old scientist: Professor Baldridge Jark."

Tellert's smile faded. His lips took on a downward curve. Placing his cigar between them, he stared from the

window while his left hand drummed the table. Then, suddenly, he faced The Shadow and spoke

"I AM glad," declared Tellert, "that you have referred to Professor Jark as eccentric. The word describes him

exactly. I made a mistake, Mr. Arnaud, in attempting to promote the man's invention. I am afraid that it is

going to prove a bad venture. One of the very few with which I have been associated."

"I am afraid not. As yet, I have not informed my clients such as Mr. Lowberry because I still hold to the

hope that my opinion may be wrong. But I have positively decided against interesting any new investors in

The promoter drew himself up proudly behind his desk. His eyes were straight, his manner was direct.

"I believe in frankness, Mr. Arnaud," he asserted. "That method of dealing has been responsible for my

success. Therefore, I feel that you are entitled to a full explanation of the circumstances involving Professor

Jark. It is possible as I mentioned before that his idea may be as good as I once thought it was.

"Should such prove to be the case, I should certainly recommend your investing in it. So I consider it good

policy to give you a full account of the matter, that you may be able to judge it properly at some future date."

Tellert pressed a button. A stenographer entered. Tellert called for the Jark files. The girl left and reappeared

in less than one minute, bringing a folder of papers and letters. Tellert began to talk again, referring to the

"Professor Jark," he stated, "first came to me with news of a new device that he had invented. He termed it

the disintegrating ray. Fundamentally, it was an electrical process through which he could reduce the

"Jark, as you doubtless know, is an electrical wizard. He gave me a demonstration with a model of his

invention. The bowlshaped projector which he used did have the quality of melting, or destroying, crude

"Commercially, the idea had two possibilities. Built on a large scale, it would offer a means of demolishing

buildings and other structural objects. It might be used in quarrying, or in other projects. Apparently, it

afforded a cheap and efficient method of doing away with certain old and expensive mechanical processes.

"But Jark needed funds to continue with the invention. In its present form, it could not do the work that must

be expected of it. The reduction of solid objects was slow; and in most instances, a failure. But the principle

was present. It was logical that Jark given opportunity could make the device accomplish marvels."

Tellert made new reference to his papers. He brought out certain letters and laid them to one side. Then he

"ANOTHER possibility that Jark presented," stated Tellert, "was the stepping up of the device to produce

what he called an atomic gun. He claimed that with this device he could project a ray several miles,

"He spoke of the atomic gun as a war weapon. He pictured squadrons of airplanes dematerializing under the

withering effect of his machine. He talked of melting battleships. Such outlandish statements worried me.

Nevertheless, I was willing to concede that the atomic gun, in modified form, might be a possibility of the

"I provided the funds, fifty thousand dollars for experimentation, which I received from interested clients.

Jark declared that the amount would be more than ample to perfect the disintegrating ray machine to a point

"But all the while, Mr. Arnaud, he persisted in his desire to develop an atomic gun. He could not think in sane

terms, or let us say" Tellert smiled "in sound business terms. The time came when the preliminary funds

The promoter passed a typewritten sheet to The Shadow. It was signed with a ragged scrawl that represented

the signature of Professor Baldridge Jark. While The Shadow was reading the letter, Tellert added a carbon

"You see," explained Tellert, "I write Jark quite frequently, asking for reports on the progress that he was

making. It was in reply to one of my usual letters that he again sidetracked mention of the disintegrating ray

"Apparently from his inferences the disintegrating ray had already reached its proper point; but he wanted

to drop it. His wonderful gun was a reality; and because it was so amazing, he could deal no longer with

"He mentions here," remarked The Shadow, "that he would insist that the investors be reimbursed."

"Yes," agreed Tellert, "but how? Only one way would be possible: through a government appropriation. And

when? No one could tell. Furthermore, my clients did not invest with the understanding that they would

"The agreement with Jark I have it here was a fair one. If the disintegrating ray should gain its required

intensity, it would become the property of a corporation in which the investors and the professor would have

"I replied with an indignant letter," asserted the promoter. "I told Jark what I thought. Perhaps I put it strong,

Mr. Arnaud, but I believe that I read correctly between the lines of Jark's own letter. The progress that he

claimed sounded doubtful. It looked as though he had decided to try some dodge. His reply stated that he was

Tellert indicated Jark's last letter with a nudge of his thumb. Then, leaning forward on his desk, he spoke in

"I FELT that I had been harsh with the old man," he declared. "His letter indicated that his opinion might be

changing. I thought that he was coming to his senses. I felt sure that he would write me later, at least to tell

"No further letter came. Yesterday afternoon that was about a week after he wrote me I telephoned the

professor, only to find that the service had been disconnected. I sent a messenger to his home. I received the

"I could not believe it at first. I went there myself, to make sure. The house was open; I entered and found it

practically barren. Without a word to me Professor Jark had flown, carrying thousands of dollars worth of

equipment, all of which had been provided through the investors who had shown trust in me."

Tellert sank back in his chair. He drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his florid brow. It

was plain that the promoter saw himself in a most embarrassing dilemma; one that would be difficult to

The Shadow arose. He passed the papers back to Tellert. Everything that the promoter had said; all this data

from the files, bore testimony to Bruce Duncan's statements regarding Professor Jark's strange behavior.

"Would it be possible," he asked, in the monotone of Arnaud, "that Professor Jark could have decided to

conduct his future experiments in some other place? Where he could not be found? So that he would

"I thought of that," responded Tellert, also rising. "But there is one factor in the way. The matter of money.

"By George!" he ejaculated. "That might be it! Do you know, I was thinking that the old codger had merely

worked a mild swindle; or that he had run away, seeking to cover failure. But it might be that he is playing a

"This is serious, Mr. Arnaud." Tellert sobered. "May I ask that you keep this interview as a matter of

confidence? Really, my position is most embarrassing. I have been hoping only that Jark would soon return.

"I shall mention this to no one," assured The Shadow, steadily. "Only one matter still puzzles me, however.

"I can only wait," answered Tellert, mopping his forehead. "Wait for a few weeks maybe for a month.

Then, if I have heard nothing from Professor Jark, I shall be forced to place the matter in the hands of the

"But to brand Professor Jark as a swindler will be a drastic step. One, I assure you, that will prove damaging

to my own reputation. For my clients have always placed great store by my opinions. I must certainly wait,

Tellert managed to smile hopefully after this statement; but it was evident that new apprehensions troubled

him. He shook hands with his visitor as he accompanied him through the outer office.

The skyscraper which housed Tellert's suite of offices was known as the Lambreth Building. Outside that

towering edifice, The Shadow strolled away toward Times Square; then increased his pace to a brisk walk.

LATER, a light clicked in The Shadow's sanctum. Although it was daytime in Manhattan, this secluded room

was black save for that one spot where blue light glowed upon The Shadow's table. Hands came beneath the

A sibilant laugh. The word and the mirth summed The Shadow's findings. He had seen the one point of

Bruce Duncan's story was valuable. The Shadow knew of Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight. The former was a

smart exracketeer who had long been latent. The latter had done time for safecracking, and had not

Their statement, to Bruce Duncan, that they had come from Tellert, had obviously been made to deceive the

young man. Bruce's observation and his eavesdropping proved clearly that Professor Jark could have

contacted with these criminals outside his home; and given them a cue for introducing themselves when they

It was definite that the crooks had agreed with Jark to lull Bruce into thinking that all was well. Despite the

presence of mobsters from that time on, Bruce might have fallen for the game had he not overheard the last

Half an hour, Bruce had said. Those thirty minutes of early discussion must have been important. Had Bruce

overheard that portion of the conference, he might have learned facts that would give The Shadow a definite

As it was, Bruce had been lucky to get away. Crooks must have planned to take him with them to wherever

they were establishing new headquarters. Once he had managed to leave the house on Delavar Street, the

At present, Bruce Duncan was safe. From him, The Shadow had learned all that could be gained. Two new

leads had arisen. The Shadow had followed both. Doctor Nordis Baird was supposedly on vacation. The

Baird was necessary to Jark. Hence the physician must be at the new headquarters. But Baird's own penchant

for keeping his vacation plans unknown even to his associates meant that it would be impossible to pick up

By interviewing Tellert, The Shadow had learned the promoter's side of the story. At present, Tellert was

latent. He did not intend to do anything about Professor Jark's disappearance for a month at least.

Nevertheless, Tellert's future actions might have some important bearing on the activities of Professor

THE SHADOW inscribed brief coded notes. One to Rutledge Mann; the other to Harry Vincent, for delivery

through the investment broker. To these agents he was deputing the task of cautiously watching Basil Tellert,

for the definite reason that crooks might also be keeping close check on the promoter.

Jark Baird Tellert not one gave present promise. In that trio, The Shadow saw how one man had been

duped and a second kidnapped to serve the wiles of a master plotter. The Shadow, in his own meeting with

He had divined how capable Jark was at playing a double game; how craftily Jark could cover up his real

purposes. Talking with the supposed Lamont Cranston, Jark had made himself out to be a friendly individual

Yet all the while, crooks had been listening in on Jark's shrewd palaver. Neatly, the professor had avoided all

mention of his disintegrating ray, that device which both Bruce Duncan and Basil Tellert had sketchily

Crime. Therein lay The Shadow's contact. The change of Professor Jark's abode indicated that plans were

ready. The collaboration of Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight showed that quickacting crooks were on the

Bruce Duncan had escaped. Although Jark, Theblaw and Wight thought that Bruce knew less than he did,

they must realize, nevertheless, that the missing secretary could eventually cause trouble.

Crooks were holding Doctor Nordis Baird. There, again, would be difficulty in the future, when Baird's

associates realized that his prolonged absence meant abduction. Another point. Basil Tellert, within the next

few weeks, would be forced to proclaim that Professor Baldridge Jark was a swindler.

Finally, The Shadow himself had entered the game. Captured, he had bluffed the foe. But crooks would know

Crime, therefore, would be immediate. The stage was set for it. Quick, swift thrusts, with rapid cleanup,

could be the only course. Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight were backed by a brainy master who would

Crime would strike in Manhattan. That was another logical deduction. Matt and Digger knew this terrain and

their contacts here. New York offered the richest opportunities, with the greatest number of varied striking

Crime would be covered. Workers like Stinger Lacey would be used to trick the police into thinking that

ordinary criminals were pulling routine jobs. That was The Shadow's final deduction. It marked the course

Earphones came from the wall. Burbank's voice came over the wire. In whispered tones, The Shadow issued

instructions. Orders to Cliff and Hawkeye. Through these agents in the underworld, The Shadow saw means

EARLY evening showed a glittering bright spot west of Sixth Avenue. Blazing lights atop a marquee

proclaimed to Gothamites that the Club Cadilly offered the best floor show in Manhattan with no charge

Customers were entering the place when a taxi pulled up outside. Moe Shrevnitz was at the wheel. The

passengers were Cliff Marsland and Hawkeye. Cliff alighted. He was attired in tuxedo and made a striking

Moe drove away, with Hawkeye huddled in the back seat. Around the block, a threeminute trip brought the

taxi back to its starting point. Hawkeye, also tuxedoclad, alighted and walked into the club.

Though Hawkeye lacked Cliff's gentlemanly appearance, he was not out of his element. For the Club Cadilly

had never been patronized by the elite. Its chief customers were characters of underworld connections all

Cliff had taken a seat on one side of the night Club's floor. Hawkeye did not approach him. Instead, the

second agent seated himself fully thirty feet away. Cliff looked almost aristocratic in his evening garb;

Hawkeye was incongruous in the tuxedo that he had hired. No one would have recognized the pair as pals.

Filtering among the tuxedoed rabble were men of better appearance. Close observation of their countenance,

however, showed marks of dissipation. They were rogues who had found the Club Cadilly to their liking. The

attraction that had brought them here was located beyond a curtained archway, through which these

Cliff, after spotting Hawkeye's arrival, decided to follow the others who had gone through the arch. Leaving

his table, he took that path and came to a loopholed door at the end of a corridor past the curtains. Cliff

"Hello, Cliff!" greeted a fatfaced guard whose rumpled tuxedo looked two sizes too small. "Say, I wondered

who was trying to crash dis gate. Ain't you wise to the knock? Ain't you never been here before?"

"No," chuckled Cliff, with a shake of his head. "But I figured that whoever was lookout would know me. I

"Sure t'ing," rejoined the fatfaced fellow. "Any guy dat knows his onions knows dat Cliff Marsland's in de

"Thanks," said Cliff, dryly. "Listen, Beef: I'm here to see Luke Cardiff. Where will I find him?"

"Go t'rough de gamblin' joint. Pick de door over past de table where dey're playin' chuckaluck. If any mug

asks where you're goin', tell him you're a friend of Mr. Carney. Dat's de password."

Cliff nodded. "Beef" rapped at a second door; it was opened by another rowdy who also recognized Cliff.

The Shadow's agent strolled into a large gambling room. The place was half filled, with roulette and faro

tables going, while men along the walls were dropping quarters and half dollars into slot machines.

The chuckaluck table had not yet opened. Cliff received no challenge as he passed it. He found the door

that Beef had mentioned and rapped upon it. A gruff voice ordered him to enter. Cliff went into a little office,

THE fellow showed a goldtoothed grin as he recognized Cliff Marsland. The man at the desk was Luke

Cardiff, proprietor of the Club Cadilly. The restaurant with its floor show was a blind for the gambling casino

Cliff seated himself opposite Luke. The proprietor offered his visitor a cigar; then waited for Cliff to speak.

Luke knew that Cliff had a rep in the badlands. A visit from someone so closely in the know promised to be

"Say, Luke," began Cliff, in an indifferent tone, "have you seen Matt Theblaw lately?"

"No," acknowledged Luke. "What's the matter? Somebody gunning for Matt? He was an old pal of mine; if

Luke's eyes opened. The underworld had been talking about Stinger's demise. Rumor had it that the mob

leader had succumbed following a battle with The Shadow. But no other names had been mentioned in

"I know he was," returned Cliff. "That's why Stinger built his mob on Matt's account."

"Here's the lay, Luke," asserted Cliff. "Matt told Stinger to build up a crew. Stinger did; but it wasn't enough.

Matt wanted a second outfit to work with the first. But he was playing straight with Stinger, see?"

"So he told Stinger to get a good guy for the new mob," continued Cliff, smoothly framing his story as he

went along. "Stinger picked me. He told me Matt was in back of the deal. I was to get my own gorillas and

"Then Stinger got his," declared Cliff sourly. "What's more, it came so quick after he'd talked with me that he

"That's it," stated Cliff, "with a bunch of swell gorillas itching to go to work. I want Matt to know where I

stood with Stinger. That's why I've come to talk to you. You're the one guy who was ever really in as partner

LUKE nodded as he considered. Cliff had stated a known fact. Matt Theblaw and Luke Cardiff had once

been termed the Siamese twins of mobland. They had maneuvered rackets, with mob leaders on their payroll.

But they had wisely dropped their activities at a time when the going became too hot.

"We worked together, Matt and I," acknowledged Luke, slowly. "Made some good deals between us. We

split because we were wise. What Matt's pulled since, I don't know. This gambling joint's my gravy right at

"I know that," agreed Cliff, casually. "All I was figuring, Luke, was that you might have some way of passing

word to Matt. Whatever he's working has got big dough in it. Stinger wised me to that. With Stinger out, it's a

"I get you," nodded Luke. "You'd like to know who Matt would pick now that Stinger's gone. So you could

"Sure," asserted Cliff. "You've got the idea, Luke. Maybe you know who Matt would be picking."

Luke became thoughtful. Cliff knew that he was recalling old names, going down a list, just as if he and Matt

"I'll tell you the guy," he declared, slowly. "Maybe you know him already. He's the next best bet to Stinger, to

do the mob work Matt would want: Loco Zorgin. He hangs out down at the Black Ship."

"Loco Zorgin," repeated Cliff with a nod. "Sure, I know him. I think I'll ankle down there and look him up.

That ended the conversation. A handshake concluded the discussion; Cliff left the office and went out

through the gambling joint. He whacked Beef on the back; then, as the entrance closed behind him, Cliff

Quickly, he used the stub of a pencil to write terse words on a tiny pad. Plucking off the written sheet, Cliff

rolled it into a pellet and brought it out between his fingers. Strolling through the place, he passed Hawkeye's

The pellet dropped from Cliff's fingers as he pocketed the pack. Hawkeye saw it; he watched Cliff light a

cigarette and continue out. Hawkeye shifted and let his hand rest on the pellet, which had fallen on the table.

Outside, Hawkeye unrolled the pellet and read the words: "The Black Ship Loco Zorgin."

HALF an hour afterward, both Cliff and Hawkeye were in the underworld dive known as the Black Ship. An

underground hangout, this joint was one of the crossroads of the underworld. At different tables in the

Hawkeye had picked a spot near two sweatered mobsters. The pair were discoursing, in low tones, over a

bottle of grog. Hawkeye had recognized them as ruffians who might be torpedoes in the employ of "Loco"

Zorgin. As he listened, his wiry body hunched at his own table, Hawkeye realized that his conjecture was

"Loco didn't want us hookin' up with the rest of the outfit, see?" One thug was talking to the other. "Us

watchin' that house was somethin' he needed done. But there was the chance that some harness bull might've

"Sure," came the reply. "An' if th' bull had tipped some dick to it, we'd have been trailed back to th' outfit.

"The mob's keepin' in between the bank an' the house we was at," added the first speaker. "Comin' up there

with Loco. It don't matter to us what's up. Loco's the guy that's doin' the job."

"Yeah," was the response, "but it's a tough one. Say that Colonnade Trust Company ain't no easylookin'

"Loco ain't bustin' in; he's coverin'. But lay off the gab. It ain't good to talk too much nowhere. Not even in

The conversation ended. Warily, Hawkeye watched the torpedoes. He gave them five minutes, while they

kept downing their grog. Then Hawkeye arose and shuffled from the Black Ship. Outside, he made for a

Five minutes more. Someone approached. Hawkeye recognized the step. He gave a whisper. It was Cliff

Marsland. The first agent had seen the second leave the Black Ship. Cliff had stalled a few minutes before

Hawkeye whispered the news that he had heard. It was sufficient. Mention of the Colonnade Trust Company

Cliff and Hawkeye made their way together from the alley. They separated; Cliff, with Hawkeye trailing, was

Word to Burbank. Prompt information for The Shadow. Following the lead that had been given him, Cliff,

with Hawkeye's aid, had achieved immediate results. Luke Cardiff had named Loco Zorgin. Minions of the

Crime was already in the making crime that could be traced to Matt Theblaw, through him to professor Jark

and the disintegrating ray. The time had already arrived for The Shadow to spring a counter thrust.

CLIFF MARSLAND, reporting to The Shadow, knew that crime was in the making. How close it was to

For at the very time that Cliff had started to call Burbank, a group of men were participating in a most

remarkable scene, close by the foundation of the big building which housed the wealthy Colonnade Trust

The men where crouched in a circular tunnel that measured five feet in diameter. Extending from the cellar of

a vacant house, the tribe had been burrowing for a distance of thirty feet. Along the floor of the tunnel ran an

There, a fivefoot concave bowl was faced against solid concrete. The glow of burning light showed from its

rim. A singing buzz was coming from the device, with occasional crackles. Matt Theblaw, close against the

back of the machine, was pressing it forward in a slow, regular manner, while Digger Wight and others

The disintegrating ray was eating through the stone foundations of the Colonnade Trust building. Concrete

was melting away as if before a sand blast. But Professor Jark's invention was smoother and more efficient

than any oldtype device. It conquered steel and other metals as effectively as it withered rock.

"We're there," came Matt's growled announcement, heard despite the crackles of the ray. "Move back all of

He clicked a switch. The glare of the ray machine flickered into oblivion. Matt swung the shallow bowl

Glimmers came. Digger and Louie aided in pulling the machine edgewise back through the tunnel. Matt

groped through to the finish of the cavity; then clicked his own flashlight. He chuckled as he saw the interior

Crooks went to work at Matt's order. In and out, in and out, they rifled the contents of the nest to which they

had penetrated. Stacks of currency, piles of negotiable securities, boxes of silver coin constituted their spoils.

The Colonnade Trust Company had connections with banks that did a large business in foreign markets. Its

vault the one that Matt had reached was used to store large quantities of foreign as well as domestic

Dragging boxes as they worked with speed, Matt's picked henchmen brought the spoils into the cellar of the

empty house from which the tunneling had begun. Digger was in charge there; he had dismantled the ray

machine and boxed it. Matt ordered his crew to carry the boxed machine up with the swag. The workers were

DIGGER was engaged in a new task. The short crook had gained his nickname because of his ability to carve

his way through barriers. Tonight's job was one that he could not possibly have accomplished; but it was his

work to make it look as though some force other than the ray had done the trick.

Skillfully, Digger began planting dynamite charges all the way through the tunnel, from the vault back to the

cellar of the house. He had accomplished this by the time the last boxes were gone. Setting a time fuse,

"This way, Digger," ordered Matt, as they reached the ground floor above the cellar. "We're going out by the

The swag carriers had taken a rear exit. The entire terrain about this vacant house was under guard. As Matt

and Digger emerged from the front door, they stepped to a secluded street, where the whiteness of the

A man shouldered up to the doorway. It was Loco. Matt spoke in an undertone. This was the word for the

coverup crew to spread. No more watchers were needed between the old house and the bank building.

"We'll be clear inside of ten minutes," informed Matt, "but you won't have to wait that long. Just hold it for a

couple of minutes after the soup blows. That's going to bring the bulls. Give them a chance to spot some of

"That's all fixed, Matt," assured Loco. "Leave it to me. The whole crew's posted. But they'll still be watching

Long and lanky, Loco sidled away from the house. Matt nudged Digger. Together they walked along until

they reached a passage between two houses. Moving through, they came to a rear street, where three cars

The caravan started. With lights dimmed, the cars were moving out into an avenue, there to take up a

northward course, increasing speed as they cleared this district. Matt had deliberately planned for the

That was because he did not want Loco's crew lingering longer than was necessary. Rather than figure half an

hour for the swag bearers to make distance, he had counted on only ten minutes. To draw in the police and to

give them a blind trail of mobster cars, was the idea that Matt had picked as best.

There were few cars passing along the avenue. The leading vehicle in Matt's procession waited until the

broad street was cleared; then it swung out with the other cars close behind. But while the three cars were

It was a trim coupe that had made haste in reaching this location. The driver, looking up the avenue, spied the

three cars coming into the wide street. A whispered laugh came from blackness above the wheel of the coupe.

FROM the details of Cliff Marsland's report, The Shadow had divined that robbery might be completed by

the time that he reached the vicinity of the bank building. He had deliberately arranged his course so that he

For even if crime had succeeded, The Shadow had a rare opportunity. He knew that crooks would not expect

followers. This was his chance to pick up a trail that would lead him to the new headquarters of Professor

The Shadow had reasoned that Matt and Digger would be the jobdoers; that Jark would still be at the

unknown spot where Doctor Baird was held prisoner; that reserve gangsters would be there also. The Shadow

Coming in to skirt this district, he had seen the beginning of the getaway. His plan was to keep on the trail.

Idling along in the coupe, he gave the three cars more leeway; then, when they were four blocks distant, The

Well had The Shadow calculated. But chance, which had first favored him, was now ready with a bit of

trickery. From a store front on the avenue, sharp eyes were watching The Shadow's coupe. Those optics

The crouching mobster noted the coupe's increase of speed. He watched the vehicle for a moment; then

decided to look along the avenue. That was when the freak of chance occurred. Just as the picket spotted the

swagbearing cars, the leader of the procession swung off the avenue into another side street.

But for this fact, the picket would not have suspected the coupe. As it was, he reasoned backward. He thought

that the driver of the coupe had seen the cars turn and on that account had increased acceleration. Leaping

The Shadow was already fifty feet beyond the picket's post. His increasing speed made his car an evasive

target. The picket's bullets whistled wide. But other gunmen bobbed into view; like the first, they sought to

INSTANTLY, The Shadow decided to run the gantlet. Whisking an automatic as he jammed the accelerator

to the floor, he leaned from the window of the coupe and aimed ahead. Mobsters in the rear did not matter.

But those ahead must be eliminated before the coupe came alongside them. Responding to the picket's fire,

all mobsters on the avenue had swung from their hiding places. They thought it would be easy to stop this

suspicious coupe. They had not reckoned on the fact that The Shadow was at the wheel.

An automatic spat flame at the nearest sniper. A searing bullet sent the rogue spinning to the sidewalk. This

mobsman had been at The Shadow's left; but The Shadow had fired in crisscross fashion with his right hand.

Left fist still gripping the wheel, The Shadow shifted his form clear across to the window on the right. Out

An aiming gorilla sank to the curb, his revolver rattling as it struck the gutter. Snarling, the mobsman was

clutching his right arm. He was an open target; but The Shadow did not want him. Again shifting to the left,

the cloaked driver aimed for a third mobster who was on the left side of the street.

Two guns barked simultaneously. The mobster's slug cracked the little window just back of the coupe's door.

Shatterproof glass did not scatter. But the burst of The Shadow's automatic was an effective one. As the

coupe sped by, the third foe lay flattened. He, too, had taken a bullet from The Shadow's .45.

Cutting straight across the avenue, The Shadow was heading for the street that the three cars had taken. The

last picket was diving for the shelter of a fat fireplug. The Shadow, his automatic regained, was ready to

drop the mobsman if he tried to fire. But that moment, a new threat roared into view.

From the street which The Shadow had last passed, a mobstermanned touring car had whirled out into the

avenue at the very moment of The Shadow's veer. Whizzing up the right side of the avenue, it was bulging

straight for the swinging coupe. Two mobsters were aiming a bulky machine gun from the left side of the

AS he jammed the brakes of his car, The Shadow aimed a straight shot for the most vulnerable point among

his foemen; the driver of the touring car. A zimming bullet jolted the fellow up from the wheel. Unguided at

Its rear veered to the left. The man beside the driver uttered a cry as he grabbed the steering wheel to yank the

car off the curb. The machine gun rattled; but its aim was hopeless. The sudden swerve of the rakish car

caused the stream of bullets to zip in front of the halted coupe and clatter off the brick wall of a corner

Then, as the car swung zigzag fashion, The Shadow blazed away at the machine gunners. He nipped the man

who was trying to change the heavy weapon's aim. As the rattle broke off, the touring car took another side

The jar whacked the lighter car half around and sent its front wheels jouncing up upon the curb. But the

touring car, with its combined weight and momentum, was due for a worse fate. Its rear wheels caught an oily

section of the side street's asphalt. The big car keeled over on its side as it hit the curb.

At this instant came the muffled roar of a subterranean blast. Digger's charge in the tunnel between the old

house and the bank. The ground shook; glass clattered from hundreds of windows in the surrounding blocks.

Amid the reverberations of the explosion sounded the shrill notes of whistles. A siren whined from off the

The Shadow yanked the coupe into low gear and stepped hard on the accelerator. The car fairly leaped over

the curb and out into the avenue. A sharp swing of the steering wheel, a quick shift into high speed second.

Whizzing across the avenue, The Shadow sped away into the silence of the side street to the left.

As his car whirled toward the corner, The Shadow added aftermath to chaos. Above the roar of the motor

came the chilling mockery of his strident laugh. Sweeping away from pursuing cars, balking the attack of

enemies who had all but surrounded him, The Shadow was leaving his disorganized foemen to bear the brunt

Left at the post, the mobsters would be forced to scatter in flight. The Shadow had given them the slip; should

they take up a chase, they would run risk of dashing squarely into the intervening approach of police cars.

Their only choice was to flee up the avenue, leaving stragglers to be captured by the police.

The Shadow had made the most of belated opportunity. Unable to meet crime before it struck, he had sought

to gain an important trail. Chance had robbed him of his mission. Outspread mobsters had sought to down

Once again, The Shadow had conquered evil hordes. Yet his quest still lay blank against him. Though he had

delivered telling blows to the minions who had covered crime, he had made no score against those villains

THREE days had passed since The Shadow's running fray with Loco Zorgin's mob. Newspapers had been

filled with details of the daring robbery through which supposed dynamiters had rifled the Colonnade Trust

At detective headquarters, the work had been attributed to local mobs. Police were on the lookout for signs of

the swag. Captured mobsters had been quizzed; but it was apparent that those arrested had been no more than

On the evening of this third day, Detective Joe Cardona, acting inspector on the case, was seated at his desk

at headquarters talking with two of his men. Cardona, a man of stocky build, showed grimness on his swarthy

"We've got to get at the guys in back of it," announced the detective. "There's no mystery about how they

pulled that job. They must have been working for a week from the cellar of that empty house. Drilling so they

"It was that fight out on the avenue that fooled us. It started about the same time as the blowoff. It gave the

inside gang a chance to crawl through the hole and grab the swag. They delayed their getaway until we had

"The inside gang had nerve," insisted one of the subordinates. "It wasn't long after the fight that we found

"We're dealing with a fastmoving bunch," declared Cardona. "We've got no line on them either. The only

mugs good enough to have pulled that job fellows like Soup McClannley or Digger Wight haven't been

"Our only lead is to spot the coverup crew. But there's no use for the dragnet until we know better where we

stand. I've got a hunch, after looking over some of those mugs we brought in, that Loco Zorgin headed the

Cardona broke off as he heard footsteps in the hall. He waited until a newcomer entered.

THE arrival was a man of wiry build, who was wearing his hat tipped back from his forehead. Cardona

A real friendship existed between the ace detective and the newshawk. There were times, however, when

Turning about, the reporter nearly ran into a brawny newcomer whom he recognized as a detective sergeant

named Markham. With a nod to Markham, Clyde kept on. He was satisfied that Cardona had nothing for him.

For Clyde, secretly an agent of The Shadow, was interested chiefly in Cardona's opinions on the mode of

robbery. Clyde had gained facts in a message that he had received through Rutledge Mann. He knew that

The Shadow had recognized that the criminals had used the shortrange disintegrating ray invented by

Professor Jark. Though the power of the ray was limited to a distance no greater than the depth of its

projector, the crooks had, by moving the machine constantly forward, found it a simple task to burrow their

Dynamite had covered up this work. Cardona had no clue to the actual means that the crooks had used in

tunneling. And Clyde, after a glance at the sleuth's glum face, had decided for himself that Cardona had not

That was where Clyde had made a mistake. Back in Cardona's office, Markham was speaking in a low tone.

Receiving a nod from the ace, Markham went out. He returned a few minutes later, bringing a scrawny,

This was "Bagger" Lungley, a mobster who had turned hophead. Since he had joined the ranks of the cokers,

Bagger had turned yellow. Some smart detectives had threatened to frame him unless he turned stoolie.

Bagger would once have scorned such a threat; but the prospect of a visit to the Island worried him, now that

So Bagger had resigned to the ultimatum. Markham had brought him in tonight, believing that he knew

"Hello, Bagger," he growled. "Coming clean at last, are you? Well, I'm telling you something. I know who

was in the outside at that bank job the other night. Some of the birds we pinched weakened when we talked to

them. It looks like you know what I know; and I want to check up on what those fellows said. So let's have

"I'll talk," promised Bagger. "Honest, Joe, I'll talk, if you'll give me a decent break from now on. Don't make

no ordinary stoolie out of me, will you, Joe? I can be worth more to you if you go easy with me."

"That's a go," promised Cardona. "Hear it, boys?" The dicks nodded. "See that, Bagger? Now, come clean."

"It was Loco Zorgin," informed the newly initiated stool pigeon. "That's the straight news, Joe no grapevine

chatter. Because listen, Joe I met one of the gazebos who was in on it. See? And he was talking to me

"A fellow named Clatz. Hangs around the Pink Rat. That's where I'm to hang out. Waiting, in case he's got

the job for me. Says that so many of Loco's crew got bumped or pulled in that Loco needs more rods."

Cardona arose and began to pace his office. Suddenly he turned about and faced Bagger squarely.

"Listen, you," ordered Joe. "Go down to the Pink Rat like you're supposed to. Stick there and go through with

the deal if it comes your way. Don't worry about anything. If you join up, tell me what happens. That's fair

"Thanks, Joe," whined Bagger. He shifted toward the door. "You you mean I can slide along? Just act like I

Bagger departed, sneakily. He did not want to be spotted in the neighborhood of police headquarters. Cardona

allowed time for consideration as he sat down at his desk. Then he gave an emphatic thump with his fist.

"That's where I'm going," he told the listening dicks. "Down to the Pink Rat. I'm giving Bagger rope. I've got

a hunch he'll be signing up tonight. I'm going to trail him and the other guy, Clatz."

"No," replied the ace. "All three of you are coming with me. You'll stay further off. I'll give you the high sign

WHILE Joe Cardona was concentrating on the Pink Rat, another crime investigator was still keeping close

watch on the Black Ship. It was from that dive that The Shadow's first tip had come. Tonight, as on previous

But another was on the job as well. The Shadow was lurking in darkness outside the notorious dive. From a

darkened alleyway, he was watching all who entered and departed. Tonight, there would be no delay if the tip

About an hour after the scene at headquarters, The Shadow saw two stalwart thugs emerge from the Black

Ship's portals. Three minutes later, Hawkeye sidled into view. The little spotter headed for the alley where

The Shadow stood. It was the direct route toward the place where Hawkeye usually compared notes with

The lower whisper stopped Hawkeye short. He could see no one in the darkness; but he knew the author of

that weirdly spoken word. Hawkeye edged to the wall beside the alley. Whispering in return, he answered

"The two gorillas that just came out," explained Hawkeye. "They're heading to a house one block below the

East Side Bank. House number is two fortysix. They're helping Loco Zorgin on a cover up job."

"Instructions," came The Shadow's whisper. "Contact Marsland. Have coupe stationed two blocks east. Close

in carefully on the house. Use judgment in case of trouble. Otherwise await instructions."

A swish in the darkness. Hawkeye thought he caught a momentary glimpse of solidity in the blackness. Then

The Shadow was gone. Hawkeye moved along toward the spot where he was due to meet Cliff.

THE East Side was a bank at which crooks had taken previous stabs. The Shadow knew its location well. It

was there that he had once battled with the minions of a supercrook who had called himself the Red Blot.

Since those days, the old bank building had been strengthened to a point where few criminals would consider

attacking it. But to Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight, aided by Professor Jark's disintegrating ray, the East

It was a logical objective for them to choose. Suspicious characters would be less conspicuous than in a

neighborhood like that of the Colonnade Trust. Knowing that the police would be vigilant after the recent

Threading his way from the bad lands, The Shadow progressed along the fringes of less disreputable districts.

He traveled back into doubtful terrain, followed the line of an elevated railway and finally entered the danger

Here, the cloaked avenger became totally invisible. Any alley, any building front might be the lurking spot

for pickets. As he reached the street behind the bank building, The Shadow edged forward until he reached

White steps showed despite their griminess. The Shadow approached them from the side, raising himself to

the top of the steps so that he did not blot out one glimpse of the dull whiteness. He tried the knob of the front

Gliding through the door as he opened it, The Shadow moved softly. through a hall. He used no flashlight;

feeling walls, he found a door. He opened it noiselessly; he caught a draught of air. It was the entrance to the

Descending, The Shadow closed the door behind him. He had sensed that lurkers were present on the ground

floor; but he had passed them without giving an inkling of his presence. Moving past a turn in the stairs, The

Blackness ended at the bottom. The Shadow stood in the last limit of darkness. He viewed a cellar

illuminated by a single light. At the other side was a coal bin. The Shadow could see its boarded side; its

entrance, apparently, was from the far end. It was from the coal bin that the voices were coming.

Carefully, The Shadow edged toward the right, where helpful blackness offered him a shaded path. He

wanted to gain a vantage point from which he could observe the entrance to the coal bin; but as he craned

Moreover, just as his moving form became partially revealed by light, The Shadow caught a reflected

glimmer from between two wooden slats at the side of the bin. Instantly, he knew its meaning. The interior of

This was no base tunneling operation. It was a trap. The coal bin was a veritable pillbox, an armored turret

ON the edge of the lighted floor, The Shadow wheeled. His discovery had been a fortunate one. The Shadow

had made it a scant second before the watchers from the pillbox had spied the edging shape of his cloaked

A gloved hand grabbed the door frame at the bottom of the cellar stairway. Like a whip, The Shadow

snapped his body around and upward, finishing with a headlong dive halfway up the steps. His speedy

A machine gun loosed its rattle from the coal bin. With a clatter of an electric drill, the "typewriter" drove a

stream of steeljacketed bullets that ripped the doorway and the lower steps with its deadly spray.

But with that barrage came a challenge to those below mockery that taunted the wouldbe killers. His

presence known, The Shadow had delivered a strident laugh to taunt the foemen who had failed.

With the laugh came action. Gaining the turn in the stairs, The Shadow pulled two automatics in the

darkness. Straight upward he aimed, just as the door at the top swung open. The automatics blazed. Cries

sounded atop the stairs. Blasting with all the fury of his guns, The Shadow dashed upward.

Dropping as he reached the top, The Shadow thrust eyes and fists over the uppermost step. Mobsters had

dived for cover with good reason. The front door of the house was open; there, a husky mobster, arm back,

The fellow was launching a "pineapple" for the steps, intending to wreck that vantage point and slay its

occupant with the same stroke. The thrower's arm was already on the move as The Shadow pressed the

The timely bullet clipped the husky's wrist. The effect was that of a stopped throw. The pineapple sailed

upward as the hurler received the jolt. It crashed the ceiling and exploded. The house front shook; beams and

Shaken windows dropped their panes in echo. Following the clatter of glass came the bark of revolvers.

Mobsters who had piled behind doorways to allow the bombing were coming back to action, firing from

Below the top step, The Shadow held one gun upward. A new automatic from a second brace, he had it ready

to deliver jabbing bullets should a mass attack begin. With his other hand, he had an automatic tilted

Then came a burst of gunfire from the back of the house. Warning shouts were followed by a sudden scurry.

The upper mob was dashing back to meet some unexpected onslaught. The Shadow peered quickly from the

steps. He saw nothing except the ruined hall at the front door, where the dust of plaster was still rising.

Swinging downward, The Shadow gained the turn in the stairs. From blackness, he opened sudden fire upon

creeping mobsmen who had come from the steelsheeted coal bin. Thinking The Shadow occupied above,

Two thugs sagged. Another pair scurried toward the rear of the cellar. Cut off from their protected pillbox,

Instead of pursuing, The Shadow headed up the stairs. He could hear pounding footsteps from the rear. The

hoarse orders of a voice he recognized. Detective Joe Cardona was here with a squad. Bagger had met Clatz.

THE SHADOW swung forward toward the debris at the front. Close to the door, he found footing at a side by

the wall. He reached the outer steps; then dropped suddenly as a broad figure surged toward him. A revolver

spoke; flame seared The Shadow's hat brim as a bullet whistled a scant inch from his ear.

The Shadow answered with an automatic. His foe succumbed upon the steps. The Shadow had dropped from

the side; that move had saved him. Crouched in darkness, The Shadow viewed a grimy face upon the dirty

white of the step. Light from within the house dimly revealed the features of the foe whom he had dropped.

Loco Zorgin, second of Matt Theblaw's mob leader's, had gone to join Stinger Lacey.

As The Shadow swung from the steps, shots broke out from picket posts along the street. The Shadow,

moving swiftly, used revolver spurts as targets. Mobsters could not find the moving shape that never

Other automatics barked with The Shadow's. Halfway from a corner, Cliff and Hawkeye were aiding their

chief. Mobsters formed scurrying figures as they fled in the opposite direction. They stopped and tried to hide

as they saw the lights of a police car coming from the direction toward which they ran.

Five minutes later, the law was in full control. Mobsters, dead, wounded and captured, were all that remained

of Loco Zorgin's formidable crew. Two blocks away, a coupe was swinging out from a secluded curve. The

A police car saw the departing coupe. It swung in to take up a chase, believing that other mobsmen were in

flight. The Shadow took a twisting course that left the chaser far behind. Stopping in a quiet spot, he ordered

Leaving the coupe, The Shadow glided into darkness. Again he had won a victory, but with no progress

toward his goal. He had been trapped; and escape might never have been his lot had not Joe Cardona and his

The Shadow was dealing with crafty, dangerous foemen. The proof of their full cleverness came, one hour

later, when the cloaked fighter had gained his sanctum. There he received a telephoned report from Burbank,

While The Shadow and Joe Cardona had been busy in the neighborhood of the East Side Bank, crime had

struck elsewhere. A dynamite explosion had brought police to a jewelry store on Fifth Avenue, where they

The police had uncovered a tunnel blown into the basement of the jewelry store from the cellar of an old

apartment house in the rear. Crooks had made a huge haul from the rifled vault. The law could not understand

how the swag had been gained so rapidly. The Shadow knew. Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight had pulled a

second job with the disintegrating ray provided by Professor Jark. Some new mob leader had been chosen as

the man to cover up. Loco Zorgin had been deputed to draw The Shadow elsewhere; to end the career of the

The Shadow had finished Loco instead. But the sinister laugh that echoed through the sanctum showed that

he was not pleased by tonight's episodes. Men of crime had tried The Shadow's game with good results. They

"Show him, in, Beef. And listen: nobody's to know he's been here. Savvy? Nobody."

Luke Cardiff settled back in the chair behind his desk. He glanced at a clock and noted the time as half past

five. A smile showed on Luke's longjawed face. Early for customers to be coming to the Club Cadilly. That

Beef had gone out into the deserted gambling room. When the fatfaced lookout returned, he was

accompanied by a stocky, squarevisaged man whose ugly features showed a scar that circled one eyebrow

Cully took a chair and eyed Luke suspiciously. The gambler made no comment until after Beef had gone.

"Nice job you did last night, Cully. You always were a great guy for handing the bulls a bum steer."

"Don't get you, Luke," he scoffed "What is this some kind of a game? Bringing me up here to spring some

"You know what I'm talking about," assured Luke. "You were covering for Matt Theblaw, up at that Fifth

Avenue jewelry store. Pulling a blind while Loco Zorgin was getting his over by the East Side Bank."

"You mean I was in with the guy that grabbed the rocks?" queried Cully as if in surprise. "Say what use

"You wouldn't have cracked the place yourself, Cully. That isn't your racket. But covering up is your old bet.

Luke straightened behind his desk. His face wore a hard look; one that made Cully stare. Emphatically the

"You're going to get it, Cully!" growled Luke. "Listen, you mug! I'm talking straight telling you something

for your own good. First off, Matt Theblaw and I used to be like that. You know that much, don't you?"

Cully nodded as he saw Luke raise his hand and cross two fingers. Like others in the underworld, the

"All right," assured Luke. "We never split, Matt and I. We used to think alike. We still do, even though we're

in different rackets. Whatever either of us would be doing, the other might be. Savvy that?"

"If I'd been picking some gazebo to head a mob of mine, the first bet would have been Stinger Lacey. It

wasn't long ago, Cully, that Stinger got his. My second bet would have been Loco Zorgin. He took it last

"Matt would have made the same picks as I would" Luke's eyes were narrowing "and if either of us had

"You know who bumped Stinger, don't you? I'll tell you. It was The Shadow. And who got Loco? The same

guy. And who's going after you next? I'll tell you: The Shadow! Listen, Cully, how much is Matt paying you

CULLY'S mouth had widened. Half nervous, the mob leader started to say something, and then stopped.

"Come on, bo," he suggested. "Spill it. I'm wise. I'm a pal of Matt's. You're not going to tell me anything

that'll hurt Matt's racket. But maybe you're going to fix it so I can help yours."

"All right," decided Cully, shifting. "Maybe I am workin' for Matt. But that don't mean nothin', Luke. I ain't

even seen him. When I hear from him, it's over a telephone down at Crazy Tochler's pool room. Supposin'

"I get that much," chuckled Luke. "Matt always was closemouthed. I didn't think you'd know how he was

working. I don't know myself. He's got some swell racket, that's all. But it's a cinch you've heard from Matt

and that you're going to hear from him again. That's why I called you in so you could hand him a tip from

"All right. Listen, Cully. There was a guy came in here not long after Stinger took the bump. You know the

bird; his name is Cliff Marsland. He told me he was close to Stinger. He'd found out that Stinger was working

for Matt Theblaw. Marsland was supposed to have signed up; with Stinger out, he wanted to know who might

"Yeah. I was a dub. I named Loco Zorgin. That same night, Loco ran into it tough over by the Colonnade

Trust Company. Marsland dropped in again; said he hadn't got in touch with Loco, but it looked like Loco

must have handled that mob. Said he hoped maybe he could get a hold of Loco later."

"I don't know. But we'd talked about The Shadow, Marsland and I, and it looked like maybe The Shadow had

started that mess for Loco's outfit. Well, last night, Loco and a bunch got wiped out. Joe Cardona took the

"But I read the newspapers pretty close" Luke indicated a stack beside his desk "and I figured more than

the bulls did. What was the idea of fixing up a coal bin like a pillbox? The bulls say it was to cover while

charges were being set off to blow the East Side Bank. They say there was a premature explosion upstairs in

"Boloney! Look at these pictures. It was a pineapple wrecked the front of that house! Loco Zorgin wasn't

there to cover up anything. That joint was rigged like a trap, to nab The Shadow. They had him between the

"Because who was it bumped Loco? It couldn't have been the bulls. The mob turned yellow and gave up. The

Shadow was in on that deal. Matt knew he was trailing Loco and gave Loco the job of fixing him. Loco

flopped. But I'm telling you something that Matt don't know. I'm wise to how The Shadow got on Loco's trail.

"Marsland's working with The Shadow," confided Luke. "I told the guy too much. But he told me too much.

It's even. He claimed he was once with Stinger; said he wanted to get with Loco. Well, there's Stinger and

"I want to close this gambling joint of mine," Luke said. "I want to get in with Matt. And I'll make it worth

while for him. I'll do more than hand Marsland a bum steer. I'll bluff the guy so good that I'll snake him right

"That'll bring me and Matt together, with one of The Shadow's stoolies in our claws. We'll put the heat on

Marsland and make him blab. That way, we'll get The Shadow. So all you've got to do is put Matt wise.

Relay his answer through to me. Call me here from the pool room. We'll arrange it right."

CULLY considered. An idea was filtering through the mob leader's brain. Cully offered it as an objection.

"Say, Luke," he volunteered, "It'd be a cinch for me to grab Marsland, with my mob. We could drag him

"Yeah?" Luke's tone was savage. "Get that pipedream out of your noodle, Cully. Keep your trap shut; spill

nothing to nobody except Matt. Do you think The Shadow's dumb enough not to be covering Marsland? Say

if you grabbed that guy in the open, you'd be in for it as bad as Stinger and Loco.

"I'm going to stall him. So neat that he won't suspect nothing. Matt's wise enough to know that, when you tell

him what I've told you. I'm not naming you, Cully. Pass the news to Matt. Leave him think it over. Tell him

Cully nodded. Luke Cardiff arose and shoved out a paw. Cully accepted it; then walked to the door. Luke

"Don't be seen sliding out of here," said the gambler. "Get down to that place of yours and lie low. I want this

AFTER Cully Freer's departure, Luke Cardiff busied himself in the gambling room. An hour passed; throngs

began to arrive. While business increased during another hour, Luke kept strolling back and forth between the

Shortly before eight o'clock, Luke heard the jangle of the telephone. He entered the office and closed the

door. Lifting the receiver, he recognized the voice at the other end. It was Matt Theblaw.

"Hello, Matt..." Luke was terse as he spoke to his old pal. "Cully wised you, eh? Good... Yes... Yes... All

right, tomorrow night... Don't worry about my end of the deal... Yes, I can fix it sweet... Just tell me where

"All right. That's a go... Sure, plant the bus and I'll tell you where to have it... Down in Hoxler's old garage,

next to Nagan's pawnshop... That's right, the garage is empty... What's that? Cully? Well, I don't know... All

right, he can call me... Sure, I'll have him cover; but not too close... Leave it to me, Matt..."

Luke hung up. He plucked a cigar from his supply of perfectos and chuckled as he seated himself at the desk.

A complete plan had formulated in his mind. That was fortunate, from Luke's viewpoint, for while he

pondered, the gambler heard a rap at the office door. When Luke growled to come in, the door opened and

Luke received his visitor with a sour grin. As Cliff sat down, the gambler spoke the facts that seemed to be

"Well, Marsland," announced Luke, "we've lost another bet. I made a good enough guess, didn't I? Picking

"It puts us back to scratch," growled Luke. "And believe me, I'm feeling as sour as you are. I'd like to get in

touch with Matt, and I've figured that if you make the contact, you can fix it for me. But with Loco out, it's

"It looked like there were two jobs last night," remarked Cliff casually. "Some mob was pulling a cover up at

the Fifth Avenue jewelry store. Loco couldn't have been handling that squad, too."

"I know it," agreed Luke, "and that's our one bet, Marsland. I've been reading the newspapers" he motioned

to the side of the desk "and I've been thinking it over. Only trouble is, I can't believe it's the guy I think it

"Got out of the Big House a month ago. Last I heard, he'd headed west. But I figure Matt must have gotten

"Because nobody could have moved out so neat as Bats did. He wasn't as good a bet as Stinger, or Loco,

because Bats hasn't got the fight those bimbos had. But it looks like Matt was counting on Loco to draw the

"And Bats was the guy for it," assured Luke. "So it's a ten to one shot that Bats is somewhere around town. If

he is, I'll know it by tomorrow night. I know a couple of guys who'll be able to tell me. See me about this

"In some hideout. That's his usual system. Particularly now, since he's been in stir. I'll have it fixed so you

Cliff departed, satisfied. Luke sat back in his chair, smoking his perfecto. His long face showed a grin as his

For Luke Cardiff was one of the few persons who knew that "Bats" Dilladay had headed for Chicago and was

Craftily, Luke had set the stage for a perfect frame. One that Cliff Marsland had not even begun to suspect.

Secretly, the old team of Matt Theblaw and Luke Cardiff was again in operation. Luke had paved the way for

IT was early the next evening. A dampening drizzle was producing haze about Manhattan's lights. On

intermediate avenues, where traffic was not heavy, darkened spaces were prevalent between the spots where

A patrolman, following his beat, paused to study a huge mansion that stood surrounded by a high brick wall.

He noted lights from the upper floors; satisfied, he resumed his pace. This old building, relic of a once

fashionable neighborhood, was the residence of Montague Reisert, elderly multimillionaire.

The man on the beat was not alone in his careful scrutiny of the large residence. A patrol car, coming up a

side street, rolled slowly by while its occupants took front view of the building's perspective. Observation of

As long as all was well outside, the law was satisfied. The millionaire's home was a veritable fortress,

garrisoned by a dozen servants. It would take a healthy mob invasion to make a dent in the portals of that

At the same time, Reisert's residence was known to contain a mass of wealth. It housed art galleries, curio

rooms and furnishings of incredible value. Beneath the buildings were vaults that contained treasures that

One of old Reisert's hobbies had been the collection of solid gold tableware. This penchant had cost him a

fortune, despite the fact that the millionaire was a shrewd bargain hunter. Some thirtyodd years ago, he had

purchased gold table sets that had been carried from a Peking palace during the Boxer insurrection.

A few decades later, he had acquired similar items that had been the property of the Czar of Russia. When

kings had abdicated in Europe, when members of the nobility had found themselves in straitened

Reisert had acquired most of his treasures at little more than the actual value of their gold content. Some for

less, for in certain cases he had made purchases from doubtful owners; in other instances, he had accepted

valuable items as pledges for loans that the recipients had been unable to repay.

But except on special occasions, when he gave receptions for wealthy guests, the old millionaire kept his

golden possessions buried away in the deepest of the formidable vaults beneath his home.

THE cop kept along his beat. He passed the end of a row of houses, tawdry buildings that fronted on the

street in back of Reisert's mansion. Glancing down this thoroughfare, the patrolman spied a small truck

Two men were arguing as they jacked up a rear wheel of the vehicle. The policeman could see them in the

light from the taillamp. Walking in that direction, he noted that the truck was old and empty; it carried New

"What's the idea?" growled the cop. "Obstructin' traffic, eh? How long are you goin' to keep this wagon

"Sorry, officer," replied one of the truckmen, rising in the darkness. "We've got a flat and no spare. We're

yanking off the tire so my helper here can take it over to a garage and have it fixed."

"Yeah?" queried the patrolman. "And you're keepin' this junk of yours halfway in the middle of the street?

While the truck driver mumbled to himself, a newcomer arrived. The light of a street lamp showed a stocky

man who was wearing an oilskin slicker. The arrival had heard the last words of the conversation.

"You don't have to worry about the tire, you guys," informed the man in the slicker. "I'll help you out and all

"I'm the night man for that parking lot that Bill Morey is running," was the reply. "He just put me on the job

"So Morey's figurin' on pickin' up some night business again, huh? Well, it ain't a bad idea. Got any other

"Only a couple. But Morey said I ought to be able to tag a bunch of cars along this street."

The patrolman was laughing to himself. Meanwhile, the truck men had decided that it was worth a quarter to

use the parking lot. They pulled the jack from under the rear wheel and the parking lot attendant guided them

The patrolman followed. He watched the crippled truck limp crosswise, in order to back into the narrow lot.

Then, hearing a motor coming from the avenue, he turned around to see the patrol car.

Henderson strolled over to explain. While he stood with one elbow on the window of the patrol car, the truck

limped back into the parking lot. The attendant followed, his figure barely discernible in the feeble light of

The patrol car rolled along. Its occupants glanced into the parking lot as they went by. They saw two cars

parked at one side; they noticed the dull lights of the truck, with steam rising from the radiator, to mingle

WHEN Henderson paced by, the lights of the truck blinked out. Then a flashlight appeared by the crippled

rear wheel. The cop continued along his beat. Immediately, whispers began. The chief truck driver was

"All right, Digger" Matt Theblaw's voice was no longer disguised "get the boxes out so we can set up. All

"Bevo" was the man in charge of the parking lot. A member of the gang, he had framed the story that he had

"When the touring car shows up," ordered Matt, "flag it in here and chase the boys along. And all the while,

Bevo, you stick out by the street, like you were flagging other cars. That will kid the harness bull, if he comes

"Louis won't be driving the touring car," added Matt. "Pike is bringing the bunch. Tell him to stick around,

after you park his car alongside those others. Kid the real customers when they come around.

"And another thing. Have Pike ditch those Jersey license plates off this truck. I knew the harness bull would

spot them. Pike can stick on the Pennsy plates instead. They're under the front seat."

Joining Digger at the rear of the truck, Matt aided with the hoisting of two boxes. Straight behind the truck

was the broken entrance to the cellar of an old house. Taking the boxes downward, the two crooks used a

Together, they produced the shallow, fivefoot bowl of Professor Jark's disintegrating ray machine.

Mounting it on a semicircular base, they carried it to the front of the cellar, where a niche past the furnace

Matt used a flashlight to find the switch of the house current. He attached a wire to a plug. On came the juice.

The bowl of the ray machine began to flicker. Digger pressed its mouth squarely against the wall. Bricks and

"It's working swell tonight," growled Matt, as he pushed the sliding base forward. "Look at it take away that

first foot. Warming up, too. Say, the prof sure stepped up the power since that last job."

"I'll say he did," chuckled Digger. "Wait'll we tell his nibs about the way it's bitin'. I'll bet he'll get a kick."

"Maybe; maybe not. He's still goofy over that longrange gun of his. He might just as well be, since we're

"How do you figure that, Matt? That gun stunt ain't goin' to work. An' if it does, how'll we use it?"

"We're getting the benefit of it right now. The improved coils that the prof fixed for his gun were just the

ticket for this machine. I had him put a set of them in the disintegrator. That's why it's moving so fast."

Already, the machine had eaten so deep a hole that Matt was crawling in to keep it going forward. Digger,

"Sure," replied Matt. "Luke's staging the stunt; but Cully's covering. This is one job we don't need any cover

"Other jobs nothing. We're through with this business after we clean out Reisert's vault. When we land

Marsland, we'll have a line on The Shadow. Luke's going to be with us from now on; between him and me,

"We'll take our time, maybe. It all depends. But I've got other ideas, Digger. I think the prof will like them.

"No. Take a trip abroad. The prof was suggesting that we ought to make another move. Maybe he's right. We

could go to London, for instance, live swell, and figure how we could take a crack at some joint like the Bank

"That's just it. If the prof writes Tellert from England, saying he's quit inventing, and sending dough to pay

off the investors with a profit, that whole business can be settled nice, without anybody getting wise. See the

"Why? He's got a reputation, hasn't he? He'd be acting dumb to shoot it, wouldn't he? It's the natural way out

for him as a promoter. He'll tell his clients that the prof is where he can't be reached. An unproven swindle,

with money returned, won't allow a chance for extradition. What Tellert will do will be to talk things over

with his clients. They'll all be glad to get better than an even break when they realize how eccentric the prof

"Baird? The prof can handle him. You remember how we listened in while they talked."

"The old boy's sure been warmin' up as we go along. I thought he was kind of goofy at first, when he began

THE improved ray machine had been going steadily onward; Matt and Digger had followed it well beneath

the street. They were more than halfway to their goal the rear of Montague Reisert's mansion.

Digger crawled back through the hole. He was gone for a dozen minutes. When he returned, it was with the

news that Pike's men had arrived. These were all members of the gang that was hiding out with Matt and

Matt told Digger to stand by. A few more minutes passed. The glow from the machine began to widen,

forming an aura around the edges. Matt clicked off the switch. Waiting a few moments, he turned the

They had reached Reisert's lowest vault. Locked cabinets showed where the swag was housed. Matt entered.

Breaking a lock, he opened a cabinet to reveal stacks of golden dishes that looked like mammoth coins. Matt

Digger and the helpers came through the shaft. Sacks were laid flat on the floor. Mobsters set to work on each

cabinet that Matt cracked. Spoils, literally worth their weight in gold, were passing into the hands of these

The rifling required fifteen minutes. Matt, the last to leave, passed Digger in the cellar of the old house. The

little crook had brought in new boxes from the truck, handling them gingerly. He was ready to set the

Outside, Matt found the golden harvest stored in the truck that now had Pennsylvania license plates. He took

two mobsters aboard; the rest joined Pike in the car that was to serve as rear guard. Matt waited at the wheel

The truck rolled away at a signal from Bevo on the sidewalk. The patrolman, Henderson, had passed ten

minutes before, suspecting nothing. At the corner of the avenue, Matt blinked the taillight. Bevo gave a

signal to Pike. The car a sedan rolled out to the street and Bevo sprang aboard.

A dozen minutes later, the loaded truck was chugging through upper Manhattan. A hidden spare tire had been

fitted on the rear wheel during the stay at the parking lot. That had been Pike's job. The old dilapidated

Digger's timefuse was a slow one tonight. There was no need for rapid results, since a coverup crew was

absent. The blast was due to go an hour after the crooks had made their getaway. Then the police would

Matt Theblaw was chuckling at the wheel of the truck. But the tall crook was not thinking about the coming

For, as a climax to successful robbery, another important piece of business was in the making. Luke Cardiff

WHILE Matt Theblaw and Digger Wight were wending from their latest scene of crime, Cliff Marsland,

agent of The Shadow, was at the beginning of what he believed would be a successful trail.

Cliff was again a visitor in the office of Luke Cardiff. The gambler was passing him news that promised to be

important. For Luke was emphatic in his statement that he had located Bats Dilladay, mob leader so recently

"Bats is no dummy," said Luke to Cliff. "He's got a real hideout. But there's a way to reach him. You know

Cliff nodded. The place was well known. It was a joint near the Bowery. "Crazy" Tochler, the proprietor, was

an expug who had been punchdrunk from so many bouts that he had apparently gone half goofy. He had

invested earnings in a pool room, which had promptly become a loafing place for toughs.

"Bugs has a lookout posted there," resumed Luke, referring to the pool room. "Go down to the joint and let a

"You'll hear him say: 'Here's your two bits.' That's his password. And you say: 'Two bits? I thought it was a

Cliff nodded. A man dropping a quarter accidently might mistake it for a nickel but not a ten cent piece. Cliff

"The guy will walk away," explained Luke. "You go along, too. He'll tip you off to the hideout and how to let

Concluding, Luke gave a nudge toward the door. It was time for Cliff to be starting. The Shadow's agent

Hardly had Cliff departed before Luke Cardiff sprang to his feet. He opened a door at the side of the room. It

was a passage that afforded a private exit. Cully Freer was standing there, grinning.

"You bet he did, Cully. But it's time to be moving. Got your man posted at the pool room?"

SOME twenty minutes after he had left the Club Cadilly, Cliff arrived near Crazy Tochler's pool room. The

lights of the Bowery were gleaming from the nearest corner. Elevated trains were rumbling by as Cliff

Seeing three loafers outside the pool room, Cliff paused almost between them as he lighted a cigarette. Then,

as he thrust his cigarette pack back into his pocket, he let a coin drop to the sidewalk.

Cliff had chosen a bright quarter dollar. The coin made a glimmering splotch as it hit the cement. As it

bounced, one of the loiterers pounced forward and planted his foot on it. Stooping, the fellow picked up the

"Two bits?" Cliff feigned puzzlement as he took the coin. "I thought it was a dime."

The other made no reply. Turning, he slouched toward the Bowery. Cliff strolled in the same direction. One

look at the face of the fellow had told Cliff that this must be his man. He was obviously a member of some

Across the street, a solitary observer had witnessed the meeting. This was Hawkeye. The little spotter had

been at the Club Cadilly; he had received a scrawled pellet in the usual fashion which Cliff had left.

Hawkeye had put in a report to Burbank; then he had hurried hither to cover up. Cliff had not dallied long in

keeping the rendezvous; but he had allowed sufficient time for Hawkeye to get posted.

Hawkeye waited until Cliff and the other man had reached the Bowery. He watched the direction that they

took; then trailed. On the Bowery, he could spot them well ahead. Hawkeye allowed three blocks leeway

As Hawkeye slouched in prompt pursuit, he noticed two rowdies detach themselves from a group on a corner.

This pair followed the direction that Cliff had taken. Hawkeye became troubled. He had inkling suspicions of

Reaching the corner, Hawkeye huddled by a flight of elevated steps; looking along the street, he could see

Cliff and the other man turning at the next block. Shiftily, Hawkeye headed along the Bowery. His plan was

This time, it was Hawkeye who was observed not from the street, but from a cab coming in the opposite

direction. A lone passenger, lost in the blackened interior, saw the spotter moving toward his goal.

The driver of the cab was Moe Shrevnitz. Leaning back from the wheel, Moe caught a whispered order. His

passenger was The Shadow; Moe maneuvered a prompt turn among elevated pillars and headed back toward

Fifty feet off the Bowery, Moe halted. He caught the slight sound of a rear door opening. As he listened, he

thought he heard a swish in the darkness. Moe waited at this post. He knew that The Shadow was going up

HAWKEYE, nearing the next street, was puzzled. He had made a bad guess. He had seen no sign of Cliff

Marsland crossing at the lighted corner. Hawkeye knew that he should not have allowed Cliff to get so far

ahead. He understood now that Cliff must have entered some building in the block that paralleled the

Peering from the corner, Hawkeye spied the house that looked suspicious. He saw that two lurkers had edged

up to a doorway. The man whom Cliff had met must have steered him into that house. The place was

Sudden danger prompted him to turn. Swinging, Hawkeye dodged as a powerful watcher sprang upon him.

This rogue, stationed at the corner, had seen Hawkeye shifting forward. The two scuffled in the darkness. The

muzzle of a gun swung for Hawkeye's head. Hawkeye's arm went up; but the warded blow was hard enough

Another figure caught him from behind. Arms pinioned while he struggled, Hawkeye heard a growled order

to deliver another blow. Hawkeye ducked, expecting to find the process useless. But no second swing of the

Massed darkness seemingly sprang from the blackness of the corner. A gloved fist swung for the slugger's

chin. Hawkeye heard the crack as the driving punch landed. Wriggling away from his present captor, he saw

The gorilla who had gripped Hawkeye swung to meet the strange foe from the darkness. This fellow was

whisking a blackjack. The weapon was useless. As his startled gaze met the blaze of burning eyes, the ruffian

The Shadow landed a terrific punch. He had felled the first crook with an uppercut; the second succumbed

from a powerful left hook. Yet The Shadow's full purpose had not been realized. He had sought to dispose

silently of these thugs. Instead, the vehemence of his blows had flattened them so hard that their sprawls were

Crooks by the doorway were drawing guns. Others at picket posts were alert as they saw the action of the

men across the street. The Shadow drew Hawkeye back into the side street. Posting the little agent there, he

Hawkeye knew The Shadow's purpose. He was crossing the lengthwise street below the intersection, so that

he might creep unnoticed upon the guards who were still peering across toward the corner where two sluggers

had dropped unconscious to the darkened sidewalk. Hawkeye drew an automatic, ready to cover when the

CLIFF had gone into the doorway that Hawkeye spotted. The Shadow's agent had contacted with the guide;

the man had led him here and had left him with the terse growl: "Foist door at de top. T'ree raps den two."

Unsuspecting, Cliff had entered. His guide, in the street, had shifted to a lookout post while another pair of

rowdies had closed in to cover the doorway. Cliff, moving up a flight of gaslighted stairs, had found the

No answer. Cliff rapped again. He heard a hoarse, whispered voice, apparently, from the keyhole, which

A bolt drew back. Cliff stepped slightly away from the door while a crack opened and an eye peered through.

Cliff had his hands away from his body. No reason to give Bats the idea he had a gun. The voice had sounded

The door opened. A hand motioned for entry. Cliff walked in; he looked about as the huddled man who had

received him closed the door again. A single gas jet provided a lowturned illumination. Cliff could barely

Then, as he turned to meet the fellow face to face, the huddled man straightened. His right hand whipped out

a shining revolver. Cliff, staring into the muzzle, gaped as he recognized the longjawed face behind the gun.

"The same," growled the gambler. With his free hand, he bolted the door. "Thought you'd bluffed me, eh?

Well, I knew you for a phony. That's why I pulled the stall about Bats Dilladay.

"Ease back" Luke was gesturing with the revolver "because you're going for a ride. Maybe it won't end so

bad for you if you don't make trouble. But if you do, Marsland, I'll drill you and "

From somewhere below came the muffled report of a gun. Then came other shots in response. Some sort of

battle was starting on the front street. For a moment, Cliff tightened, thinking he could spring upon Luke.

A door had opened in the further wall one that Cliff had taken for an entrance to a closet. Cliff was gripped

by a big mobsman who had entered. With the rowdy was a man whose face Cliff recognized. It was that of

Too late, Cliff realized the real man whom Luke could have named. The whole frameup dawned on him.

Chance of escape, however, was ended. Cully was finding Cliff's automatic; the mob leader had it.

As Cliff was spun about, Luke jabbed the revolver muzzle in the back of his neck. He drove his prisoner

through the door, into a house that was the twin of the one they were leaving. Here, however, Luke took a

flight of rear steps. They reached the bottom. Luke pushed Cliff through an opened door.

Two men were standing there. One was Louie, Matt Theblaw's henchman. The other was a second gorilla on

"You'd better head up, too," returned Luke. "See what that shooting is all about." The gambler paused as he

heard new shots from far in front. "Leave this mug to Louie and me. So long, Cully. We're heading into the

THE firing that Luke and Cully had heard was a peculiar one. Its direction had changed in singular fashion.

Almost at the doorway of the front building, he had been spotted by a picket across the street. Instead of

dropping back, The Shadow had landed squarely upon the two guards out front. Felling one with a swing of

an automatic, he had met the second, guns muzzle to muzzle, and had beaten the thug to the shot.

Whirling into the doorway while bullets spattered all about, The Shadow had tricked Cully's pickets as he had

Bounding from their posts, mobsters had sought opportunity to fire. Swinging suddenly back into view, The

Shadow had jabbed quick, effective shots at the nearest figures. As two mobsters toppled, wounded, those

That was when Hawkeye opened. Crawling forward, the crafty little agent had reached a spot near one of the

knockedout mobsters whom The Shadow had first felled. With his left hand on a revolver that one had

dropped, Hawkeye raised his automatic in his right and began to pump away at figures on the gloomy street.

He was firing pot luck as he emptied his revolver. His wide shots ricocheted from asphalt. Lucky enough to

wing one mobster, Hawkeye heard the fellow's cry; but with it came the oaths of others, as they wavered and

Hawkeye had emptied his own gun with spreading fire. His object was to give the impression that a real flank

attack was coming through. Hawkeye succeeded. As his quick shots ended, he heard The Shadow's ringing

challenge, a weird mocking laugh that defied all comers. With last stabs from his automatics, The Shadow

With the gorilla's revolver in his clutch, Hawkeye scrambled back to the shelter of the corner building, ready

to open against any who came his way; ready, also, to blaze at the doorway across the street, should mobsters

But the street gained a complete lull. Mobsters, not guessing the number of The Shadow's reserves, were

At the top of the steps, The Shadow formed a weird figure in the flickering gas light. He was looking at the

first door; stepping close, he listened. He could sense movement within. The Shadow stepped back. His eyes

Raising his right hand automatic, The Shadow poised; then drove the weapon downward with sledge hammer

power. That calculated blow could have felled a steer. The heavy gun ended its terrific sweep straight against

THE blow did not merely crack the door. It smashed the panel completely out of its frame, opening a

rectangular window that showed the room within. With that downward stroke, The Shadow had brought his

As the stroke fell, the guarding mobster swung to aim. Instinctively dropping back as he heard the crash, the

fellow lost the advantage that he needed. The Shadow's gun was through the door; above it came burning

Neither aim was perfect; but The Shadow's hand was moving as he fired, spraying while the lone mobster

fired wild, frantic shots. Revolver bullets tore through the door just above The Shadow's shoulder; then a slug

The Shadow clicked back the bolt with the barrel of his automatic. He swung into the room; sprang forward

as the far door opened, and pounced upon the second mobster who was coming through. The fellow dropped

Other enemies might lie ahead. The Shadow's unused cartridges were few. The master fighter needed no

bullets to deal with this surprised foe. As the gorilla wheeled at the top of the stairs, The Shadow swept in

As the gorilla sagged at the top of the stairs, a springing figure met The Shadow. It was Cully Freer, lunging

up from below. The Shadow dropped away from a revolver muzzle that was thrust between his eyes. He

Cully's revolver delivered its blast a splitsecond late. A bullet singed the top of The Shadow's hat. As Cully

snapped his hand downward to deliver a second bullet, The Shadow's .45 spoke its answer upward.

Cully rolled to the floor. Like Stinger, like Loco, he was another mob leader gone.

Rising clear of Cully and the mobster, The Shadow hurtled down the steps. He was stopped when he reached

There was a light here. It showed the door to be a flimsy one. No need for The Shadow to bother with the

lock. Swinging about, The Shadow leaped three steps upward, to prepare for a lunge. A sound from above

stopped him. He looked up to see the slugged mobster raised on hands and knees, aiming with a revolver,

The Shadow could not beat the shot. But he whirled sidewise as he aimed with his own gun, trusting that the

mobster's hand would waver. A burst came from the revolver; a stinging sensation came to The Shadow's left

As the mobster essayed a second shot, The Shadow fired with his righthand gun. His bullet reached its

living target. The crook straightened, wavered right to left, then pitched forward.

LAUNCHING himself right shoulder foremost, The Shadow hit the door in a fierce drive from the steps. The

shaky barrier caved. The Shadow staggered out into the open air, tripped, then regained his footing. A clatter

was coming from behind him. It was the mobster, plunging head foremost down the steps.

Gathering momentum, the crook's body came spinning out through the opened door, to roll over and lie

sprawled. This gorilla, like the one upstairs, had witnessed Cliff Marsland's capture. Both he and his pal were

dead, along with Cully Freer. None of the coverup crew the only ones who would remain in New York

Blood was streaming from The Shadow's arm. The sleeve of the cloak was soggy. The trickle had reached the

gloved left hand. Crimson drops were slowly pattering the paving. But The Shadow gave no thought to his

He was listening to the roar of a motor. A car was leaving an old garage across the tiny court from the house

that The Shadow had left. Dashing for an opening, The Shadow cut through to the next street. He saw the

An instant later, The Shadow caught sound of another car. This one was approaching. It was Moe's cab,

wheeling around from the side street, Hawkeye on the running board. Moe had spotted Hawkeye backing

from the corner out front. He had driven up, snatched the little fighter aboard and kept on coming to contact

Hissing an order, The Shadow shoved Hawkeye in through the door that Moe opened. Following aboard, The

Shadow dropped to the rear seat. Right arm thrust from an opened window, bearing his full weight on that

Moe spied the other car; but could not gain on it. The chase kept on; Louie was threading a wild course with

many turns that kept Moe a full two blocks behind. The course led northward, into a district where the whine

The fleeing car sped across an avenue. Moe, driving up, jammed on his brakes at a crossing one block behind.

Quickly, the cab driver turned off the cross street. A police car had cut in from the avenue. It was heading

Chance of pursuit was ended. Luck had again tricked The Shadow. The dynamite had blown beneath the

street in back of the Reisert mansion. The Shadow's chase had led through a district to which police cars were

Moe's getaway was easy. The cabby nodded as he heard a wearied order from his chief. With no further

opportunity of rescuing Cliff, The Shadow was giving thought to himself. Soon he would leave this cab,

For Doctor Rupert Sayre was due to meet an emergency patient. As Henry Arnaud, friend of Lamont

Cranston, The Shadow would soon introduce himself to the physician whose door was always open.

MORNING journals blasted big news of the Reisert robbery. Huge headlines gloated in their proclamations.

The criminal activities of the unknown dynamiters had become a news sensation. The evening sheets were

Detective Joe Cardona was fuming at headquarters. Deluged with reporters, the ace sleuth was at his wit's

end. The acting police commissioner had shoved the newshawks in his direction. Cardona was beating off the

Worst of all, from Cardona's standpoint, the reporters had been harping on one question. Did Cardona intend

to use the dragnet? Joe had given no reply; but he knew that the afternoon newspapers would predict the use

of that weapon. There had been a gang fight near the Bowery, last night. The dragnet would be heralded as

Actually, Joe Cardona did intend to put the dragnet into operation. That was the chief reason why he fumed.

To suit his best advantages, he was withholding his orders to scour the underworld. He wanted to spring the

net tonight. Meanwhile, the newspapers were practically tipping off the mobs to what was coming; and there

WHILE Cardona was having his difficulties, two men were discussing the same problems that perplexed the

detective. Their meeting place, however, was far from detective headquarters. These two were seated in an

One was Harry Vincent, soberfaced and thoughtful. The other was a rotund, lethargic man who sat behind

the desk. This was Rutledge Mann, chubbyfaced investment broker whose real work was to serve as contact

Reaching in a dark drawer, Mann extracted an envelope and passed it to Harry Vincent. The visitor opened it,

read a coded note, and nodded. The writing vanished after Harry's perusal. It was a message from The

"Certainly," responded Harry. "Cliff Marsland's life is at stake. The only way to save him is to find out where

"It's a fiftyfifty chance, Mann," he declared. "If they're holding Cliff to make him talk, they will hold me

also. I am ready to risk it. I shall give you my own message, stating that I have started on the venture."

"One moment," interposed Mann, with a slight drawl. "Are you sure you read the message exactly?"

"Certainly," returned Harry. "It said that someone was needed to take the risk that might save Cliff. That I

was to decide if I was ready for such a quest. Whatever my decision, I was to discuss the matter with you."

"Precisely," declared Mann. "The message, however, did not name you as the specific person to undertake the

"It did, Vincent; but not you alone, I received a message of my own. It was probably the same as yours."

"I was offered the same privilege. The message referred to 'someone,' and that is why we must talk the matter

Harry smiled. This was unusual. Dangerous duties usually evolved upon the active agents. On this occasion,

"You see," affirmed the investment broker, thoughtfully, "whichever of us takes up this duty is a matter of

equal choice. The purpose is to begin a trail. Do you remember, Vincent, when we were boys: how if we lost

a marble, we used to toss another on the ground to see if it rolled to the first one?"

"I certainly do," laughed Harry, "and the odd part about it was that it generally worked."

"It is likely to do so in this case, Vincent. We are marbles. Another, marble, namely Marsland, has been lost.

"Obviously. And since I am as ready to go as you are, we must come to some choice between us."

"Perhaps," he said, at length, "to be fair about it, we ought to decide who will be the more useful. I mean by

that, which of us is the one who should resign from the quest. Take yourself, for instance. You have this

"There is no choice, Vincent," interrupted Mann. "If one were better for the mission than the other, one of us

"A good analogy, Vincent. You are familiar with the game of chess, are you not?"

"Very well," smiled Mann, "we know that the different pieces of the chess board have varying moves. A

queen is more valuable than a castle; in turn, a castle is more valuable than a knight or a bishop."

"We are not quite down to the pawn level," chuckled Mann, in his leisurely fashion. "Let us stop with the

knight and the bishop. Consider yourself as the knight, Vincent. You can be moved to any spot on the board,

"There are distinct limitations in my case. The bishop is confined to only one half of the squares on the board.

Yet there are times when the bishop can be moved to marvelous advantage; particularly when the player

"Chess experts have decided that the knight and the bishop are practically equal in value. If one must be

sacrificed, or placed in danger, it is largely a matter of the player's choice. Do you grasp the analogy,

"Perfectly," nodded Harry. "You have put it very clearly, Mann. I have been moved into many unexpected

squares, like the knight on a chess board. Yet there have often been times when you were never moved into

"Yet I," remarked Mann, "have been quite as desirous of difficult assignments as have you. I should like my

turn; nevertheless, I hate to deprive you of the opportunity. By the way, Vincent" Mann glanced at his

watch "we have plenty of time to talk this over. It is only half past eleven. We have until two for our

Harry suspected that Mann was working out some plan of choice. Therefore, he willingly accepted the

invitation. The two left the office and rode by cab to the Cobalt Club. They chatted a while on other subjects;

It was nearly one o'clock when the agents arose from their table. With a smiling glance at Harry, Mann put an

"Not bad at all," laughed Harry. "Out home in Michigan, I was picked as the best player in St. Joe's county.

And they play real chess, out there. They have plenty of spare time in the winters, between the mint crops."

"Good," said Mann, decisively. "Let us go up to the library. I want you to see the corner nook."

THE spot to which Mann referred was a quiet corner where a chess table stood with the quaint pieces all set

up ready on their squares. Mann flipped a coin; Harry called heads. The coin fell heads.

Harry took the white side of the board; Mann the black. As they studied the pieces, Mann leaned forward and

Harry used the Ruy Lopez opening. Mann met it with a customary defense. The game progressed; both

players forgot their surroundings in the slow tenseness of the play. Pawns were sacrificed; other pieces were

Harry saw himself the coming victor. His pieces were well clustered about his king. Mann's queen was across

the board. Harry moved a pawn to threaten it. Deliberately, Mann placed his fingers on a black bishop and

moved it in to take an unguarded white knight that was on a square diagonal from Harry's king.

"The bishop takes the knight," asserted Mann, significantly. "Check, and Mate. Bishop wins from knight."

Mann's queen was covering the bishop that the roundfaced broker had moved. Except for his king, Harry

had no piece that could eliminate the bishop. The game belonged to Rutledge Mann.

"Quarter of two," remarked the investment broker, as they shook hands across the board. "I must be going,

Harry nodded his agreement. Mann had reference to an office in an old building where messages to The

Shadow were deposited. That was usually Mann's task. Under the circumstances, it would be Harry's.

When they parted at the entrance of the club, Mann took a cab and ordered the driver to travel to Times

Square. Riding in that direction, the investment broker considered well the part he was about to play. For

As a friend of Bruce Duncan, Harry would have had one opening for the coming duty. Mann, as an

investment broker, had another. But in his inside pocket, Mann had the object that he needed a letter,

addressed to himself, from Bruce Duncan. The Shadow had included it with the morning messages.

Mann had another letter also. One from Bruce to Harry, which he was to have given Harry, had the latter

needed it. Mann had carried it along, in case Harry won the match. Since Mann was the winner, this second

Drawing the extra letter from his pocket, Mann tore it to shreds between his chubby hands and let the tiny

Then, with a quiet air of confidence, the investment broker set out afoot in the direction of the Lambreth

Building. As a first step in this special duty for The Shadow, Rutledge Mann was paying a visit to the office

Basil Tellert, his curvestreaked face aghast, was half indignant, half troubled, as he spoke from behind his

"I have seen him," responded Tellert. "His claim is correct. He was formerly Professor Jark's secretary. But

"A few years ago," explained Mann, "I handled some investments for Duncan. Since then, I have neither seen

him nor heard from him until this morning. I suppose he wrote to me, knowing that my contact with

investments would make me the logical person to visit you. He might have chosen some friend; but perhaps

"There appears to be no way of communicating with Duncan," decided Tellert, studying the letter. "Naturally

"Our only hope," returned Mann, "is to follow the plan which he suggests. He promised to call on you

Tellert dropped the letter on the desk. He arose from his chair and paced to the window, where he stared in

"That is right, Mr. Mann," he decided. "We have only one course. We must issue a statement to the

newspapers. And yet" he hesitated "we must use discretion at the start. Until we have actually talked with

Duncan; until we have him present, to swear to these revelations that he has made "

"I agree with you entirely," interposed Mann. "Duncan's letter is no proof. It might even be a hoax; or a

"No, no," insisted Tellert. "It has truth in back of it, Mr. Mann. I am sure of that much; and I realize what a

fool I have been not to see the vile scheme myself. Day after day, I have been reading of these robberies; yet

never once did I think of connecting them with Professor Jark's disintegrating ray."

"A crude model of it, yes. But one that had nothing like the power that the present device must certainly

possess. Then this dynamiting business fooled me, besides. I thought that the criminals had blasted their way

Again, Tellert paced. Then he sat down in his chair, folded his hands and faced Mann. Straightened lips

"In this letter," declared Tellert, "Bruce Duncan states that Professor Baldridge Jark has called in the services

of two dangerous criminals, whose names, Duncan says, can be made public later."

"Also," continued Tellert, "Duncan affirms that Jark has chosen a new headquarters, location unknown, from

which so Duncan believes the crooks are making their forays and are returning with their spoils. Duncan

also expresses belief that Jark holds a physician named Nordis Baird. That is quite possible."

"Jark would need some physician to attend him. The old inventor had some strange malady which demanded

"I do not know. That would be easy to find out, however, by calling Baird's office."

Again Mann nodded. Tellert was showing prompt response. It was apparent that the promoter intended to

throw willing aid into this cause that lay ahead. Mann tightened. It was part of The Shadow's plan that he

should moderate the promoter's actions. That, Mann knew, was one reason why no letter had been sent

"FRANKLY," declared Tellert, "I am so perturbed that I could scarcely begin to suggest our first move in this

case. Apparently, however, Duncan has given the matter much careful thought. The concluding paragraphs of

his letter, more temperate than the opening ones, bring up a point that offers us aid in our dilemma."

Mann smiled slightly. This was the very comment that he had been prepared to make, should occasion

"Duncan says" Tellert was referring to the letter "that Jark is an absolute swindler. That he has duped

those willing men who invested in his invention. He stands ready to prove that Jark is a swindler. That is

excellent; because it is a line along which we can proceed without Duncan's presence."

"You mean," responded Mann, "that we can publicly accuse Jark of trying to defraud the investors?"

"Certainly," replied Tellert. "This information settles my perplexity. There is only one course now open. That

is to break the news that Jark is a swindler. It will pave the way to the very results that we seek."

"It will tell Duncan," agreed Mann, "that we have accepted his statements to some degree at least. It may be

"Yes," assured Tellert, "and it will not tip off the criminals to the fact that we know their game. That would

"Yet we are not sure of how much we really know until we have Duncan with us. I feel sure, Mr. Tellert, that

"Let us hope he will appear, Mr. Mann. He may not, though. But if he remains in hiding, we can give further

news to the newspapers. Our real course is to tell the reporters but little at the start. Enough to make a good

Rutledge Mann nodded wisely. He saw Tellert's expression easing. It was time to bring up another point.

"Your position is a difficult one, Mr. Tellert," stated Mann. "The story will have to come from you, since it

"Then how," objected Mann, "will you explain it to the investors? How will you convince them that it was

right for you to hold back this revelation after you knew that Jark had left town?"

"By George! That is a sticker!" exclaimed Tellert. His face showed worriment. "It will make me look mighty

bad, Mann. Only a nincompoop will take a weak middle course. That is exactly what I have been fearing, all

"Perhaps, Tellert, if you could attribute this discovery to news received from someone other than Duncan "

"That'd be an answer to the riddle! But who will stand for it? Who can we bring into this? Other than "

"Other than myself," interposed Mann, as Tellert hesitated. "Yes, that is the only final answer. I am not keen

for it, Tellert; nevertheless, I have voluntarily taken on this duty; and I would be a poor sport not to stand by

"Only fair, Tellert. Our question is simplified. I shall state that certain investors asked me to inquire into

Professor Jark's electrical inventions. I came to you; at my request, you tried to communicate with Jark and

"Excellent, Mann! We can both state our belief that Professor Jark has turned swindler. Let's call the

"Just a moment." Mann stroked his chin. "We must limit this story at the start. I think it would be best to

choose a morning newspaper and give it an exclusive story. That should mean frontpage news, Tellert."

"Certainly. All the better for our purpose. We want this to be a strong story. The Classic will make the most

of it. What is more, if we do not give it to the Classic, that journal will lift from the others and will distort it

"Hardly." Mann smiled. "That scandalous journal is denounced by all the conservative club members with

"I never read it," snorted Tellert, "but the stenographers do. Wait; I think there is a copy in the outer office."

TELLERT went out, to return almost immediately with a copy of the Classic. He passed the tabloid to Mann,

"An article signed by a chap named Clyde Burke," chuckled Mann. "It knocks the spots out of Wall Street. A

good story, too, with plenty of meat in it. Suppose we try to get hold of the fellow?"

Tellert picked up the telephone. He instructed the switchboard operator to call the Classic and get Mr. Clyde

"You do the talking," suggested Tellert, "while I outline my statement. You will have time to make yours

A few minutes later, Mann was talking to Burke. He spoke cryptically as he invited the reporter up to

Tellert's office. Then Mann busied himself with the statement that he was to make.

When Mann and Tellert had spent some twenty minutes reading their statements to each other, a stenographer

Mann reached quickly across the desk. and plucked up Bruce Duncan's letter. Tellert nodded in approval as

the investment broker pocketed the sheet of paper. He gave the nod for the visitor to enter.

Clyde Burke barked briskly into the office, followed by two pudgy photographers. He saw Tellert behind the

"Full name, please," requested Clyde, looking at Mann without a smile. Mann gave the response: "Rutledge

"Here are our statements," returned Tellert, handing the reporter two written pages. "If you prefer, I shall

"Never mind," interrupted Clyde. "I can read this." The reporter perused the first sheet; his eyes opened wide.

He turned to the second: "Say is this the Professor Jark the electrical wizard "

"That doesn't matter," laughed Clyde. "The morgue down at the office has a whole flock of photos showing

Tellert began a protest; so did Mann. Clyde overruled. The photographers were all ready with their cameras.

One focused on Tellert, while the other clicked a flash bulb. Turn about, the picture takers reversed jobs as

"Both together, now," ordered Clyde, briskly. "On the same side of the desk. Over here, Mr. Mann. Here, Mr.

"Doesn't matter," returned Clyde. "We're shooting the back of it. Closer like a conference. Ready, Jerry.

POCKETING the statement, Clyde was starting from the office. Tellert was spluttering. Rutledge Mann was

on his feet, showing indignation. One of the photographers shouldered up and wanted their full names. The

fact that Clyde had gotten them did not matter. The editorial and photographic departments were separate.

Tellert calmed as he gave his name. Mann managed a rather annoyed smile. The photographers followed

Clyde Burke. The story was on its way to print, five minutes after the enterprising tabloid trio had breezed

"Well," decided Tellert, "there is nothing to do but wait. But I must see you tomorrow, Mann. We may be in

"By all means," agreed Mann. "Here is my card, with my office telephone. I shall be there from nine o'clock

They shook hands. Mann departed. Traveling down in the elevator, The Shadow's agent wore a slight but

steady smile. For Rutledge Mann knew that he had accomplished all that was needed for the present. He had

paved the way for Clyde Burke; and the reporter had played the part of a stranger. Clyde, too, was under The

Then Mann's smile faded. His lips became tense. Mann was thinking of the morrow. As Tellert had said, half

jesting: they might be in for it. In deeper, perhaps, thought Mann, than Tellert had suspected.

For The Shadow, through Mann, had played a card that the foe would be sure to trump. When the enemy

moved, danger would begin. A bold stroke one that risked a life yet the only move through which The

BLACKNESS surrounded the blue glow in the corner of The Shadow's sanctum. Outside it was afternoon;

but here, no light of day was present. Twentyfour hours had passed since Rutledge Mann's visit to Basil

Clippings lay on The Shadow's table. Usually, these came to him through Rutledge Mann. Today, they had

been supplied by Harry Vincent. Mann, on new duty, was in contact only with Burbank; and even that touch

The Classic had scooped the town with the story about Professor Baldridge Jark. The front page showed a

photo of the shockhaired inventor working at a laboratory table. This picture was an old one, taken two

Alongside was the picture of Mann and Tellert, both sourfaced, looking at a sheet of paper which purported

to be a statement to the Classic. The features of both men had been clearly recorded by the camera.

Postmortems about the Reisert robbery had been relegated to inner pages, along with pictures of the dragnet

in operation. Other newspapers had featured this stuff. The Classic had scored a beat with its frontpage

smash, which credited Rutledge Mann with stating that Baldridge Jark had turned swindler.

A tiny bulb glimmered. It meant a call from Burbank. The Shadow received a terse report. Mann had called

Tellert, putting off an appointment until evening, on account of difficulties with reporters. Mann had gone to

The Shadow gave terse orders. He clicked out the bluish light. His whispered laugh sounded within the

sanctum's walls. Evening was close at hand; adventure lay ahead. Yet The Shadow's laugh was grim and

HOURS passed. It was half past seven when Rutledge Mann strolled from the portals of the Cobalt Club.

Hardly had he appeared before a cab shot up to the entrance before the doorman had begun to beckon.

Mann entered; the cab sped away, leaving the uniformed portal keeper bewildered by the quickness of the

Moe Shrevnitz was at the wheel of the cab. Two blocks down the avenue, the speedy taxi driver negotiated a

left turn, roared along a side street and swung left on another avenue. He followed with a right turn, then

On the second avenue, a coupe had started up as Moe approached. The driver of that car had followed the

taxi's course through all the maze of streets. The coupe never lost the trail. Only one driver in all Manhattan

was capable of keeping so constantly to Moe's evasive track. That helmsman was The Shadow.

Basil Tellert's home was in a Long Island suburb not far from Manhattan. It was not until Moe had almost

reached the destination that houses thinned and the streets became at all secluded. At last Moe drew up in

front of an unpretentious residence. Mann alighted, passed him payment, and Moe drove away.

The coupe had followed to the corner before Tellert's residence. There, The Shadow had turned right, to park

in front of a house. Lights extinguished, he stepped out in darkness. Moving across the blackened street at a

spot midway between two wellseparated lights, he gained the side yard of a gloomy, unlighted house.

The Shadow gave a soft hiss. A man's form moved beside the house. Harry Vincent whispered a report that

nothing had been observed. The Shadow skirted a hedge in back of Tellert's house. He reached a vacant lot

on the other side. Close to a pile of building stone, he gave a second hissed signal.

This time it was Hawkeye who whispered a response. Like Harry, Hawkeye had seen nothing. But as he

stared through the darkness, trying to make out The Shadow's position, Hawkeye spied a movement from

The Shadow, too, had spied the motion. Again came his low hiss, this time a warning, before Hawkeye could

whisper the news. The Shadow swished softly forward to the edge of the lot. He saw other shapes. The men

View of Tellert's home was partially obscured by a hedge, which lay between it and the empty ground. The

Shadow spoke softly to Hawkeye, sending him to relay word to Harry. Approaching the hedge, The Shadow

There was a light in a living room on this side of Tellert's. Just in front of its French windows lay a side

veranda. One set of windows was open; it was probable, since the night was mild, that Tellert and Mann

The Shadow watched huddled men crouch by the house. Then his keen ears caught a slight sound from the

rock pile. Moving thither, The Shadow whispered to Hawkeye and Harry. The agents saw his shape, vaguely,

Harry was to watch through the hedge; Hawkeye, to follow The Shadow. The latter task would have been

impossible, even for Hawkeye, for cloudy night formed a blackened shroud that The Shadow used as a

mantle of invisibility. But as Hawkeye moved forward, he caught slight, hissed signals. He kept close behind

THEY reached the house across the way. Skirting it, The Shadow and Hawkeye spied two cars that had come

into an obscure driveway from a rear street. The front machine was a sedan. A man was standing on the

gravel beside it. Both The Shadow and Hawkeye could hear the crunch of his footsteps as he moved along by

The rear automobile was a coupe, parked twenty feet behind the sedan. A whisper from The Shadow.

Hawkeye followed to this car. Looking at the chromium handle of the rumble seat, he saw what looked like

Noiselessly, the rumble seat came up. The Shadow's hand probed the space beneath. Cushions had been

removed. This compartment, when used at all, was required for carrying bulky articles.

Standing in amazement, Hawkeye sensed blackness rising. It settled; he realized that The Shadow had entered

Something clicked almost inaudibly. The Shadow was demolishing the catch that locked the back of the

rumble seat. He was doing the job with some small, metallic instrument. Then, as Hawkeye leaned against the

Hawkeye eased back. The top of the rumble seat came downward without a sound. Circling away from the

coupe, Hawkeye followed a stealthy course back to the street. Cutting wide, he came in to the rock pile on the

Guns ready, the agents waited tensely. They were to use their automatics only if revolvers barked beyond that

hedge. As they listened, Harry and Hawkeye heard footsteps on woodwork. Then voices. Two men were

Peering through the branches of the hedge, the watching men saw the stroke that followed. From both ends of

the porch, attackers rose in pairs. Springing forward, they fell upon the two men and bore them to the soft

Short choking gasps no cries. Then growled warnings that noise would mean trouble. Neither Mann nor

Tellert decided to fight. Swift workers tied them; the prisoners were gagged. The abductors raised their

Harry Vincent was quivering from fierce restraint. It was Hawkeye's hand that held him back. Under those

final orders, the agents could make no move unless a battle started. Huddled by the hedge, The Shadow's

agents watched the captors carry their victims across the street toward the vacant house.

Figures disappeared. Then came the faint sound of motors starting. Cars in gear. Crooks were on their way.

Hawkeye spoke to Harry, no longer in a complete whisper. Harry was to take The Shadow's coupe. Hawkeye

On the way to Manhattan, they were to flash Moe Shrevnitz. The jehu was waiting in his cab, only a few

blocks away, ready to join any anticipated chase. But there would be no action from the taxi driver tonight.

HARRY VINCENT, on his way to The Shadow's car, was thinking of Rutledge Mann and of the Shadow's

The Shadow, seeing that shrewd methods lay behind the work of criminals, had thrown unexpected bait

before the master who controlled the game. By sending Rutledge Mann to Basil Tellert, by presenting

startling news which had forced the promoter to lose no time in denouncing Jark, The Shadow had made it

The Shadow had watched Mann in Manhattan. There had been no followers there. Crooks had chosen to wait

until Mann had met with Tellert, at the latter's secluded home. They had bundled Tellert away along with

Mann. That was the stroke by which they made it impossible for anyone to give new facts regarding Jark.

Harry knew that The Shadow had foreseen the move. He realized how cagily The Shadow had gambled. The

Shadow had played on the fact that the chief of crime was crafty. Crooks could no longer be launched against

Bruce Duncan, whose whereabouts were unknown. But Bruce so the criminal brain reasoned would not

These were the thoughts that flashed through Harry's brain as he realized that Mann still had a chance for

safety. For Harry had learned, from Hawkeye, that The Shadow had found a berth in the rumble seat of the

The Shadow had watched for opportunity. When he saw it, he had not missed its knock. He had eased his

agents out of sight, that he might seize the golden chance that only a lone trail offered.

Responding to the bidding of a supercrook, mobsmen had issued forth from Professor Jark's new abode. Their

crows had gained new prey. Another agent of The Shadow as yet unidentified as such would soon be on

But in effecting their swift capture, these henchmen had unwittingly gained a passenger for whom they had

not bargained. Heading back to their secluded retreat, they were taking the very master whom they feared

CROOKS had moved circuitously following their coup at Basil Tellert's home. First the two cars had headed

northward, toward Long Island Sound; then they had shifted west, north again, and finally east. This had been

Nestled in the hollow compartment of the coupe's rumble seat, The Shadow was riding with the crooks

Along an open road, the cars were moving swiftly. Blinking a tiny flashlight in the folds of his cloak, The

Shadow consulted a tiny compass on the top of his fountain pen. He could gauge the direction as east. By that

Mile followed mile. The coupe jolted along a stretch of dirt road. Its course was slow and twisting. At last the

car's wheels crunched on gravel. The coupe halted; The Shadow heard muffled sounds of sliding doors. The

As sounds moved away, The Shadow reached up and raised the top of the rumble seat. It was loose; but he

Through a tiny slit, The Shadow saw the prisoners being carried through a doorway. The cars had arrived in a

large, stonewalled garage. Parked here were other cars; two more sedans and a brightly painted truck. The

crooks had dressed up the old, dilapidatedlooking vehicle with which they had hauled away the swag from

There were three lights in the garage. The mobsmen did not extinguish them after their departure.

Knowing that no one was about, The Shadow eased out from his cramped quarters. His figure stretched as he

reached the floor. Then it moved swiftly toward the door through which the men had gone.

Testing the knob, The Shadow found the door bolted on the other side. Moving toward the sliding door of the

garage, he saw that they had been clamped on the interior. If he left by one of them, anyone coming down

Such problems as these did not trouble The Shadow, if he had time to handle them. But the fact that the

garage had remained lighted was indication to The Shadow that someone was due. Looking back at the cars,

It was the only small car in the place. The one most likely to be used if anyone was going out. Moreover, it

offered The Shadow the best of hiding places. But before he returned to the rumble seat, The Shadow had

Stepping into the coupe, he seized the knob at the rear of the seat and lowered the back window. Stepping

At that instant, The Shadow caught the sound of a clicking bolt from the house door. Like a telescoping

figure, he dropped into the rumble compartment. The top dropped with him; but it did not bang. The Shadow

KEEPING a tiny crevice through which he could peer, The Shadow saw two men approaching. One was

Louie; the other was Pete, the mobster who had driven The Shadow to Lamont Cranston's. The Shadow

"You know what the chief wants," Louie was saying. "Matt and Luke ain't interested in any of the old gangs

no longer. It'll be a cinch for you to frame things over the telephone. Nicky used to be a pal of yours."

"He is yet," returned Pete. "An' nobody's goin' to figger him back on the job. Ownin' them gas stations in

"Sure. Runnin' that bootleg gas ain't no cinch, since the Feds has been makin' it hot. Nicky's goin' to be glad

"All right. Hop along then. But don't call him from too close to here. Head across the island. Ten miles,

Pete chose the coupe. As he started the motor, Louie unlatched a sliding door. The lid of the rumble seat

closed imperceptibly. The coupe backed out. Once again The Shadow was undergoing the inconvenience of a

Pete found a good road and traveled for about fifteen minutes. The coupe stopped; The Shadow heard the

driver get out. Peering from his compartment, The Shadow saw Louie enter a fairsized drug store that stood

on the fringe of a lighted district. Further on, were the lights of a railway station.

Straight back was the road by which they had come. It paralleled the railway and came directly in from the

darkened spaces of the countryside. The Shadow eased down into the compartment. Three minutes more and

The mobster turned the coupe around. He headed along the road beside the railway. Pete was whistling to

himself as he drove. Evidently he had made the required contact with Nicky. But Pete, as he watched the

The top of the rumble seat was coming up by inches. Long black hands were probing from the space

provided. Pete could not see them in the mirror; for they were below the ledge of that opened rear window.

The Shadow had particularly noted, back at the store, that Pete had not closed the glass panel.

One thing else. Coming in, The Shadow had noted a turn and a jounce where Pete had slowed almost to a

standstill. He had learned its meaning. The coupe had gone over a railway crossing. That was the spot for

It came. Pete applied the brakes and swung the car slowly to the right, shifting into second. It was then that

The Shadow rose. The top of the rumble seat was heaved up by hoisting shoulders. The gloved hands shot

The mobster struggled, raising his hands from the wheel to fight off the attack. His body writhed, while the

coupe, almost stopped, encountered the rise to the crossing and stalled. In gear, it did not coast back. The

LEAVING the rumble seat The Shadow dropped to the ground. He entered by the driver's side, pushed Pete

He followed the road along the other side of the railway. He came to a small, darkened station.

Here The Shadow pulled the car into a sheltered spot and extinguished the lights. He bound Pete's hands and

feet; then flicked the rays of a flashlight squarely in the fellow's face. He studied Pete's features carefully, to

find that he had recollected them perfectly from the previous time he had seen the man.

Pete opened his eyes and started to make an outcry. A gloved hand covered his mouth. The Shadow whisked

a handkerchief from the pocket of Pete's coat and used it to gag the mobster. Prior to the binding, The

Shadow had pulled that coat from Pete's limp body. It was conveniently on the steering wheel when The

Pete's only gun was in the coat also. The Shadow hoisted the unarmed mobster from the coupe, carried him

back and sprawled him in the rumble seat. The lid down, The Shadow went toward the little station. He found

Entering required only a few minutes. Inside, The Shadow found a little ticket office and a pay telephone

booth. He chose the latter and put in a call to Burbank. Referring to a road map that he had taken from a side

The map was unmarked; moreover, it was one of several, all showing different states. The Shadow had no

clue from the map itself. But he had seen the name Almeda on the station at the town; and he was making this

call from a station called Shawlawn. Finding those spots on the map, The Shadow had all he needed.

Back in the garage, he had checked the mileage on the coupe's speedometer while opening the rear window.

He had estimated nine miles as the distance between the new headquarters and Almeda, deducting

approximately for the return distance from Almeda to this next station, Shawlawn.

The map showed only one paved road running out in this direction. The Shadow knew that the headquarters

was a sizable house within a woods, about one mile from the highway. He gave Burbank the direction.

After other instructions, The Shadow returned to the coupe. Turning on the dome light, he spied a package on

the floor. Pete had brought it from the drug store; opening the package, The Shadow found four boxes of

Turning out the dome light, The Shadow removed his cloak. He folded it, pried open the cigar boxes and

dumped their contents one by one, through the rear window and down into the rumble seat which he raised

Two hundred cigars formed clusters about Pete's huddled form. Then The Shadow ripped off the lids of the

boxes, broke out the fronts and threw the discarded portions in with his prisoner. He closed the top of the

Using the boxes as shells, The Shadow formed a large container for his cloak. He wrapped the four boxes in

the paper and tied the strings. The package was the same as it had been before. The Shadow laid it on the

There were objects on the seat beside The Shadow automatics that he had taken from the folds of his cloak;

other items, and a flattened box. The Shadow tucked the guns in a belt that he was wearing. He opened the

The Shadow was looking straight into a mirror that formed the interior of the box lid. His righthand glove

was off. With fingers obscuring his face, The Shadow was applying makeup from the box. His task half

Then The Shadow turned on the dome light to complete his task. Both hands were working nimbly. Little by

little, the features changed until they began to resemble those of The Shadow's prisoner, Pete.

Hastily, The Shadow applied finishing touches. He turned out the dome light, tucked the makeup box in an

RETURNING toward the house, The Shadow had no trouble gauging his direction. His directions to Burbank

were proving amazingly accurate. His headlights showed several dirt roads veering off to the right. He kept

The coupe's wheels jounced through jagged ruts; over a little bridge. Points that The Shadow remembered.

One mile in, The Shadow came to a drive that led to the left. His sense of direction told him that this was

where he should leave the road. He drove a hundred yards on, until the car passed between two stone gates.

The Shadow stopped and extinguished the lights. He crept along through trees for another fifty yards; then

reached a clearing. Boughs were creaking overhead. Rising wind was dispelling the clouded sky that had

Straggling moonlight, increasing in intensity, revealed the stone walls of the house wherein men lay

prisoners. Evidently an old lodge of some sort, this building had been acquired by crooks as headquarters for

The building was two stories high. All the lower windows were iron shuttered; the upper ones were barred.

But the building had a broad, flat roof, a fact which brought a soft laugh from The Shadow.

There were lights in the upper windows. That second floor was where The Shadow would find both crooks

and prisoners. The garage, The Shadow noted, was a onestory extension to the right of the building proper.

Softly, The Shadow moved back into the gloom of the trees. He was returning to the coupe, there to make

Rutledge Mann raised his head from between his hands. He looked up toward the doorway to see a

roughfaced fellow who had growled the command. Mann arose dejectedly from the dilapidated chair on

Ever since his arrival in the house on Long Island, Mann had been kept alone in a little, barren room. His

captors had carried him there through a hallway. They had cut his bonds, ungagged him and shoved him in

Barred windows and bolted doors had made escape useless. Mann had waited patiently for new

developments. At last some crisis had arrived. Slowly, the chubbyfaced prisoner walked out into the

hallway that his summoner indicated. A revolver muzzle jabbed Mann's back. He was urged along the hall.

Light showed from an opened door. The mobster behind him urged Mann through the opening. Blinking in

brilliant light, the captive investment broker stepped into an oddly arranged room.

White plastered walls showed on all sides, except where doorways broke the calcimined spaces. A few chairs

were located in one corner; in one of these was Basil Tellert, his face drawn and troubled.

In another corner was a flatbowled projector that reminded Mann of a circular electric heater, built on large

scale. Mann, informed by The Shadow, knew that this must be one of the disintegrating ray machines that

In another corner, partly covered by a torn canvas, was another device. It was an elongated projector shaped

like the shell used in a field gun. It was more than three feet in length and its mouth was a foot in diameter.

Mann knew that this was an experimental atomic gun, an attempt by Professor Jark to amplify the work of the

disintegrating ray. Apparently, Jark had been experimenting of late, for a heavy, insulated wire was attached

The tough looking mobster jostled Mann into a chair beside Tellert. As he sat down, Mann noted others who

were standing about. Pacing the corner near the atomic gun was a whitehaired individual whom Mann knew

Leaning against the wall was a tall, heavybrowed fellow who answered the description of Matt Theblaw.

Near him was a longjawed onlooker who Mann decided was Luke Cardiff. Then a door opened and a short,

sandyhaired individual stepped into view. A halfsmoked cigarette dangled from the newcomer's pasty lips.

Matt Theblaw looked toward Professor Jark. The old man nodded wisely; then stepped forward and studied

Mann through thicklens spectacles. Mann met the professor's gaze. He realized immediately that he was

"Good evening, Mr. Mann," began Jark, with a chuckled cackle. "I regret exceedingly that your presence here

has been a matter that involved forced action. Nevertheless, it was imperative that I interview you."

"Mr. Tellert has explained to me," declared Jark, "that he received word from Bruce Duncan, my former

secretary. The word came through you. I might mention" Jark's manner was leering "that I had already

"It required considerable persuasion before our friend here" Jark indicated Tellert "was willing to admit

that my assumptions were correct. But I finally convinced him that it would be wise to speak the truth. That

"You received a letter from Bruce Duncan," asserted Jark, his cackle slightly harsh. "You were asked to

"The letter," resumed Jark, "requested you to denounce me as a man of crime. You and Tellert decided to

"In a way, yes," returned Mann, slowly. "We issued statements to the newspapers."

Mann had come back with a prompt reply to Jark's quick question. The professor scrutinized the prisoner

closely; then nodded in satisfaction. His eyes became narrow through their lenses as he started a new tack.

"Bruce Duncan," asserted the old man, "was rescued by a person who calls himself The Shadow. Tell me:

Jark stared closely to see if the investment broker might be bluffing. Mann retained his composure. Jark

raised a hand and motioned to Digger Wight. The short man opened a door. Mobsters shoved Cliff Marsland

MANN studied Cliff soberly, as the mobsters forced the prisoner forward. In easy, methodical fashion, he

eyed every feature of Cliff's face. Then, as if troubled by his own inability to give an affirmative reply, Mann

The old inventor eyed Mann as keenly as the investment broker had studied Cliff. Jark rubbed his chin

"Neither Tellert nor Mann knows Marsland," decided the professor. "I think it would be best to offer terms.

Matt looked to Luke, who nodded. Digger joined in the nod. Jark swung about to Tellert and Mann.

"I am willing," he stated, "to release you if either of you can offer proper bond. By that I do not mean cash. I

require some form of assurance that will make it impossible for you to betray me.

"On that account, I shall allow you to talk matters over, together. I promise you that your conference will not

be disturbed. Moreover, I shall place Marsland with you. Perhaps you may wish to hear his opinions, for he

"Moreover, he is an agent of a certain meddlesome party who calls himself The Shadow. We know that fact,

although Marsland has not chosen to admit the connection. Perhaps, by this time" Jark chuckled, gloatingly

"Marsland is convinced that not even his mysterious chief can aid him. That is why I think it wise to leave

Jark waved toward a door behind the prisoners. Digger walked over and opened it. Mobsters made nudges

with revolvers. Mann and Tellert went into a room beyond the door. Cliff followed. The door closed behind

A DIMLY lighted room, with three chairs. Barred windows as in Mann's former prison. Seating themselves,

the trio looked at each other. Tellert, after studying Cliff, spoke in a whisper to Mann.

"Be careful," urged Tellert. "We may be overheard. What is more, this other man may be a spy."

"If you know him," added Tellert, his lips scarcely moving as he whispered, "ask him for a cigarette."

Mann made no move. He deemed it unwise to give even Tellert the true information. The promoter had

weakened under a previous grilling, according to Jark's statement. Having told old facts, he might tell new.

"We've got to get out of this, Mann," asserted Tellert. "What do you think of this offer of terms? Can you

"I don't see how," replied Mann, soberly. "Have you any way to help yourself out?"

"Yes." Tellert considered. "One time, Mann, I was connected with a certain enterprise which failed. If facts

"Very little." Again Tellert was almost inaudible; yet Cliff could hear him as well as Mann. "Nevertheless, I

Tellert concluded with a slight nod. Mann caught the cue. Picking up his question, he asked, in a raised voice.

"I do," replied Tellert, his voice also raised. "I was connected with the Augustine Gold Company, Mann.

They sold watered stock; and if I mention that to Jark, he will know that he has the goods on me as much as I

"In order that I can squash future stories in the newspapers," rejoined Tellert. "That is his game, Mann. I

suppose he will also want me to cover up your absence. I can do that for him also."

Rising, Tellert paced the floor in front of Mann and Cliff. His figure was between them and the bolted door,

the only entrance to this room. Again in his whisper, as he faced the others, Tellert spoke:

"Once free, I cannot talk to the police. Who else can I inform? Who can aid you?"

"Write something," urged the promoter, "while I am covering you. Drop it in my pocket as we go back to the

Again Mann shook his head; but this time, Cliff's hand stole to his coat pocket. His captors, after searching

him, had left him objects which seemed unimportant. Among them were the short pencil and the pad.

Mann nodded. Cliff arose. As Tellert went toward the door, Cliff followed. Mann, rising, came behind them.

He saw Tellert knock at the door; then he saw Cliff's hand ease over and drop something into the promoter's

A psst from Cliff; a nod from Tellert. Then a bolt clicked; the door opened. They stepped out into Professor

A STOOPSHOULDERED grayhaired man was standing near the professor. The moment that the prisoner

No response. Jark looked at the physician, who shook his head to indicate that he knew none of the trio. Jark's

"I can offer surety, professor," declared Tellert, suddenly. "If you will release me, I can convince you that I

shall be unable to betray you. That is, I can convince you that I would suffer more than you would, should all

Jark made no reply. He eyed Tellert as though expecting that a game was up. He studied Mann and Cliff as

well. Then his gaze turned as a door opened in the far corner of the room. A mobster was entering. It was

Another figure entered. Matt recognized the features of Pete. The second arrival was wearing an old brown

"What kept you so long, Pete?" demanded Matt, while Jark remained silent until this palaver had ended.

"Louie, for one thing," growled The Shadow, in a tone that answered for Pete's. "I was out front there. He

"Why should I honk?" queried The Shadow, in his disguised growl. "That would have meant noise."

Jark turned to speak to the prisoners; then paused again as Matt offered another query.

The Shadow, back to the crook, gave a shake of his head. He was putting the package on the window sill as

This time Jark waited to make sure there would be no interruptions. Then, in a sarcastic voice, he queried:

"Sounds phony, prof," inserted Matt, stepping forward. He gave beckoning signal to Luke and Digger. "Let's

Matt muffled Tellert's mouth while Digger dug into the promoter's pockets. The little crook gave a chuckle of

elation as he brought out a tiny wad of paper. Matt pounced upon it and opened the pellet.

"Here it is, prof!" he exclaimed. "We got it! It says: 'Call Shadow' and it gives a phone number. It came from

THE promoter nodded weakly. Matt looked jeeringly at Cliff, who made no comment. Mann was tense. He

had expected some result such as this; but he had gained no chance to give Cliff warning of his fears.

"You'll spill more from now on, Marsland," sneered Matt. "Bring the mob in, Luke" he pointed to the door

to the hall "and tell them to start the heat. We've got the wedge we want. We'll make Marsland squawk."

Of all the mobsters, only one was present; hence Matt had given Luke the order to bring in the rest. That lone

underling was Pete, standing by the window sill. His hands were coming from his coat, as though to be ready

But this was not the real Pete. It was The Shadow. He was prepared to make an unexpected thrust; to mow

down opposition before Luke could give the call. He was waiting only until crooks stepped away from the

prisoners. Digger, alone, had drawn a gun, to urge Cliff forward. Opportunity was almost in The Shadow's

Then, at this critical instant, the corner door burst open. Two men came hurtling inward, each with a revolver.

They had come up by the stairway from the garage. The foremost was Louie; behind him was the real Pete!

By some freakish chance, Louie had heard a noise from the rear of the coupe. He had found Pete and released

his pal. The two had dashed up, Pete giving his story on the way. Right now, Louie was crying the truth as he

"That's not Pete!" howled Louie. "He's The Shadow! The Shadow, I tell you! Get him!"

Hard upon Louie's damaging words came a response from the false Pete. The Shadow's disguised lips

delivered a laugh that left no doubt. As he whisked two huge automatics from beneath his coat, The Shadow

AMID his burst of pealing mockery, The Shadow wheeled from his place beside the window. Quick with his

aim, he pressed the triggers of his automatics. Bullets seared forth from flashing muzzles as The Shadow

These were Louie and Pete. Unwittingly, they had given The Shadow a break by their excited entrance.

Already prepared for battle, the master fighter was quicker than they when it came to the opening shots.

Louie fired before The Shadow; but that was only because the mobster was hasty in his aim. His revolver

bullet whistled wide of the disguised warrior. Before Louie could fire again, he was tottering, clipped by one

Pete, The Shadow's second target, had dropped back as Louie fired. The move saved him momentarily, for it

placed him behind Louie and The Shadow's second gun could not follow to its aim. But as Louie's body

Savagely, Pete aimed at his double. He was too late. Again, The Shadow fired. Pete wavered; his gun

The Shadow had laughed with purpose. His jubilance was more than a challenge. It was a stroke of intuition;

yet one that carried tremendous risk. For by his weird cry, The Shadow had drawn upon himself the third man

Whirling away from Cliff Marsland, Digger had aimed for The Shadow. Quick as well as accurate, he had

gained a prompt bead on his adversary. A snarl was Digger's expression of elation over his own opportunity.

But as the short crook pressed his trigger, a fierce attack lunged him forward. Digger's bullet missed The

The Shadow had counted upon Cliff Marsland; and Cliff had not failed. With the sound of The Shadow's

laugh, Cliff had swung about and away from Digger. Seeing the crook aiming, Cliff had pitched upon him

Luke Cardiff was leaping for the door to the hall, yanking a gun from his hip as he made the spring. Matt

Theblaw, pulling a revolver with one hand, grabbed Doctor Baird as a shield and backed up against the white

Rutledge Mann was piling in to aid Cliff Marsland with Digger, who was putting up a struggle; while Basil

AMID this chaos, there was one man who performed most singular action. That was Professor Baldridge

Jark. With a loud, fiendish cackle that sounded high above the crack of guns, the old inventor raised a paean

of longrepressed triumph. Bounding toward the far wall of the room, the professor reached his atomic gun

The old man heard the words. His answer was a jeering cackle that derided the promoter's cry. With claws

clutching the chromium surface of the threefoot tube, Jark began to tug the machine clear of the wall. He

Matt Theblaw had fired two quick shots at The Shadow. At that instant, The Shadow slumped. Matt sent

Baird sprawling against the wall, while he sprang forward, shouting triumph. It was then that the darkhaired

The Shadow's drop had been a bluff to make Matt toss Baird aside. An automatic spoke as The Shadow's fake

dive ended. Matt's leap ended in a jolting, upward bound; from that spring, the crook pitched forward to the

Luke Cardiff had wheeled as he reached the doorway. He had yanked open the door to bring in the reserves.

He was starting to fire at The Shadow; his first shots were wide ones that flattened against the whitened walls

"Stop Jark!" Tellert's yell was repeated. The promoter had yanked up the revolver that he sought. "Stop Jark!"

Cliff Marsland heard the cry. So did Rutledge Mann. Cliff had finished Louie with a gun rap on the head.

Mann was close beside Cliff. Both saw Tellert aiming wildly toward the professor as The Shadow, still

Jark had pulled the atomic gun clear from the wall. It was pointing across toward the outer door; the professor

was still clutching the pivoted barrel as he kept behind the machine. But Cliff had a chance to wing him. The

Mann was looking past Cliff, straight for both Tellert and The Shadow, who were but a few feet apart. He

saw Tellert suddenly change aim; The Shadow must have sensed it, for at that instant, the master fighter

wheeled toward the promoter. The Shadow gave a fierce warning hiss; at the same instant, Mann uttered an

Hurling his rotund body forward, the investment broker made a grab for Cliff Marsland's wrist. He jarred the

aim just as Cliff fired. Cliff's bullet went wide of Jark and found the wall instead. Then, dully grasping

Mann's meaning, Cliff shot a glance toward Tellert and The Shadow. Like Mann, Cliff saw the unexpected.

The promoter's aim for the professor had been a bluff to divert The Shadow. But the master battler had sensed

it. The Shadow had guessed what was coming. Dropping as he wheeled about, he aimed his own automatic

for Tellert. At the same moment, the promoter pressed the trigger of the revolver, aiming the weapon straight

Tellert's shot went wide, despite the close range. The Shadow's quick fall had won. An automatic blazed.

Tellert slumped backward and rolled to the floor. The Shadow caught himself and swung about to rise.

LUKE CARDIFF had heard Tellert's cry; but he had not heeded it. Just as Tellert had counted on The

Shadow and Cliff to polish off Jark, so had Luke, seeing Tellert's aim, believed that the promoter would do

To Luke, The Shadow was the only target. Luke, a poor marksman at long range, had spent five useless

bullets. The Shadow's fall, however, had given him a better chance with the sixth. Luke fired as The Shadow

Cliff saw The Shadow jolt. The Shadow's right arm gave. Luke had scored a lucky hit. He had sagged The

Wildly, Cliff wheeled toward the door, ready to do lone hopeless battle. As he raised his gun, he knew he was

Reinforced with half a dozen henchmen, Luke Cardiff was ready for slaughter. With The Shadow wounded,

with Cliff holding a single gun, with Mann and Baird unarmed the exgambler saw prompt and

overwhelming victory. His men were swinging guns to aim. But Luke, in his desire to finish The Shadow,

In the sudden lull of gunfire, the shockhaired professor delivered a highpitched cackle as he snapped the

switch of his atomic gun. Blue coils flared and emitted shafts of crackling light. Behind the shellshaped

tube, the professor wavered the rounded barrel on its pivot. The mouth of the death machine shook back and

Luke Cardiff's face showed sickly. His emptied revolver fell from his hand. The longjawed man clamped

Behind him and beside him, mobsters withered. Like Luke, they were learning the power of a machine that

could deliver paralyzing death. Guns clicked to the floor. Mobsters toppled from their shaky legs. Only one

of the six the nearest to the door had strength to back away. He succumbed as he reached the doorway in

Blue lights faded as crackling ceased. Professor Jark had turned off the switch. Then, as The Shadow's laugh

was silent, there came a different cry of triumph that marked the victory of right over evil. That cry was the

THE SHADOW was rising by the window sill. With one hand, he thrust the automatics beneath the coat that

he was wearing. With that same hand, he clutched a package from the sill. Still in the guise of Pete, he

Another joined them. It was Doctor Baird. In a quiet, but assuring tone, the specialist took charge. At his

order, Cliff and Mann aided The Shadow past the withered mobsters by the door. Baird led the way to a room

Cliff and Mann placed The Shadow on a couch. Baird cut away the coat sleeve and found The Shadow's

wound. He ordered Mann to rejoin Jark. Then, with Cliff aiding, Baird probed the wound. Cliff brought the

SOME while later, Doctor Baird and Cliff Marsland returned to the laboratory, to find Professor Jark engaged

in conversation with Rutledge Mann. Both inventor and the broker were anxious in their gaze. Baird smiled.

"The wound is not serious," declared the physician. "By giving it prompt attention, I have been able to

eliminate complications. It was sufficient to put anyone out of action. Yet this patient has regained strength in

most amazing fashion. He is resting, in the darkness. He would like to talk with you, professor. Immediately

Jark nodded. He walked out into the hall and found Baird's room. He groped through the darkness to a chair

"Again we meet, professor," came a low voice from the couch. "This time, there is no occasion for us to hide

"Partly," replied The Shadow. "You had no need of the thugs who were present at our interview. By all rights

you should have talked with me alone. I suspected listeners, also. Outside the room."

"So I decided, later. Duncan told me afterward that he had listened in the night they came to your home. He

"But not at first! They threatened me. They told me they had already taken Baird. My only hope was to

"That if you had summoned those two as aids, you would have settled the important details promptly. You

would have ridded yourself of Duncan beforehand. You would have written Tellert that you were going on a

"I understand. Yes; it would have been a mistake to have sent him that letter saying I wanted my invention

"But you were not, professor. You were sincerely anxious to place your great invention in the proper hands.

That was why Tellert decided it was time to play his game of crime. He sent his lieutenants, Theblaw and

Wight. They and their underlings watched you, constantly. You did your best to save your own life and

THE SHADOW paused to rest. Professor Jark was nodding solemnly in the darkness. He still could hear the

echoes of the whispered voice. He marveled at the power of this mysterious avenger who had brought needed

rescue. A question leaped to his mind. Singularly, The Shadow answered it before Jark could speak.

"Tellert was clever," declared the speaker from the couch. "There was no proof against him. Yet whether he

was innocent or guilty, he was the only man through whom I could operate, once Marsland was a prisoner.

"I sent Mann to Tellert. I knew that Mann would be seized. Tellert, if innocent, would be taken also.

Knowing that, Tellert allowed himself to be abducted along with Mann. So that he could work fiendish

"While I," put in Jark, "was still forced to act as his spokesman, thanks to the presence of his hellions."

"Yes. But the abduction was so easy that it proved my suspicions. It took place at Tellert's home. No one was

about except Tellert and Mann. Crooks had learned the terrain; too promptly, however "

"Tellert made a telephone call to Theblaw," interposed Jark. "There is a telephone in this house, used for

A soft hiss from The Shadow. Jark listened. From above, a noise coming lower, closer, then ending. The

"Your move for the machine was timely," he commended. "It told me, at the crucial moment, that you had

perfected your atomic gun. Tellert's act was final proof of his evil scheming. I left the field to you, professor,

The Shadow rose from the couch and moved toward the dim light of the opened door. Jark stared at sight of

cloaked and hatted shape. The Shadow had donned the garments from the box, during Baird's absence.

Jark led the course to a stairway. He and The Shadow ascended. The professor unbolted a trapdoor while The

"I know that the spoils must be here," he stated. "Therefore, professor, you can return them to the law. Baird,

Marsland and Mann were legitimate prisoners. Their stories, their testimony, will substantiate your

statements. I shall inform Duncan of the facts. He will appear to give his evidence also."

As Jark watched The Shadow step to the moonlit roof, the old professor saw the outline of an autogyro. A

man was standing by the craft. It was Harry Vincent. Receiving an order from The Shadow, Harry aided his

Guided by Miles Crofton, daredevil aviator who served The Shadow, the autogyro throbbed loudly as it

rolled forward. Huge vertical blades bent to their task. The ship ascended as it reached the edge of the roof.

Professor Jark watched it in the moonlight. The old professor chortled. Then, as he listened, his white hair

flowing in the wind, the inventor heard the fading peal of a sinister mockery. Weird laughter reached its

The Shadow had brought victory. Professor Jark had cackled in jubilance at the moment of battle's end. Now,

with all completed, The Shadow was proclaiming the achievement that had been his mission. The Shadow