The City of Doom................................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. AT THE STEEL WORKS................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. FROM THE DARK.........................................................................................................5

CHAPTER III. THE DEATH THRUST.................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. THE MAN WHO RETURNED...................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE STALEMATE .......................................................................................................15

CHAPTER VI. CRIME TO COME......................................................................................................19

CHAPTER VII. AT THE CHEMICAL PLANT ...................................................................................22

CHAPTER VIII. AT THE POWERHOUSE .........................................................................................26

CHAPTER IX. THE LOST TRAIL .......................................................................................................30

CHAPTER X. THE NEW OBJECTIVE...............................................................................................33

CHAPTER XI. THE SHADOW AT DUSK ..........................................................................................36

CHAPTER XII. DEATH'S TRAIL.......................................................................................................40

CHAPTER XIII. MYRAM'S FOLLY...................................................................................................43

CHAPTER XIV. THE PURPLE LAIR.................................................................................................46

CHAPTER XV. THE PATH BELOW..................................................................................................48

CHAPTER XVI. MONSTERS OF DOOM..........................................................................................52

CHAPTER XVII. THE SNARE BELOW .............................................................................................56

CHAPTER XVIII. THE NEW MENACE .............................................................................................59

CHAPTER XIX. DISASTER'S HOUR .................................................................................................63

CHAPTER XX. DEATH'S HARVEST .................................................................................................66

THICK night engulfed the valley about the town of Hampstead. One area alone showed brilliance; that was

the central district of the little city, where rows of street lamps shone and electric signs added their blinking

Near the town, a few specks of light showed against the hillsides; but beyond was a blanket of blackness that

seemed a shroud of doom. A stranger, viewing the town from some nearby slope, could well have pictured

Nor would the thought have been too fanciful. Hampstead was a city touched by terror a town where

Men who passed upon the streets were melancholy. Smiles were forced when friends exchanged their

greetings. Though business was as usual, this was a surface indication only. Secretly, every citizen of

Out where the railroad line reached the city limits, stood the long, lowroofed buildings of the Hampstead

Steel Works. There, quivering light flickered from frosted windows, accompanied by the thrum and clank of

machinery. The steel plant was working to capacity. The night shift was on duty.

Two men were standing in a little office, staring through the glass panel of a door that opened into the main

furnace room. They were watching a crew of men at work a score of hardy laborers whose faces showed

One of the observing men was the foreman of the furnace room. His companion was the general supervisor of

"IT'S been like clockwork tonight, Mr. Harlin," declared the foreman, solemnly. "Not a thing to trouble us.

"I've been watching them, Steve," he told the foreman. "This department is running as smoothly as every

Another nod from Harlin. The supervisor pulled a folded newspaper from his pocket and tapped its headlines.

"This town is jinxed," he stated, seriously. "The people here know it. Our local newspapers have tried to

The foreman took the newspaper, studied it while the supervisor kept steady watch through the window in the

"Whew!" Steve's utterance was spontaneous. "They sure made a big howdydo about those two wrecks in the

"Why shouldn't they?" demanded Harlin. "Both were unexplainable. One would have been bad enough; but a

second one, at the same spot, is ten times worse. Read what it says about the quarry company. They're

"Afraid to bring in dynamite," nodded Steve. "On account of danger in the yards."

The supervisor continued his watch, while the foreman devoured more news from the outoftown journal.

"Eight men killed in those smashes! We thought it was only three. Here are facts on that boiler explosion at

the dye plant last week. Two men died along with the engineer! Say, if this gets out "

The foreman laid the newspaper aside and stared through the square window. A huge device shaped like a

mammoth cheesebox was moving slowly through the furnace room, suspended from an overhead track.

Workmen had ceased their labors while it approached. Harlin was eyeing the advance of the metal monster.

"Old Joe Grandy's handling it," declared the foreman. "Best man in the place. Always holds up when he gets

"Good!" approved the supervisor. "Grandy is reliable. Let's go out, though, and watch while he lets the ladle

THE two men stepped from the office. The mammoth ladle halted as they approached it. They saw a stocky,

grayhaired man climb down from a perch where the controls were located. Spryly, he stepped to the pouring

Checking those platforms was the foreman's job. It had been done; otherwise, no order would have been

given for the ladle to make its trip. But old Joe Grandy took nothing for granted. His job was to tilt that ladle

when it reached the pouring platforms; to loose tons of molten steel from the great cauldron that he

controlled. Old Joe was making sure that the platforms and their troughs were ready.

"Grandy's the right man," affirmed the supervisor, nodding to Steve, the foreman. "We'll put his system in the

regulations: Always stop the ladle short of the pouring platforms; make final inspection, then bring up the

"That's what Grandy's going to do now," returned Steve. Then, with a laugh: "Look how spry old Joe is!

Shoving back those fellows who want to boost him up to the controls! He can make the climb himself."

Workers by the pouring platforms had seen the foreman. They were signaling that the second inspection had

shown all in order. Others, beyond the pouring platform were chatting as they stood beneath the bulk of the

"Steve'" ripped Harlin, suddenly. "What's making old Grandy wait? Why don't he move the ladle up to the

"He's ready to move it now," snapped back the foreman. "There he goes, handling the controls. Only five feet

Steve's voice broke with a gasp. Rooted, he stood goggleeyed; then his new words came with a terrified

The cry was too late. Old Grandy had swung away from the levers that controlled the forward motion of the

ladle. He had placed his hand upon another rod; he was tugging it. The ladle was tilting; a yawning mouth

Nothing could have halted the deluge that came. Not even old Joe Grandy; for he, least of all, seemed to

realize his mistake. That was evidenced by the fact that his back was turned toward the tilting cauldron,

Out from the mammoth ladle came a cataract of liquid steel, more terrible than the flaming lava of a volcano.

With its first gulp, the surge of molten metal overwhelmed the unfortunate man who had released it. Grandy,

a shriek upon his lips, was plucked from the forward edge of his control perch. A bobbing shape in a hissing,

metallic wave, the grayhaired man was pitched to the floor beside the pouring platforms.

As the wave struck, five other men were caught within its path. Roaring, its own weight adding to the quick

tilt of the ladle, the molten steel crashed with the power of a Niagara, engulfing the doomed men below.

Not one of the five could scramble to safety. The cries that they managed to utter were brief a momentary

Steel scorched flesh, withering its victims before their bodies could sense the pain of the terrific heat. A blast

of torrid air swept through the huge room, drowning the fumes of the furnaces. Then molten steel was

everywhere, pouring, spreading, seeking lower levels while men found their legs and ran shrieking from the

STEVE bolted forward. Harlin grabbed the foreman, hurled him back against the office door. There was no

help for the men upon the floor, except the aid that they could give themselves. Harlin, above the level of the

Some heard the supervisor and heeded. They leaped for iron steps between the furnaces; scrambled upward to

levels of safety. Others did not hear. Confused, they lost all sense of direction. Harlin saw three more workers

go to doom. Spreading steel caught their ankles, seemed to trip them as they howled. They sprawled,

A fourth man, farther away, stumbled at the foot of an iron stairway. He could not follow Harlin's call; but a

companion heard the supervisor's shout. From the steps, the other worker snatched the last man to safety. The

The supervisor sagged, weakened by his ordeal. Nine men had perished including old Joe Grandy, whose slip

had loosed the molten horror. The liquid metal had reached its limits; it had lapped the fronts of furnaces,

Steadying himself, Harlin managed to reach the office. He was looking for Steve, to tell him that the steel

would harden. There would be no more human toll; but other loss would prove tremendous. Harlin found the

"I've called for ambulances!" gulped Steve. "Thanks, Mr. Harlin, for hauling me back! I'd most certainly have

"No use, those ambulances," he choked. "Not even hearses could find work here, Steve! There'll be no bodies

from that mess. They were swallowed alive, Steve, lost in that steel! It happened worse than I feared."

The clang of ambulances was already sounding. The wail of a huge siren was rising from the steel works. As

Steve arose and pressed open a window to relieve the stifling atmosphere, he and Harlin could see the lights

Once again, stark terror had found this city of doom. The siren's wail; the clang of bells; the shouts of men

Rescuers, yanking open a door, saw the seething spread of steel that glistened in the glow of furnaces. They

heard the calls of men who were isolated in spots of safely shouts that warned them to stay back and let the

The word passed in terrified tones. It stopped the arriving ambulances. It came to squads of men from other

portions of the plant and held them, in awed groups, whispering the news of tragedy.

Those whispers reached the space where cars had pulled in from the highway. Breathless men told others of

the terror that had struck; how rescue would be impossible for those who had felt the touch of living, burning

WITHIN the window of a coupe, a silent listener caught those tragic mutters. His eyes turned toward the

building where the hellish stream had done its work. The driver of that coupe had chanced to reach the

outskirts of Hampstead just as the steel plant's siren had broken loose with its banshee screech of disaster.

A lone watcher among the throngs who huddled about the steel works such was the arrival in the coupe.

Yet he, more than any other, held regret for the tragedy that had occurred. He had come to Hampstead with a

single mission: to prevent disasters such as this. He had reached the town too late to halt the new stroke of

The silent watcher in the coupe was The Shadow. Master of crime detection, he had divined the presence of

There was determination in the blaze of The Shadow's steady eyes. This tragedy would be the last. No longer

Two hours had passed since the catastrophe at the steel plant. Lights were glowing in the large furnace room,

where workers were present, using electric drills upon chunks of hardened steel. Outside, the glimmer of

There were lights in another building. They came from windows on the second floor and marked the offices

of the steel company. There was a downstairs door, where a guard stood on duty, chatting with a companion.

"The big guns is upstairs," informed the guard, in an undertone. "They showed up half an hour ago."

"Sure. The coroner's there with them. Harlin looked pretty shaky when he went up."

"He ought to. Seeing them fellows get swallowed by that steel must have been kind of tough to look at."

"See if you can find Travers over by the furnace. Tell him it's time I was off the trick. Have him send over

Three minutes passed, while the guard paced back and forth in front of the dim light that came from the

doorway. There was a stir in darkness close by. The guard wheeled, with the query:

The guard did not see the speaker; but took it for granted that he was the proper man. He grunted a good night

and walked away from the door. It was not until he had passed a corner that a figure stepped into the light.

That form was cloaked in black. The arrival was The Shadow. He had heard the conversation; he had taken

advantage of it. He had bluffed the guard into believing that he was the man sent as relief watcher.

THE SHADOW did not linger at the doorway. He knew that Travers's man would soon arrive. He wanted the

new guard to think that the old one had simply gone off duty because his time was up. The Shadow's own

Entering the doorway, The Shadow took to a darkened flight of stairs. He ascended and reached a hallway

that showed a narrow shaft of light from a partly opened door. Edging in from darkness, The Shadow saw the

Officials were gathered about a table. With these company men was another whom The Shadow knew must

be the coroner. Harlin was seated at the far end of the table. The supervisor looked pale; his voice came

"That's the whole story!" declared Harlin. "Just as I saw it, gentlemen. Nothing was wrong mechanically. The

"We have your full report on Joseph Grandy," returned the coroner, fingering a sheaf of papers. "I regard it as

thorough, Mr. Harlin. We can accept the statements of the foreman and three laborers that Grandy was in full

"The most reliable man in the plant," stated Harlin. "Always sober and conscientious. A loyal fellow, too, old

Joe was. He didn't know the slip he'd made; if he had, he wouldn't have been the first to go."

The coroner drew a penciled diagram from the papers. It was a sketch made by Harlin, showing the position

"I think that this explains it," decided the coroner, with a nod. "With all his carefulness, Grandy performed

certain actions automatically. He was farther forward than he realized. When he reached for the starting lever,

"That's the way I saw it, coroner," assured the supervisor. "The diagram bears out my explanation."

The coroner arose; he put Harlin's report into a briefcase: then passed carbon sheets across the table to the

supervisor. Other men were rising; The Shadow saw them pause. One of the officials had a query.

"Tell us this, coroner," he asked, in troubled tone. "Do you connect this accident with the other disasters that

"But they look like sabotage," persisted the official. "This is the fourth accident; and every one brought heavy

The coroner reached in his briefcase and brought out some sheets of yellow paper. He passed them across the

"File those with your own duplicate report," he suggested. "They give the details of the explosion at the dye

works, the smashups in the railroad yards. Compare them with the disaster here. You'll see that I am right.

"I've had lots of experience, gentlemen. Sometimes accidental deaths are uncanny. Like an epidemic, you

might say. A year two years no trouble; then they hit in a bunch. That doesn't mean a thing, unless there's

proof that some one was culpable or negligent. Not one of these cases shows any such indications."

HARLIN had taken the duplicate sheets. The Shadow saw the supervisor place them in a table drawer. Then

it was time to step away; for the men were coming toward the door. The Shadow swung to a darkened corner;

Harlin was the last man from the office. He waited while the others went down the stairs to the lighted entry

at the bottom. Then the supervisor clicked off the office light. The top landing was dark when he closed the

Soon after the supervisor's footsteps had faded, a tiny flashlight shone upon the office door. Its glow was but

twice the size of the keyhole; but it was sufficient for The Shadow to work upon the lock. A gloved hand

introduced a long thin instrument that resembled a pair of pliers. A click came from the lock. The Shadow

Using his flashlight within the office, The Shadow found the drawer that contained the report sheets. He

spread the duplicate papers and began a close study of past events in Hampstead. The Shadow soon learned

The boiler blast at the dye plant had occurred shortly after a routine inspection. The cause had evidently been

the failure of a worn safety valve. The engineer had made the inspection himself; he was a man of long

service, who would not have omitted an essential detail; nor have been so foolish as to tamper with the

The first wreck in the railroad yards had occurred when a switchman highballed a shifting locomotive along

the main track. The engine had taken the siding instead, mowing down the switchman who stood in its path.

The second wreck had been a brakeman's error. He had been crushed when a string of freight cars crashed

into a motionless line of day coaches. In both cases, additional lives had been lost.

Tonight's disaster at the steel plant resembled the others, in two definite ways. First: that no one from outside

had tampered with any machinery; second: that old Joe Grandy, like others who had died before him, had

been sound mentally and alert in action. Not one of the men who had borne the brunt of disaster could have

Behind disasters stood crime, engendered by some masterplotter. A genius of evil was at work in

Hampstead. Through some process, this unknown criminal had managed to control the minds of unwitting

men. A master of murder and destruction had chosen to work with human tools, of whom old Joe Grandy was

The fact that this theory smacked of the incredible was something that gave it strength. There was a reason,

however, why The Shadow accepted it immediately. A few days ago, The Shadow had sent a trusted agent to

Hampstead to investigate disasters there. That agent's name was Harry Vincent. No word had been received

Harry's disappearance had brought The Shadow to Hampstead. The steel plant disaster, at the very time of

The Shadow's arrival, had simply added to the supersleuth's belief that crime stood behind every accident that

EXTINGUISHING his flashlight, The Shadow left the company office. He reached the bottom of the stairs to

find total darkness. No guard was present; if one had come on duty, he had gone when the officials departed.

The Shadow reached the highway, crossed it and arrived at his coupe, which he had wisely parked in the

shelter of a side road before beginning his investigation. The car was just within the town limits of

Hampstead. Ten minutes' drive would bring The Shadow to the heart of the little city.

That short journey was to be fraught with danger. Starting his car, The Shadow swung out to the main

highway. He headed townward and came immediately to a quartermile stretch where buildings were few.

Hardly had The Shadow struck this open space before a rakish touring car roared out from the darkness

Instantly, The Shadow knew what was due. Prowlers had spotted his coupe near the steel plant. They had

decided that the car belonged to some independent investigator. They had gone into ambush to waylay the

A machine gun rattled. Instantly, The Shadow veered his coupe from the touring car's path. He swung his

automobile into a ditch; let it careen and stop with a jolt, tilted far to the left. The men in the touring car

thought that they had scored an instant hit. The rakish machine slowed as it swung toward the halted coupe.

An automatic spoke from the darkness of the ditch, just behind the coupe. The Shadow had dived from the

wheel, unscathed. He had waited for close range; his first shot was aimed for the rear door of the touring car,

A howl answered The Shadow's blast. He delivered a second gunshot; another yell was the response. The

The touring car shot forward. Its canny driver gave it a zigzag twist, wheeling over so that the bulk of The

Shadow's coupe would make the invisible marksman seek a new vantage point. The lights of the touring car

A mocking laugh sounded in the darkness of the ditch, as The Shadow boarded his tilted coupe. Victor in the

shortlived fray, The Shadow had gained the proof he wanted. Crime lay behind the disasters in Hampstead

This first encounter would bring others. Battles and opposition could produce clues. The Shadow was

IT was half an hour before The Shadow reached the center of Hampstead, for he chose a roundabout course

that finally brought him to an obscure garage. His purpose was not to avoid a new encounter; he would have

Spies would be the next enemies. They would be watching for The Shadow's coupe, in hope of identifying its

occupants. Hence The Shadow chose to enter Hampstead from another direction; to keep his car away from

the main streets. He had, moreover, delayed five minutes during his circuit. In that interval he had changed

When The Shadow strolled from the obscure garage, he was no longer clad in black. Street lamps showed

him dressed in a darkgray suit. His features were full and bore little of the hawkish aspect which enemies

identified with The Shadow's countenance. The Shadow was carrying a large suitcase, which contained his

The railroad station was near the garage. An approaching whistle told that a passenger train was due. Picking

an obscure route, The Shadow neared the depot and stood by an old freight shed until the train arrived. A

dozen passengers alighted; half of them had bags. The Shadow stepped up to the station platform and

mingled with the small throng. Two arrivals were going toward an old sedan that served as taxi. The Shadow

The driver announced that his cab took passengers to the Hampstead House. The two men boarded the car

and The Shadow joined them. They rode through the main streets and pulled up in front of a pretentious

hotel. If spies were about, they took The Shadow merely for another passenger, who had come into town by

The Shadow let the two other men register first. He wrote his own name as "Henry Arnaud," with Chicago as

his home city. The name and identity of Arnaud were The Shadow's own device. He used them upon

THERE was a lone clerk at the desk, and only two bell boys available. This meant a delay in room

assignments. The Shadow took advantage of it to note the lobby. He saw no potential spies. It was possible

that crooks had decided to head for cover, after their fray. That was not surprising, since they had carried

As he lingered by the hotel desk, secure in his role of Arnaud, The Shadow was rewarded for his courtesy in

letting others register ahead of him. The hotel manager came from a little office, spoke to the clerk in an

"Positive, sir!" replied the clerk. "He's jumped his bill, all right! Looks like he went out by the window."

"Room 328 is over the kitchen roof, and that's two stories high, sir. The window was open when the maid

"Humph! Let that room stay empty. I'll go up and look it over myself in the morning. Give me that fellow's

full name and a report on what he looks like. He won't beat this hotel and get away with it!"

The Shadow thus learned new facts concerning his vanished agent. He had already known Harry's room

number: 328. He had not known, however, whether Harry had left the hotel openly or been carried away a

prisoner. Nor had The Shadow cared to make inquiry. The chance conversation had saved him such a task.

The room to which The Shadow was assigned happened to be on the fourth floor; but at a different side of the

hotel than 328. The Shadow spent a short while in his room; then turned out the lights. Any observer would

have supposed that he was either going down to the lobby or that he intended to retire. The Shadow did

From his suitcase, he removed black cloak and slouch hat. He tucked a brace of .45 automatics under the

folds of his cloak. After donning thin black gloves, be added a tiny flashlight and a set of picks to his

equipment. That done, The Shadow opened the door of the room and squeezed out into the corridor, blocking

There was a stairway leading down to the third floor. It was near Room 428, therefore The Shadow knew that

it would offer convenient access to Harry's former room, just below. The stairway was but dimly lighted. The

Shadow made a fleeting shape as he descended. At this third floor, he peered along the nearest corridor.

Crooks had captured Harry Vincent. There was a strong chance that they suspected their prisoner to be an

aide of The Shadow. That, in itself, could have accounted for the ambush on the room. Crooks would also

guess that The Shadow knew Harry's room number at the Hampstead House. They would expect him to visit

THE SHADOW eyed every visible door. From gloom, he had the advantage. The slightest motion would

have told him that crooks were keeping watch on 328. No indication came. The Shadow deduced that crooks

intended to keep clear of the hotel, particularly since they knew there would be a fuss about Harry's sudden

The Shadow moved out into the corridor, reached the door of 328. He worked smoothly, quickly, with the

lock. The key of his own room had given him sufficient idea of what the locks were like throughout the hotel.

The room was almost pitchdark for it was at the back of the hotel, away from any street lights. The Shadow

could feel a breeze from the open window. Approaching, he made out the flat shape of the kitchen roof not

far below. There was another building across the street; blankwalled, it appeared to be the hotel garage. Two

stories high, the building's roof was on a level with the window where The Shadow stood.

Turning from the wideopened window, The Shadow moved about the room, blinking his flashlight in

evasive fashion. He was looking for spots that might offer clues. His light dabbed the wall with a small,

luminous circle; then touched doors, articles of furniture. Finally, it streaked along the floor.

There, The Shadow spied a clue. Straight across from the opened window was a small table that stood against

the inner wall of the room, by the head of the bedstead. That table was slightly oblong. Marks in the carpet

The table, however, had been moved, to bring one of its broad sides against the wall. The Shadow saw a

reason for the new position. Crosswise, the table could cover a greater stretch of wall. It had been placed thus

The logical step was to remove the table from its position. The Shadow turned out his flashlight. His cloak

swished in the darkness; but oddly, there was no sound of motion from the table. Once or twice, the flashlight

blinked in guarded fashion, that was all. Then came a pause an interval of fully a dozen seconds.

A sudden glare filled the room. It was the beam of a brilliant, straightfocused spotlight, coming from the

garage roof across the way. Blazing in from darkness, the bright gleam showed the head of the bed; but not

the table beside it. The reason was, that the table stood obscured by a crouched shape clad in black.

It was a sight that some ambushed observer had hoped to see: The Shadow, stooped motionless, in front of

that table. Hard upon the blaze of light came another occurrence, so swift that even The Shadow could not

have wheeled in time to escape it. A driving object whistled through the window at terrific speed. Like an

The missile was a knife. It had buried itself full way to the hilt, in the shape beneath the black cloak. Slowly,

the stooping form tumbled forward and sprawled in huddled fashion in front of the little table.

As the figure stilled upon the floor, the light from the garage roof was extinguished. Blackness took control

along with silence. The deaththrust had been delivered; assassins were departing from the field. Well had

MINUTES passed in the silent hotel room. A flashlight blinked from the corner, following along the floor. It

reached the huddled form; a whispered laugh sounded in the darkness. A gloved hand plucked away the

knife. It came easily; then the cloak was drawn aside. No knifethrust had found The Shadow. The only

From the moment that he had noted the turned table, The Shadow had expected a trap because of the line to

the opened window. He had used darkness to prepare a ruse; and his hoax had worked. The Shadow had tilted

a chair back against the table, so neatly that only a scant half inch of chair top prevented the whole chair from

toppling. Upon the seat of the chair he had placed a pillow; over it, his cloak, draped to form a shape when

seen from without the window. The slouch hat had formed the last touch of deception.

The knife had driven through the back of the cloak; it had cleaved the pillow and its point had penetrated the

woodwork of the chair. The force of the blow had been sufficient to make the chair back begin a slide from

the table. It was the chair, muffled beneath cloak and pillow, that had thudded to the carpet like a huddling

Listening from a corner near the window, The Shadow had heard enough sounds when the spotlight was

extinguished. He knew that his enemies had abandoned their post. This was his opportunity to finish his

In darkness, The Shadow moved away the table. He glimmered his flashlight upon the wall. There, in

Had Harry Vincent left that clue? It seemed likely to The Shadow. Why had crooks not erased it? The answer

was obvious: they had guessed that the penciled marks would interest The Shadow long enough to hold him

Extinguishing his flashlight, The Shadow replaced the pillow on the bed. He put the chair as it belonged;

pressed the table against the wall. Donning cloak and hat, he moved from the room, locking the door behind

Some minutes later, he heard creeping sounds below. Men were coming up to Room 328. They had a double

purpose: to remove a dead body; to erase the marks that lay behind the table. They would be nonplused when

The Shadow waited; soon he heard the footsteps return, then scurry down the stairs.

Underlings had gone to report the amazing news that they had found no victim. Promptly, The Shadow

descended to the third floor, to find the door of 328 unlocked. Quickly, he pulled aside the table and blinked

his tiny light. The number R6384 had been erased. The visitors had not forgotten that detail. The number

PAUSING, The Shadow stared toward the window and noted the dim edge of the garage roof. On a straight

line with the opened window, it told him another story regarding the knifethrust from the dark. No thrown

blade could have followed so straight a path. The uppermost point of its curve would have brought it too high

to go through the window. The knife had been dispatched by a powerful, muffled air gun.

With this knowledge of a unique weapon in the arsenal of his foemen, The Shadow made his final departure

from Room 328. With gliding tread, he returned to his own room on the fourth floor. From the side window,

A soft laugh in the darkness foretold The Shadow's next adventures. He had foiled his enemies tonight. His

own identity concealed, he would be ready on the morrow. Then would he search for the master of crime,

Whether or not Harry's lone clue would be useless, The Shadow would not cease his efforts until he

THE next day found the town of Hampstead in furor. The disaster at the steel plant had shaken the nerves of

the hardiest citizens. Those who had feared the future were looked upon as prophets. Any one who voiced

Hampstead was distinctly an industrial town. It formed the center of a large rural area; and boasted the only

factories in the section. It followed that Hampstead was also a railroad center; and the quarries among the

Hence Hampstead depended upon industry; and the threat was therefore the most pressing that the town could

Today's rumors were unrestricted. The local newspapers had yielded to the strain; they were publishing facts

that had hitherto been suppressed. Hampstead realized that a hoodoo lay upon it. That belief was supported

Morning found the dye works closed. Workers had been grumbling ever since the explosion of a week before.

The owners had decided to mark time; for they felt that they would be regarded as culpable, if another

disaster should occur upon their premises. Already the quarry companies had ceased operations because of

the freight yard wrecks. They came out with an announcement that they would bring no explosives into

Hampstead until the railroad company could supply a satisfactory answer concerning the freight car smashes.

The steel plant was closed; until the furnace room was put in proper shape, it could not reopen. The officials,

when questioned, were unwilling to state when they intended to resume business. Other industries were

making a last effort to stem the rising tide of public opposition. Privately, owners met among themselves, to

agree that one new disaster would be the last. Should it occur, Hampstead would become a city abandoned by

It was known that certain plants had arranged for police protection. Among these were the Century Chemical

Company and the Hampstead Knitting Mills, for they represented the most important industries other than the

dye works and the steel plant. The chemical company dealt in dangerous materials; the knitting mills

Nevertheless, to close down would be folly. No threats had been delivered; nothing suspicious had occurred

at either plant. The leaders of industry in Hampstead were determined to hold together for a last effort against

Nevertheless, late afternoon brought a feeling of dread. The main plants in Hampstead were working

overtime. Other tragedies had struck during evening hours. Tonight would be the time for new disaster,

TO The Shadow, this had been a day of futile effort. In his guise of Henry Arnaud, he had hired a sedan in

place of the coupe that he had stowed away. He had driven about Hampstead, passing the chemical works and

the knitting mills. He had noted other factories; he had located the city's electric powerhouse. The Shadow

Nor had The Shadow gained any traces of departed crooks. Covering ground close to Hampstead, he failed to

discover any houses that could serve as hideouts. When he drove back to the hotel at sunset, The Shadow

was forced to admit that his quest had been blank. That very fact disturbed him most; for The Shadow, of all

Street lamps were aglow when The Shadow entered the dining room of the Hampstead House and took a

table by the window. Those lights were early; for the sun had scarcely set. Looking across the street at an

angle, The Shadow could plainly observe the fronts of pretentious homes that had been converted into

Just as dinner was being served to the guest who called himself Henry Arnaud, a large gray car, a limousine,

pulled up in front of one of the apartments. The chromiumplated radiator caught the glow of a street lamp

just above. The same illumination shone on the car's license plate. From a distance of some forty yards, The

The number was etched in The Shadow's thoughts. He had been looking constantly for some sign of it. That

was the number The Shadow had found inscribed upon the wall of Harry Vincent's room.

A chauffeur was stepping from the big car. The Shadow saw him open a door. A stooped man came from the

automobile; he leaned upon the chauffeur's arm, then shifted his weight to a heavy cane. The Shadow caught

a view of a muffled face; round, blackened spots indicated dark spectacles that the man was wearing.

The chauffeur preceded his master to the apartment house door, rang a bell and awaited a response. When it

came, the chauffeur opened the door and held it while the stooped man entered. After that, the chauffeur

Watching upstairs windows, The Shadow had only a short wait. A light glimmered suddenly from a room on

THE SHADOW lost no time in finishing dinner. He went up to his room, packed garments in a small, pliable

briefcase and came downstairs again. Strolling from the hotel, he noticed that the upstairs lights were still

Crossing the street, The Shadow calmly approached the door that the bespectacled man had entered. He noted

a list of names on the wall mail boxes of the open vestibule. Apartment 2 A bore the name Herbert Prensham;

Both facts were useful. One told the name of the man who had gone up to the front apartment on the second

floor. The other indicated an excellent means of entry. The Shadow stepped down to the sidewalk, strolled

around the block and came to a narrow alley behind the buildings. He followed it until he reached the house

In a darkened space, The Shadow opened his briefcase. He donned cloak and slouch hat; strapped the pliable

briefcase under his cloak. Picking an ornamental ledge in the stone wall of the house, The Shadow began an

He gripped a fastened shutter beside a first floor window, used it in ladder fashion and reached the second

floor. Another ledge gave him a foothold while he jimmied a window in the rear apartment. Swinging over

Through darkness, The Shadow reached the outer hall, to find it unlighted. He picked a path along the wall

until he arrived at a door which he knew must be Apartment 2 A. The knob turned noiselessly at The

Silently, The Shadow stepped into a passage. At the front were the lights of a living room. Peering from the

passage, The Shadow could see that the shades had been drawn. He knew that they must have been lowered

Approaching closer to the front of the passage, The Shadow spied a bent man seated in a large chair, his feet

upon a footstool. The man was Herbert Prensham, whom The Shadow had seen alight from the large

Prensham's face was tilted forward, his chin buried in the collar of a dressing gown. His dark spectacles still

covered his eyes. The stooped man was motionless, apparently dozing. His left hand lay limply upon a table

There, also, The Shadow observed a squatly table lamp, with a large, unfrosted bulb upright in the socket.

The lamp shade had fallen from place and was lying on the table. Prensham had apparently not noticed it.

No one else was in the room. Unless Prensham himself had risen to lower the window shades, some intruder

must have come and gone before The Shadow's arrival. There was something sinister in that possibility a

connection with the cryptic numerals that The Shadow had found in Harry Vincent's room.

The number R6384 had signified only the license number of Prensham's car. Had Harry left it as a clue to a

man whose life was threatened? Danger lurked here in Hampstead; The Shadow was ready for any startling

development. The longer he gazed at the slouched, immobile form of Prensham, the more certain he became

STILL within the darkness of the passage, The Shadow drew an automatic from beneath his cloak. Swinging

into the mellow light of the living room, he glanced keenly toward the inner wall, in search of another

In his gaze, The Shadow took in the furnishings. They were luxurious. Oriental rugs adorned the floors;

chairs and tables were of fine, dark mahogany. Rich tapestries hung from the walls. In that setting, Herbert

Prensham looked pitiful and helpless, as if he though master of this room had no ability to appreciate his

The Shadow, however, concentrated his gaze upon the man in the chair. Advancing, he studied Prensham, to

As The Shadow came closer, Prensham stirred. He raised his head, proving that his ears were keen enough to

hear the footsteps of the softtreading visitor. Apparently, Prensham could not see The Shadow through his

The Shadow maintained his silence. Prensham's hands came upward. His body straightened as his fingers

lifted away the dark spectacles and let them drop into his lap. Simultaneously, the man in the chair delivered

a short, musical laugh. His lips produced a gloating smile; his eyes black in hue showed an evil sparkle.

With the dropping of the spectacles, the man in the chair had seen The Shadow; but his manner showed that

he had expected to view the very visitor whom he saw. His sleep had been feigned; he had waited for this

moment to drop away the darkened glasses that amply disguised his face. With the action, the seated man had

The cloaked visitor recognized the man who called himself Herbert Prensham. Uncannily, The Shadow had

suspected danger: that was why he had leveled his automatic toward the man in the chair. The Shadow had

anticipated a surprise; yet even he was not prepared for this one. The face revealed to him was one that he

The man in the chair was Doctor Rodil Mocquino, the most insidious foeman whom The Shadow had ever

encountered Doctor Mocquino, the socalled Voodoo Master, whose last reign of crime had been ended by

The Shadow. Downed by bullets from The Shadow's guns, Mocquino had last been seen alive when he had

plunged, badly wounded, beneath the surface of the Hudson River. (Note: See "The Voodoo Master" Vol.

Even to The Shadow, it was amazing that Doctor Mocquino had returned to life. But with the present

discovery, The Shadow had gained the end of his first trail. The disasters in the town of Hampstead were

The Shadow was face to face with the mastervillain who had brought terror to this city of doom.

Doctor Mocquino spoke the words in musical tone. His manilahued face was smiling; his dark eyes flashed

in friendly fashion. Without moving from his chair, the onetime Voodoo Master gestured with his open right

Mocquino was pointing to a chair between himself and the window. The Shadow kept his eyes toward the

Voodoo Master; his gun, in his right hand, was leveled with his gaze. Using his left hand, he drew the chair

The Shadow had placed himself at a slight angle to Mocquino's right. The unshaded lamp upon the table was

so placed that it stood almost in line with The Shadow's gaze. Mocquino flipped a switch in the base of the

Instantly, there came a result that showed why the Voodoo Master had lowered the window blinds. The

unfrosted bulb delivered a blinding brilliance. Its light was of the most startling sort, a pyrotechnic display

within a rounded bowl of glass. Every possible color of light burst loose with dazzling blaze. Like sparks

from bursting fireworks, the colors sparkled soundlessly within the bulb. They darted everywhere, those

The Shadow sat riveted, his eyes upon the startling display. Doctor Mocquino's right hand had come upward;

his fingers had promptly replaced his spectacles over his eyes. Thus he escaped those blinding flashes that

burned before The Shadow's gaze. Mocquino's laugh was harsh, its musical tone ended. The Voodoo Master

deliberately pulled the little switch; the dazzle faded from the blazing bulb. With both hands, Mocquino

"You are helpless!" jeered the Voodoo Master. "You, too, have experienced the blinding glare that the others

received! You have gone through the ordeal that causes men to see the things that I command! You are in my

The Shadow came to his feet while Mocquino chortled. The Voodoo Master's gloat ended a moment later.

The Shadow did not stand his ground; instead, he advanced straight forward. The muzzle of his automatic

pressed toward Mocquino's eyes. Above the gun. the astonished Voodoo Master saw a blazing gaze,

"Speak, Mocquino!" ordered The Shadow. "Tell of the crimes that you committed; of the evil that you intend!

THE SHADOW had met the Voodoo Master's test. Whatever its effect upon others, the blazing bulb had

Mocquino's face showed huge surprise; his lips were scarcely able to deliver a snarl. It was rage, however,

"You command me to speak," mouthed Mocquino. "Listen, then, and hear the facts you came to learn! I

brought them here, the men I needed. I let them see the blazing bulb. It left them dazzled, ready for my

"While each man sat dazed, I told him how he was to ignore his duty. Each went his way, remembering his

experience, like something from a dim past. Each sought to recall what had happened. Memories jogged them

The Shadow thrust his automatic beneath his cloak; it was a gesture of his contempt for Mocquino's power.

He needed no more information regarding the system that the Voodoo Master had employed.

A master of hypnotic influence, Mocquino had applied it to the accomplishment of crime, through men who

served as helpless instruments. All hypnotism being dependent upon the full concentration of the person

subjected to it, Mocquino had devised the sparkling bulb as a mechanical way of forcing fixed vision.

Through the dazzling effect of myriad colored sparks, he had jolted each victim into a state of temporary

That done, he had assigned each a task. The engineer at the dye plant had been told to release the safety valve

on the boiler, when he made inspection. Switchman and brakeman both had been instructed to signal

Old Joe Grandy had responded to an impulse given him by Mocquino; he had handled the wrong lever at the

In each case, Mocquino was a murderer. The Voodoo Master had purposely sent his hypnotic victims to their

own destruction. He had hoped to do the same with The Shadow. He had failed. His own statement had been

Mocquino's teeth gritted. His clawish hands clutched the arms of his chair. Despite the steadiness of The

"I have told enough!" he retorted, harshly. "You caught me by surprise, when you met the ordeal that I gave

THE SHADOW'S right hand whipped from beneath the cloak. Again, Mocquino was confronted by the

leveled muzzle of an automatic that threatened to burn a message of instant death. The Voodoo Master glared

"Why should I speak?" he queried, his voice regaining its smooth, insidious tone. "You cannot afford to kill

me when you know the facts that concern your agent, Harry Vincent. He is my prisoner he and others who

tried to block my path! There are five of them in all. My death will mean theirs!

"I took the precaution to place them where escape is impossible. Their time of death has been set every

twelve hours. Each time that the execution is due, I postpone it. Should I die, there will be no one to

"Kill me if you choose. By doing so, you will give the death warrant for men whom you have come to save.

Moreover, my future crimes are scheduled. They will proceed like clockwork; for my subordinates are men

Mocquino's tone had regained its strength. The Shadow knew that the Voodoo Master spoke the truth. Forced

to accept the issue as it stood, The Shadow thrust his automatic out of sight. Calmly, he took the chair that he

"You have decided wisely," remarked Mocquino. "My threat failed; yours did likewise. That brings a

situation that I have long desired; one wherein we can speak freely. I have hoped for such a meeting. My

The Shadow made no comment. He preferred to let Mocquino talk. The Voodoo Master relished the situation.

"Some time ago, I formed a cult of faithful followers, worshipers of voodoo rites, through whom I sought

wealth. You uncovered my headquarters, aboard an old ferry boat in the Hudson River. Singlehanded you

"There were police boats all about, and other craft besides. One was a small tug manned by a handful of my

reserves, under the command of my most trusted lieutenant, Banzarro. They brought me aboard; they carried

Smiling, Mocquino began to stroke his chin. He showed no fear of The Shadow; instead, he studied his

visitor with a gaze that showed admiration. Mocquino seemed to consider The Shadow as a foe who could

put his schemes to future tests. It was plain that the Voodoo Master enjoyed crime and relished opposition.

"I have decided," announced Mocquino, "to attempt a gigantic experiment upon the human race. All people

are alike, whether savage or civilized. In tropical countries, a master of voodoo like myself can gain a

"Except for one factor." Mocquino leaned forward and wagged a bony finger as he made the proviso. "The

influence of the machine age must be destroyed. To implant the principles of voodoo belief upon a

"I have chosen this city of Hampstead as my experimental field. Already, I have wreaked destruction;

industry is ready to abandon the town. One more catastrophe will produce the final result. Its factories closed,

MOCQUINO paused, hoping to see the effect of his words. The Shadow gave no visible sign; yet through his

brain was flashing the full thought of the future. Outlandish as Mocquino's hopes might seem, the

Steadily, invisibly, Doctor Mocquino would become the absolute ruler of a detached community. Strange

cults were not uncommon. Voodoo rites, with their appeal to superstitious minds, could gain strong roots if

The Shadow's thoughts turned to the immediate future. One fact was certain: in his effort to extend his

strange scheme, Doctor Mocquino intended to continue with his strokes of crime. Lives were at stake, like

those at the steel plant. In addition, Mocquino held prisoners men whose lives The Shadow must save. If

anything could be done to forestall Mocquino's present plans, that course must be learned.

Mocquino was guessing at The Shadow's thoughts. With a smile, the Voodoo Master himself presented new

"We are at stalemate," purred Mocquino. "Suppose that we begin our game anew. Banzarro failed twice last

night; first, when he sought your life with guns; second, when he missed his knifethrust. I failed tonight,

"I have no other moves; but I do intend new crime. As I have stated, it will proceed without me; and at the

same time, my prisoners will automatically die. Should I be allowed to go my way, I shall proceed with

crime; but the prisoners will live. So long as I am free, there is no reason for their death."

Mocquino paused; then added: "I shall find the new game interesting. So much so, that I may become

negligent at times, merely to add new zest. That may interest you, particularly since you also enjoy adventure.

There will be crime tonight, within the next few hours. You will find it intriguing if you seek to prevent it.

THE SHADOW remained as motionless as a statue. His attitude was unflinching; but that did not disturb

"You will leave here," proposed Mocquino, "and travel to the city limits, in your coupe. Banzarro will see

you before you reach the steel plant. There will be no ambush: I do not care to sacrifice more men in futile

Mocquino's words, dryly uttered, proved that the Voodoo Master was keen enough to recognize The

Shadow's prowess. That made him doubly dangerous. Mocquino had dropped all overconfidence. His

It depended entirely upon The Shadow, and Mocquino knew it. If The Shadow himself had a deep plan that

would be sufficient to offset Mocquino's threat of automatic crime, there would be no chance for the Voodoo

"The prisoners will live," he insisted. "They will be the prize at stake. Our new game will begin from the

moment that you have again passed the city limits. It will end only when either you or I have won a final

Leaning forward, Mocquino waited expectantly for The Shadow's answer. It came by action, instead of word.

Rising, The Shadow turned toward the door. His cloak swished, as he stepped to the passage. Mocquino

Minutes passed before a sudden gleam adorned Mocquino's evil confidence. The sight that produced that evil

gloat was the passage of a coupe that rolled along the main street in front of the Hampstead House. The

Shadow, like Mocquino, had accepted the fact that the game had reached a stalemate.

The Shadow was driving to the city limits, prepared to begin a new game against the evil plotter.

IN his departure from Mocquino's, The Shadow had accepted the only alternative. Past experience had told

him of Mocquino's craftiness; events in Hampstead had proven that the archplotter was more formidable

Mocquino had proposed a fresh start in his duel with The Shadow. As stakes in the game, Mocquino had

promised the lives of Harry Vincent and other prisoners. Mocquino would adhere to his promise; but not

because of any mercy in his nature. The insidious Voodoo Master totally lacked that emotion.

Mocquino's purpose was to stir The Shadow to frenzied action; to bring him into the open. Once on the

offensive, The Shadow would be forced to discard certain protective measures. Mocquino, always ready to

deliver a deaththrust, might find an opportunity to end the career of the only living foe whom he feared.

The Shadow had accepted Mocquino's terms for the same reason. He knew that the one way to deal with

Mocquino was to thwart him at every turn; to meet his schemes as they came. If foiled, Mocquino would

All the while, however, Mocquino would keep his prisoners alive. The Voodoo Master knew that those

captives were human bait; that their welfare was essential. As long as The Shadow knew that they lived, he

would press his activities without pause. Sooner or later, so Mocquino hoped, The Shadow would be worn

There was only one choice for The Shadow. That was to keep constantly upon the move; to challenge

Driving toward the city limits of Hampstead, The Shadow reviewed these prospects. All the while, he was

watching the road with caution. Somewhere along the route, he would pass a hiding place occupied by

There was a chance that Banzarro would strike from ambush, despite Mocquino's declaration to the contrary.

This was one point upon which the Voodoo Master could not be trusted. The Shadow's impression, however,

was that Mocquino would prefer to depend on future strategy, rather than order his underlings to attempt

THE SHADOW'S surmise proved correct. He reached the city limits unchallenged. There, he wheeled his

coupe about and started back toward the center of town. Choosing a side road, he swung from the main

highway and threaded his way into the city. He reached the obscure garage near the railroad station.

For this journey, The Shadow had used his former license plates. He changed them again, in the garage; there

were no employees on duty to observe the action. Wearing his garb of black, The Shadow departed by a side

door. He picked his way through darkness, and came again to the converted house where Mocquino's

This time, The Shadow chose another mode of entry. He picked a loose grating at the side of the house,

removed it and dropped into the cellar. In his departure from Mocquino's apartment, he had observed the

location of stairways; hence he had no difficulty in reaching the ground floor. There was a light in the hall,

but The Shadow took a darkened flight of steps at the rear. He went up to the second floor.

All the while, The Shadow exercised full caution. He knew that Mocquino might expect him to return. This

house offered many lurking spots for wouldbe assassins. But The Shadow banked upon one factor that was

definitely a part of Mocquino's policy. The Voodoo Master was dealing in hidden, mysterious crime.

Therefore, Mocquino would seek to avoid any commotion that would cause the public to guess that crooks

Last night's thrusts proved this fact. One had been made upon a lonely stretch of road; the other had been a

The Shadow expected, moreover, to find Mocquino gone; but he was not entirely set for the surprise that he

received when he opened the unlocked door of the voodoo doctor's apartment. Lights were glowing from wall

brackets. In the living room; the illumination showed complete vacancy. Stepping in from the passage, The

During the scant half hour since The Shadow's departure, Mocquino had accomplished a complete removal.

Every item of furniture was gone. including the table lamp and its special bulb. Bare floors sounded hollow

beneath The Shadow's tread. Blank walls gaped where gorgeous tapestries had formerly hung. Mocquino had

left nothing except the few lights in the wall sockets, to let The Shadow see what had been accomplished.

The Shadow had already decided that Mocquino must have some stronghold outside of Hampstead, but

within easy reach of the city. Such a place would be needed as a hideout for thugs who served under

Banzarro. That stronghold could also serve as a prison for Harry Vincent and the other captives. It was

obvious that Mocquino had chosen the place as his own headquarters for the future campaign.

For the present, The Shadow had no intent to take up Mocquino's trail. He was sure that the search for the

stronghold would be a long one. If he made it his immediate objective, he would lose a greater opportunity.

Crime was due again in Hampstead. It would come tonight, as part of Mocquino's strategy. The Shadow's

immediate purpose was to gain some clue to the next step in Mocquino's campaign.

A BRIEF search through the living room showed nothing of importance. The Shadow went through the little

passage and used his flashlight in a darkened rear room. Here, again, was vacancy. The Shadow moved

through to another room. His flashlight, glowing on the floor, showed streaky scrapes that had been made

when a piece of furniture had been moved. From the marks, The Shadow knew that the object had been either

The corner baseboard was warped. Its lower edge was fully a quarter inch above the floor. A tiny strip of

white showed from the space. Stooping, The Shadow plucked and drew out a small, square piece of paper. It

was a page torn from a memorandum pad. Apparently it had been tossed toward a wastebasket, only to flutter

to the floor instead. Sliding under the baseboard, the paper had remained unnoticed.

This day was Thursday. The Shadow's watch showed half past eight. Thirty minutes until the designated

hour. The Shadow had found what seemed to be a promising clue to Doctor Mocquino's next crime: some

deed of destruction that concerned the local powerhouse. Yet, in that written notation, The Shadow saw one

The Shadow remembered the penciled marks on the wall of Harry Vincent's room. Whether Harry had

written that number, R6384 or whether some one else had scrawled it at Mocquino's order, it had certainly

been left with a purpose. That clue had brought The Shadow to Mocquino's apartment, where the Voodoo

Similarly, this new clue was a plant. The Shadow knew that Mocquino himself had slipped it beneath the

baseboard. Mocquino had expected The Shadow to find it; to take the tip and go to the local powerhouse at

The true statement on the sheet of paper was the one that concerned the time. Something was due to happen

tonight, at nine o'clock. The false item was the mention of a place. When crime struck, it would not occur at

the powerhouse. Mocquino's purpose was simply to decoy The Shadow to the wrong spot.

CRIME due at nine. Crumpling the piece of paper, The Shadow stood in darkness, considering the situation.

Whatever Mocquino planned. it would certainly be a disaster as great as the catastrophe at the steel plant.

There were only two other plants in Hampstead where so huge a tragedy could be duplicated.

One was the Century Chemical Company, with its dangerous type of manufacture; the other, the Hampstead

Knitting Mills, where hundreds of workers were employed. On the surface, the choice was equal; The

Shadow could reach either place by nine o'clock. But if he covered one, he could not protect the other.

Minutes of silence lingered; then came a whispered laugh amid the darkness. A swish betokened The

Shadow's departure. The master investigator had chosen his next destination. The Shadow knew that

Mocquino had certainly planned disasters at both the chemical plant and the knitting mills. One would strike

Mocquino's campaign of horror followed one definite system; to make it most effective, each disaster needed

to be greater than the one before. Comparing the chemical plant and the knitting mills, The Shadow chose the

Undeceived by the Voodoo Master's fake clue, The Shadow was setting forth to deal with coming crime.

THE Century Chemical Company occupied a stretch of isolated ground just west of Hampstead. There was

good reason for the remote location. The chemical plant produced highly inflammable materials, and the fire

The plant consisted of three sections, all housed in the same building. First, the portion where incoming

shipments were stored; then the main laboratory where the chemicals were manufactured; last, the storeroom

Upstairs were offices; most of these were over the storeroom, for it had a low ceiling and there was plenty of

space above. Of the sixty employees who worked at the plant, nearly forty were engaged in actual

In their inspection of the plant, officials had marked one danger spot. That lay between the large laboratory

and the last storeroom, where the finished chemicals were kept. Fire was always a menace to the laboratory;

but the workers were trained to meet it. All inflammable materials were removed as soon as manufactured.

The important precaution, therefore, was to keep a fireproof barrier between the laboratory and the

This had been effectively arranged. When trucks were wheeled from the laboratory, they followed a slight

downward slope and stopped at a steel door. When that barrier was opened, the trucks entered a vestibule,

with another steel door ahead. The man in charge of the doors closed the outer one; then opened the inner, so

that the trucks could be wheeled through to the storeroom at the end of the downgrade.

Thus there was never an open channel between the laboratory and the storeroom. Fire in the laboratory could

not spread; nor could an accident in the storeroom produce disaster in the laboratory.

A FULL shift of workers were in the laboratory on this particular night. A clock by the outer door showed the

time as five minutes before nine. Near the door was a small lunch counter; there, a man in overalls was

Another worker, wheeling a handtruck in from the inbound shipment room, stopped to nudge the coffee

"Hello, Danny," greeted the man with the truck. "Whatta you need a cup of Java for? So's you can stay awake

"Hello, Pete," he returned. "Kiddin' me, eh? Well, it takes brains to handle them control levers when the

"I'll be off this trick next week," growled Pete. "They're putting me in the shipping department. Well, Danny,

Earnestly, Danny gripped Pete's arm and drew the truck pusher to one side. In an undertone he put a query:

"There's something I gotta ask you about," continued Danny. "You remember last Monday night? Were we

"What were you asking about Monday for?" he demanded. "Give me the lowdown, Danny."

"I haven't got time, Pete." Danny shifted as he spoke. "I gotta get over to the control room."

"It wasn't that maybe you'd forgotten something?" insisted Pete. "Like where you'd been at, on Monday

It was Danny's turn to blink. His face showed worriment. Pete had guessed the secret that Danny had been

"Listen, Danny," confessed Pete; "it hit me funny, you asking about Monday night. I was kinda worried the

"Yeah. I wouldn't have mentioned it to nobody. Not even to you, Danny, except because of what you just

said. Seems like I got a telephone call, asking me to come somewhere; and I went. That was right after

dinner, Tuesday. I remember coming home at ten o'clock, telling the folks I'd been to a movie. But I must've

"It's the same with me, Pete! Monday night I was somewhere. Nobody at home asked me about it; but they

said something about my hitting the hay at eleven o'clock. I thought I'd turned in around nine. There's a

"Yeah. It makes me feel creepy like I was trying to remember something I'd dreamed, and couldn't!"

A voice was calling for Pete's truck. The two men ended their confab. Pete shoved his truck off through the

laboratory. Danny crossed the floor and reached an inner corner. There he stepped into a small control room,

Danny took over the controls. The other worker departed by a door that led into a darkened passage.

Mumbling to himself, Danny mulled over the event that he had discussed with Pete.

MECHANICALLY, Danny looked toward the big clock at the front of the laboratory. Its hands showed nine

o'clock. A shudder came to Danny's shoulders. The man looked about, he had a feeling that eyes were

watching him. Vainly, he stared at the darkened passage near the control room. While he gazed, he heard a

The cry came from the laboratory. From the open front of the control box, Danny saw Pete stumbling beside

his truck. Pete was holding a large bottle that he was about to load. Some one had shouted a warning when

Pete stumbled. As Danny stared, Pete struck the edge of the hand truck and the bottle shot from his grasp.

It crashed squarely into the contents of the halfloaded truck. As the bottle shattered, chemical solution

splashed upon loaded boxes. There was a puff; a flash of flame. The truck was ablaze.

Workers scrambled from their benches. In the excitement, one overturned a large beaker.

New puffs sighed from the workbench. Flames sizzled, while a bell clanged furiously from the end of the

Trained to quick response, workers could have met the emergency, had it not been for Pete. On his feet

beside the truck, the fellow went berserk. He wanted to get the truck away; he chose the easiest direction.

With a shove, Pete propelled the blazing load straight down the ramp that led to the storeroom. The truck

In a sense, Pete's move had served well. He had at least shoved the truck away from the workbenches, to a

place where it could be easily handled. The steel door was a fireproof barrier; the flames could not penetrate

Deliberately, the man in the control box grasped the first lever and tugged it. The steel door slid upward.

While maddened workers dashed across the laboratory, the blazing truck slid down through the passage to the

Shouting men were leaping to reclaim the truck. Others were staring toward the control room, astounded by

Danny's action. None were close enough to stop the next move. With the same slow move that he had used

before, Danny gripped the second lever. His hands started its pull, to release the lower door and let the truck

roll through to the storeroom, where stacks of inflammable merchandise awaited removal.

Only an instantaneous intervention could forestall Danny's unexplainable move. That intervention came.

A BLACKGARBED form launched from the darkened passage wherein Danny had suspected watching

eyes. A long, cloaked arm sped forward. Gloved, viselike fingers clutched Danny's hand, wrenched the man's

Eyes staring straight ahead, Danny emitted a snarl like that of a trapped beast.

Spinning about, Danny saw The Shadow. An expression of fierce rage came over Danny's face as his eyes

met the burn of The Shadow's eyes. Like a mechanical figure, a human automaton controlled by a distant

brain, Danny sprang upon the cloaked intruder. Clawing furiously, he tried to tear The Shadow away from the

control lever. Danny's brain could concentrate upon one purpose only: to gain again the lever and complete

The Shadow's tall form bobbed backward, yielding to the madman's thrust. Danny shot one hand to the lever;

but he was too late to perform the deed he wanted. A gloved fist zoomed through the opening that came when

Danny slumped to his chair; his head tilted forward. His hand lost its clutch upon the lever. Other workers

were almost to the control room. The Shadow sidestepped to the outer passage. He was watching when men

The whole laboratory was filled with fading fumes. Special fire equipment had smothered the flames at the

benches. A squad of workmen had headed for the passage leading down to the storeroom. There, they

As Danny came groggily to life, he looked from his window to see men hauling the extinguished truck up

The Shadow could view Danny's profile. He saw the awed expression that was flickering on the man's face.

Slowly, dimly, Danny was realizing what he had done. Thought of the averted havoc left the man shaky.

Danny looked about hopelessly, as if wondering how to explain matters. Luck was with him. His fellow

workers knew him for a man of coolness; they made their own interpretation of Danny's actions.

"Smart work, Danny!" approved one. "You had us guessing when you yanked that upper door. Then we

caught the idea. You wanted to let that truck ride down into the passage, to get it away from the laboratory."

"Sure!" put in another man. "You knowed that the second door would stop it. It was a cinch, putting out the

"Some of the fellows got excited," added the first speaker. "Thought maybe you'd gone goofy, Dan; that you

"Sure!" concluded the second man. "Your hand wasn't even on the second lever when we got here, Danny.

You looked kind of weak, but I don't blame you. This box was a bad spot to be in, Danny."

A BIG bell was clanging, calling for men to return to work. Danny straightened in his chair. The others left;

but after their departure, a lone worker sidled into the control box. It was Pete. The Shadow watched him

"I I musta gone bugs, Danny," confided Pete, in a whisper. "Something sort of hit me like from that

dream I had on Tuesday night. When I started to load that big flask on the truck, it was like my feet stumbled

"Don't tell me any more, Pete," put in Danny, his tone awed. "Something clicked back to me when I saw it

happen. You shoved the truck against the first door remember? It was like a picture I was waiting for, out

"I yanked that first door open. When the truck slid down. I made a grab to pull the second door. Don't ask me

why. All I know is somebody or something came crashing in and stopped me. The boys think I did

Shakily, Danny mopped his brow with a big handkerchief. Pete gave a departing whisper:

"Keep mum, Danny; that's what I'm going to do. Nobody's blaming us. I'm not worried, neither. It seems like

"Same here, Pete. I'm just jittery; but it won't stick with me. I'm through bothering my noodle about where I

Danny steadied in his chair. Pete edged from the control box. The Shadow moved away through the outer

passage. His work was completed; he had spoiled Doctor Mocquino's scheme. Wisely had The Shadow

picked the chemical plant as the place where crime was due. Here, Mocquino had hoped to send some fifty

persons to destruction, reserving the knitting mills for a rarer and greater disaster.

In Pete and Danny, The Shadow had observed two men who had come under the Voodoo Master's evil

power. Mocquino had decoyed them to his apartment; there, he had jolted them with his hypnotic light. Upon

each man's brain he had impressed a future action, each to make an individual blunder at the hour of nine, on

Like others before them, both Pete and Danny had responded. They had mechanically performed their

teamwork in accord with Mocquino's nefarious desire. The Shadow had stopped the menace; Mocquino's

Still, The Shadow saw more work ahead tonight. Outside the chemical plant his whispered laugh was barely

audible in darkness. An unseen traveler in the night, The Shadow was choosing a trail that he knew might

FIFTEEN minutes after his departure from the chemical plant, The Shadow arrived near the Hampstead

powerhouse. From the protecting darkness of an old empty house, he surveyed the squarish building that

supplied the city with electricity. Motionless, The Shadow watched for signs of prowlers near the

In his past experience with Doctor Mocquino, The Shadow had learned that the Voodoo Master's strokes

were doubleedged. Any false trail that Mocquino offered would be beset with hazards. The Shadow's

Mocquino had planned disaster at the chemical plant; another crime of the sort that would seem accidental. In

order to draw The Shadow from the place where scores of workers were slated for doom. Mocquino had

Another rogue would have been satisfied with the plan of drawing The Shadow to the wrong spot. Not

Mocquino, however. He picked nothing at random. Since there was a chance that The Shadow would come to

the powerhouse at nine o'clock, it followed that Mocquino would be prepared to trap him at that hour.

Mocquino had henchmen many of them with Banzarro to command them. None of these underlings had

been near the chemical plant; it was Mocquino's policy to keep them well away from any spot of scheduled

disaster. The powerhouse, however, was a blind. It was likely that Banzarro and his crew would be here.

By this time, Banzarro's men would have closed in, on the chance that The Shadow was inside the

powerhouse. They would be set to trap him when he emerged. In fact, Banzarro might even have kept the

cordon loose in order to let The Shadow enter. Therefore, the present advantage lay with The Shadow. If

Banzarro and his crew were close about the powerhouse, he could surprise them by coming inward instead of

ADVANCING from his position, The Shadow began a circuit of the powerhouse. The building was

squarewalled and compact in construction; the space about it was darkened and offered every opportunity

for The Shadow to approach. In his circling, The Shadow chose a course that was somewhat spiral. Always,

At no spot did The Shadow discover any signs of lurkers. During his final circuit, he could almost touch the

walls of the building, yet there was no stir to mark the position of hidden enemies. All that The Shadow could

There were frosted windows, barred with crisscross gratings. From these came dim light, enough to betray

any men who might have chosen the window spaces as hiding places. There was only one door; it, too, had a

frostedglass panel. The Shadow's inspection proved that none of Mocquino's followers were hereabouts.

The Shadow considered another possibility one that he had hitherto regarded as secondary. Mocquino could

have ordered Banzarro to drop the ambush soon after nine o'clock, because of the expected disaster at the

chemical plant. Mocquino might have considered it bad policy to have any of his men too close to Hampstead

If such was the case, Banzarro and his men would have left the vicinity of the powerhouse before The

Shadow's arrival. The silence about the squarewalled building certainly indicated that something of the sort

had occurred. Nevertheless, The Shadow did not intend to depart until he had made a through search of the

premises. The only area that still remained was the interior of the powerhouse itself.

Stopping at the glasspaneled door, The Shadow performed his evasive move of entering without betrayal.

He pressed against the narrow space between the edge of the panel and the door frame. He inched the door

inward, so slowly that its appearance scarcely changed. One arm above his slouch hat, he blocked all passage

of light. Squeezing through the partly closed door, he let the portal close as slowly as it had opened.

There were other doors inside; all opened from a small central corridor. The Shadow tried each barrier in

turn. All were locked, until he came to the last one at the end of the passage. It opened when The Shadow

pulled it; light from below showed a short flight of steps that led down into the dynamo room. The rhythm of

The Shadow reached the bottom of the steps. There, he observed four huge electric generators set in a row.

The two that were closest to The Shadow were in motion. Through the grayish centers of the massive

revolving wheels, The Shadow could see a wide space of floor; then the other two dynamos.

The second pair of machines were not in motion; but The Shadow saw that they soon would be. There was an

engineer in charge, with an assistant. The two men were preparing to change the dynamo. Apparently, half

WHILE The Shadow waited at the bottom of the stairs, he considered the possibilities that this powerhouse

might offer to Mocquino's schemes. It seemed likely that Mocquino had made arrangements to take over the

powerhouse, if needed; for by stopping the dynamo, he could deprive Hampstead of electric current. Such

action, however, would be of no value in itself. It could serve only as some device to aid another scheme.

Destruction in the powerhouse would not appeal to Mocquino. While the Voodoo Master had declared war on

machinery, he wanted to spread terror with his strokes. The sacrifice of human lives was a vital part of

Mocquino's campaign of horror. The elimination of a mere two men the engineer and his assistant would

hardly be worth Mocquino's while, particularly since the size of his disasters had increased.

The time would come when Mocquino would choose to strike without selfconcealment; but that time would

not be tonight. It would come only when Mocquino had gone the limit in his present campaign. The Shadow

had already recognized Mocquino's methods when he ignored the Voodoo Master's invitation to visit the

The thrum of dynamos was increasing. The big wheels had begun to move at the far end of the room. Their

massive spokes became blurred, as they advanced to full speed. Then there was a slowing of the generators

nearer to The Shadow. Soon those wheels had stopped. The routine changing of the dynamos was

The engineer was coming toward the stairs. The Shadow saw a setin corner close at hand; he stepped

quickly toward it and glided from view before the engineer arrived. Listening, The Shadow heard the man's

footsteps pound the stone stairs. The engineer was taking a short spell off duty, leaving his assistant in

The Shadow remained in his corner, intending to wait until the engineer returned. Suddenly, there came the

sharp ring of a bell, shrill above the humming of the dynamos. The Shadow peered forth and watched the

Completing a brief call, the assistant looked about and stroked his chin. The man had evidently received a

request to meet some one outside the powerhouse. He had a chance to leave for a short while, since the

engineer was absent. The assistant was considering what risk there would be if he temporarily neglected his

duty. He decided that the dynamos could run smoothly enough without attention. Hurriedly, the man came

THE SHADOW was alone below. This was his opportunity to look about the dynamo room; to find whether

or not Mocquino's false message was entirely a hoax. Moving out from his corner, The Shadow passed the

first two dynamos, studying the stilled wheels as he came close to them. He reached the center of the dynamo

That middle space formed a broad, cementfloored passage between the two sets of generators. Its walls were

recessed; and, for the first time, The Shadow saw that each contained a door. The Shadow tried one door;

then crossed the space between the dynamos and tested the door opposite. Both barriers were locked. Where

they led was a matter that concerned The Shadow; for he saw at once that they offered special exits from the

With one gloved hand, The Shadow produced a set of picks. He paused before attacking the first door; he

As he made the turn, The Shadow suddenly sensed danger. It was amazing that he detected it, for his

closeness to the dynamos made it almost impossible for The Shadow to hear other sounds. Nevertheless, his

Not only did The Shadow catch the sound; he identified it as a footfall. More than that, he detected its exact

direction from the stone stairs that led down from the upper floor. The Shadow's hands swept beneath his

cloak; they whipped forth bearing automatics, as The Shadow swung to a position where he could see past the

With his quick move, The Shadow had caught a new intruder unaware. Halted at the foot of the stairs was a

stocky, evilvisaged man, whose darkish features showed a fangtoothed grin. The Shadow sighted an ugly,

No introduction was necessary. The Shadow knew this intruder for Banzarro. He saw the weapon in the

Voodoo Master's lieutenant's squarefingered hands. Banzarro was clutching a gun that looked like a large

AS Banzarro stopped short, his weapon only half raised, other faces bobbed up behind him. Banzarro was

backed by a squad of henchmen; these hardfaced servants of Mocquino were brandishing revolvers. They,

like Banzarro, were covered by The Shadow's guns. Through his wary shift, The Shadow had caught the

foemen in a cluster. Their only hope at that moment was a mad dive back to the cover of the stairs. Had any

member of the crew begun to lift a gun, The Shadow would have poured quick bullets into the massed group.

Even Banzarro was rigid. The pugnosed lieutenant showed an angry leer; then uttered a harsh cry. Instantly,

the situation changed. In that moment, The Shadow realized that he should have shown no quarter to

Two doors burst inward; they were the doors on each side of the space where The Shadow stood. Each

opening revealed a trio of viciousfaced henchmen other minions of Mocquino who had been hidden

The trap had closed. The Shadow was faced by foemen from three sides; enemies who covered every exit.

Behind him, on the fourth side, were spinning dynamos; beyond them a blank wall that offered no escape.

Doctor Mocquino had returned to his policy of massed attack against The Shadow; but the Voodoo Master

As proof of Mocquino's confidence that victory was his, The Shadow heard a burst of jangled laughter from

the stairway where Banzarro and his clustered men were boldly springing forward, raising their guns despite

The Shadow's coverage, knowing that he could risk no battle with them while he was flanked from both

There, on the steps, stood Doctor Mocquino; he had crept down behind Banzarro's halted group. In his bony

hand the Voodoo Master clutched a leveled revolver, ready to fire the first shot at The Shadow.

Death to The Shadow! Mocquino was positive that it would be delivered. The Voodoo Master had come to be

THE scene had changed with suddenness. One instant, The Shadow held the bulge. The next second had

faced him with a threeway attack. Mocquino's quick appearance at the stairway had supported Banzarro and

the others when The Shadow covered. The Shadow's enemies had staged the unexpected.

In performing their sudden move, those foemen had gained the confidence which The Shadow had so

recently held. They had caught the lone fighter in their toils. Had they been dealing with any but The

Shadow, Mocquino and his men would have delivered death with ease. But The Shadow also starred in

Before Mocquino could fire the opening shot, The Shadow sprang his surprise. It seemed a futile one; on that

account, it was the best move he could make. Instead of wild attack; instead of holding ground, The Shadow

took to what seemed blind flight. He whirled about, dived wildly for the blank space beyond the two

Mocquino fired; his shot was wide. Though the Voodoo Master was something of a marksman, he had not

counted on a fading target. Nor had Mocquino forgotten a previous battle with The Shadow. He knew The

Other guns barked hard upon Mocquino's. They, too, were hasty and belated. Had The Shadow kept on to the

blank wall, bullets would have reached him. Instead, The Shadow sidestepped just past the first of the two

rear dynamos; he dived between the big revolving wheels just as the betteraimed slugs were dispatched in

Mocquino shouted a harsh order; it was echoed by Banzarro. Underlings closed in; those at the front spread to

pass the motionless dynamos; those at the sides crowded in from their doorways. All could see The Shadow.

He was behind the first wheel in the set of resolving dynamos. The speed of the wheel was so terrific that its

MOCQUINO'S henchmen paused, seeing their enemy trapped. Banzarro shouted again, from the front of the

room. His leering subordinates paused; Mocquino nodded approval while Banzarro stopped at the huge axle

of the first dynamo; the nearer of the two wheels that were standing still. His body covered behind an upright

spoke, Banzarro leveled his air gun, looking for a chance to pick off The Shadow.

Banzarro preferred this weapon of his. It had failed at the hotel; he saw a chance to use it here. The best

marksman in all Mocquino's tribe, Banzarro considered it his privilege to down The Shadow. Through the

spokes of the halted wheels, Banzarro saw The Shadow beyond the grayed center of the whirling generator.

The knife whizzed through space, driving straight for its target. It glimmered in the air; then whirled with a

Above the pur of the far dynamos, came a laugh of challenge. Banzarro voiced an oath.

The knife had been stopped by the spokes of the speeding dynamo. That grayish barrier in front of The

The reason for Banzarro's failure dawned upon Mocquino and his followers. The Voodoo Master gave a

shout. His men aimed their revolvers toward the whirling wheel and fired shots at an angle. Bullets clicked

harmlessly. They, too, were deflected by the broad spokes of the speeding wheel. The Shadow's laugh rang

Banzarro started to gesture and shout. Mocquino gripped his lieutenant's arm; talked to him with a bland

The lieutenant then went past the stationary dynamos. He spoke to his subordinates, motioned them to the

center space between the two sets of wheels. Formed into a glaring line, the ruffians faced The Shadow. He

was less than a dozen feet away, looking straight through the whizzing haze of spokes that separated him

from the foes who outnumbered him. Through that almost invisible shield, The Shadow could count ten

Banzarro was by the wall, ready to yank a switch that controlled the dynamo. He stopped as he heard

Mocquino call. The Voodoo Master was reminding him to start the front dynamos; then stall the rear ones,

These generators supplied all of Hampstead with its electricity, Mocquino did not want the town to know that

The front dynamos moved. Banzarro laid his hand upon the switch that controlled the wheel which protected

The Shadow. Banzarro grinned as he realized what was coming. The big wheel would slow; his men could

BEYOND the grayish spokebarrier, The Shadow was holding leveled guns. His fingers moved suddenly;

the big automatics gushed flame, straight through the revolving dynamo. Wild shouts sounded from the men

Banzarro stopped, rigid, staring as he saw two henchmen stagger, A third went down; the others began to

scatter. In some amazing manner, The Shadow was shooting bullets through the spokes that had stopped

every previous shot! Those automatics had blasted with machinegun speed. They were gone beneath The

Shadow's cloak; he was whipping out another brace of weapons. Two foemen alone had stood their ground,

struck with the thought that if The Shadow could fire through the dynamo while it maintained full speed, they

They were right. The Shadow had simply seen the weakness of the whirling barrier. It had stopped Banzarro's

knife, which had only an air gun's impetus. It had stopped bullets also; but only when they had been fired

from an angle. The spokes in the dynamo wheel were broad. That was why they had served against the angled

But The Shadow had pumped bullets straight through, taking advantage of the thinner edges of the spokes.

Some of his shots had been deflected; others had not. The bullets that had gone through had served their

purpose. Three of Mocquino's ten were down; five were in flight. The two who hoped to copy The Shadow

were too late. Each was a target for an automatic. The Shadow was already firing from his second set of guns.

One man sprawled; the other staggered but managed to run for safety. Banzarro was swept back by the wild

rush of his own squad. The five who led the flight had not paused to consider facts. They thought The

Shadow held a curse over them; that his bullets could ride where theirs could not. Superstitious servitors of

Doctor Mocquino, these ruffians had been taught to believe in the incredible. Their training was working

Banzarro wheeled about, alone, clutching his useless air gun. He changed his plan of stopping the rear

dynamos. He pulled the switch that controlled the front ones, anxious to leave matters as they were. He saw

The Shadow leaping out to the side of the dynamo that protected him. The Shadow was deserting that safety

in order to get Banzarro. Wildly, the ugly faced lieutenant followed the course of his fleeing henchmen.

Mocquino was at the stairway, trying to rally the unscathed five. They were turning about, ready to obey,

when Banzarro came hurtling toward them. Wildly, the henchmen forgot Mocquino's order. They sprang in a

mad mass for the stairs, carrying, the shouting Voodoo Master with them. Banzarro added his weight to the

drive. The whole group plunged upward, with Mocquino helpless in his effort to stop their flight to safety.

SHOTS ripped from the dynamo room. The Shadow was delivering final bursts of gunfire to speed the flight.

He knew that his cartridges were exhausted; that his plight would be a bad one if the fleeing men returned.

Mocquino knew it, also; that was why The Shadow kept to the pursuit. Taking to the stairs, he reached the

top just as the surging mass of men went through the outer door. The Shadow had no bullets left; but

Banzarro, looking backward, saw him aim. Unarmed except for his knifeless, oneshot air gun, Banzarro

Fleeing crooks reached their cars. They started off into the night. Mocquino was in the second of two touring

cars, rasping savage orders to Banzarro, who was at the wheel beside him. The Voodoo Master wanted his

This time, Banzarro obeyed. He sped the touring car around a corner, swinging in back of a deserted house.

As the machine roared past, lights blinked suddenly from a parked coupe. The second car started forward.

Cars wheeled wildly toward the outskirts of Hampstead. While Banzarro handled the touring car, taking

every twisted route that came, Mocquino leaned from the side, glaring back at the coupe. The Voodoo Master

emitted a sudden hiss. He had guessed why The Shadow had not opened fire. The touring car had passed him

just as he reached his coupe. The Shadow had not gained a chance to reload his automatics. Mocquino

guessed, though, that The Shadow would manage to refill those guns while on the move. That was the reason

Banzarro heard the order; he jammed the brakes. Mocquino fired pointblank as the coupe took the corner

The Voodoo Master's shots had accuracy; they cracked the windows of The Shadow's car. The coupe

performed a wide skid, ripped through a hedge and halted at a tilt. During the wild maneuver, a popped report

Unable to stop the Voodoo Master's escape, The Shadow leaped from the coupe and made a hurried tire

change. The trail was temporarily lost; the only course was to get back to the powerhouse and capture some

The coupe limped when The Shadow reversed it through the hedge. It jolted along slowly as he retraced his

NEARING the powerhouse, The Shadow halted. He saw a man entering the building; it was the engineer's

assistant. Dropping from the coupe, The Shadow waited until the man was inside; then he followed. At the

bottom of the stairs, The Shadow stopped, expecting to see the powerhouse employee gaping at sight of men

Instead, the assistant was back at his post. No one else was in the dynamo room. Mocquino's henchmen had

again demonstrated their welldrilled ability. Among the wounded, at least two must have had strength

enough left to drag the others out. Perhaps a small crew of reserves had arrived to aid them. Whatever the

The rear dynamos were purring smoothly. The floor was free from bloodstains. Bullet nicks in the wall were

meaningless; for the surfaces were already rough and irregular. Time lost by The Shadow had produced

Once again The Shadow, in order to reach the Voodoo Master and rescue the prisoners whom the master

MORNING dawned brightly in Hampstead. It brought good cheer to those who lived in the city of doom. At

A night had passed without new havoc. That fact was a pleasing one in itself; but there was stronger cause for

the confidence that the citizens felt. The news was out concerning the brief fire at the chemical plant. Every

one was filled with enthusiasm for the manner in which the blaze had been handled.

There was another side to the wave of confidence that had gripped Hampstead. It showed one thing clearly:

that the citizens realized they had need for courage. Persons who had kept their fears to themselves were

talking freely at last, for they felt that menace was ended. That, in itself, was a bad sign. It meant that

Should new disaster befall in Hampstead, its damage would be double. Not only would it produce its own

destruction; it would also drop the present spirit of confidence to a lower level of despair. The jinx was gone;

people openly rejoiced in that belief. They did not realize that for the first time it was unanimously agreed

Only The Shadow could interpret the false hopes of the Hampstead citizens. Only he knew the real menace

that existed. Even more than before, The Shadow saw how useless it would be to inform either the public or

Tales of the Voodoo Master would be ridiculed, particularly since they involved two new heroes such as Pete

and Danny. While those two were keeping much to themselves, even they did not recognize Mocquino's

existence. The Voodoo Master's hypnotic influence had passed, so far as they were concerned. No matter

how hard they taxed their brains, they would never remember the details of their separate visits to Mocquino's

Along with his vanished henchmen, Mocquino had taken the automobile in which The Shadow had first seen

him. The Shadow had checked upon the license number R6384, only to learn that it belonged to an ancient

roadster that had been consigned to a junkyard more than a month ago. Obviously, Mocquino had obtained a

pair of discarded license plates and had put them on the big car which he himself used.

The Shadow remembered that car well. It was a long, gray limousine, as fine a machine as any in Hampstead.

The Shadow had noted every detail of the car when he had seen it from the window of the hotel dining room.

He had made casual inquires at local garages; no one knew of the limousine. Some had remembered seeing it

AFTERNOON found The Shadow seated in the lobby of the Hampstead House. He had spent the morning in

and out of town, looking for any trails that might lead him along Mocquino's path. The Shadow was sure that

the voodoo doctor was not far distant; but the hill district about Hampstead was too extensive to be covered

One possible method had occurred to The Shadow; that was to use an airplane as he had done on previous

occasions. In this case, however, it was unwise. Hampstead, though otherwise progressive, was lacking in an

airport. Planes were seldom seen near the town; there were no through air routes. Any plane that The Shadow

So far, The Shadow had managed to protect completely his guise of Henry Arnaud. That was a vital point in

his campaign. It enabled him to keep as completely hidden as Mocquino. Only by using the Voodoo Master's

The Shadow had come to a definite conclusion regarding Mocquino's future plans. He was sure that the

Voodoo Master would forget last night's failure. To offset the disaster that missed, Mocquino would simply

proceed with the next one that he planned. Such a stroke would hit Hampstead harder than ever.

Mocquino would also use his previous system. For every disaster, he had coached a hypnotized victim in

advance. He would have one for tonight; and The Shadow knew where destruction would be due to strike.

The marked place would be the Hampstead Knitting Mills, largest of all the local industries.

Crime could be averted only by an inspection at the mills, plus a search for the man whom Mocquino had

chosen as a tool. Both of these steps were difficult ones. Unlike the steel works and the chemical plant, the

knitting mills had no danger spot; it was impossible, therefore, to recognize immediately the sort of stroke

that Mocquino might intend. Moreover, the knitting mills had hundreds of employees. To find the one

Soon after three o'clock, The Shadow strolled from the lobby of the Hampstead House. Passing as Arnaud, he

hailed one of Hampstead's improvised taxis and gave the driver a destination. The car started on its route.

After several blocks, The Shadow inquired about the location of the knitting mills. The driver gave it, stating

"Drive me out to the mills," ordered The Shadow. "I want to handle some business there, before it is too late."

They reached the mills at half past three. The plant was a large one, sprawled over a few acres of ground. The

Shadow alighted at the office entrance; he noted several salesmen going in and out. Visitors were frequent at

this busy plant. An extra one would not attract suspicion, even if Mocquino did have spies present.

Entering, The Shadow wrote a message on the back of a card that bore the name of Henry Arnaud. He asked

for James Chadron, the president of the plant, and learned that Mr. Chadron had just returned from a

vacation. The Shadow's card was sent into the president's office. Very soon, word came through to usher Mr.

The explanation was simply that The Shadow had mentioned the name of a prominent woolen manufacturer

in the note that he had written. He had worded the message so that James Chadron would believe him a close

friend of the man whom he had named. The Shadow found a warm reception awaiting him in consequence.

CHADRON, a puffy, portly man, was inside the door, waiting with extended hand. He wheezed an

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Arnaud! So you're a friend of Louis Gathrop! That means you're my friend, Mr.

The Shadow accepted an expensive perfecto. As soon as he and Chadron had lighted their cigars, The

"Word from Gathrop?" queried Chadron. "He had a message for me? Odd that he didn't wire me "

"He could not have done that. Nor did he think it wise to write. He wanted me to convey this matter

"I refer to recent disasters here in Hampstead," he declared in an undertone. "They must not be discounted,

Mr. Chadron. They are a real threat! Louis Gathrop recognizes it; so does every one outside of Hampstead."

"I know it," he admitted. "The matter has been worrying me all day. I have just returned from my vacation, to

run right into the middle of this business. You are right, Mr. Arnaud; it may be serious. Yet I cannot see how

this plant can suffer. We do not have the dangers that were present at the others."

"Absolutely! I could show you through the plant, Mr. Arnaud, only that might be unwise. Suppose"

Chadron paused to glance at his watch "suppose that you leave here with me. Come out to my house for

dinner. I live a dozen miles away from Hampstead. My car will be here shortly. We can go then. At home, I

have diagrams, blue prints, everything that pertains to the plant and its machinery."

Chadron had accepted The Shadow without question. The Shadow's best course was to accept the invitation.

He did so; and the mill president seemed pleased. Beaming, Chadron changed the subject; he began to ask

questions about his old friend Gathrop. The Shadow was well provided with facts that concerned Gathrop. As

they talked, Chadron became more and more pleased. Four o'clock had arrived when a secretary entered and

Chadron arose. "Let us go, Arnaud," he suggested. "On the way out, we can glimpse a few floors of the

THE route that they took led past the doorway of long rooms, where scores of workers were busy at looms

and other machines. The Shadow noted lines of steadily moving belts connected to overhead rollers. Each

room was cramped; filled with masses of machinery and workers who were almost elbow to elbow.

At one door The Shadow saw a locked transformer box, that served the room within. He observed the same

arrangement at each succeeding workroom. Then Chadron reached the last stairway; he and The Shadow

A chauffeur was standing, holding the rear door open. For a moment, The Shadow's eyes shone with a

brilliance that seldom showed with the guise of Arnaud. The light faded almost instantly. The Shadow

boarded the car with Chadron and settled leisurely back into the cushions as the chauffeur took the wheel.

In one quick flash, The Shadow had recognized the unexpected. Singularly, he had come across a clue at the

time when he had least been likely to find it. A clue to Doctor Mocquino; an unmistakable one.

This car that The Shadow had entered was gray. It was a limousine. The chauffeur's face his uniform were

instant reminders. This automobile that belonged to James Chadron was the very machine from which Doctor

Mocquino had alighted outside the apartment house across from the hotel in Hampstead!

JAMES CHADRON was silent as the limousine rolled toward his country home. The knitting mill owner had

exhausted all questions concerning Louis Gathrop, the man whom he supposed to be a friend of Henry

Arnaud's. As for matters at the mill, Chadron preferred to discuss them after they reached his home.

The Shadow, too, was silent. His eyes were straight ahead, as if looking toward the road that the car was

following. Actually, The Shadow was studying the rearvision mirror, catching frequent glimpses of the

chauffeur's face. Five minutes of this convinced him of one important point: whatever the connection

between this car and Doctor Mocquino, it concerned Chadron's chauffeur alone; not the mill owner.

The shiftiness of the chauffeur's eyes, the occasional twitches of his lips were visible in the mirror. The

Shadow knew that the man was burdened with some secret. Whether or not the chauffeur would discuss the

The car was swinging along a rough road, heading toward a valley between two hills. As they turned to the

right, the car jolted. Chadron emitted a grunt; then spoke testily to the chauffeur.

"Why did you bring this car, Wishart?" demanded the mill owner. "It does not ride as well as the sedan."

"The mechanic had finished with it, sir," returned the chauffeur, half turning his head toward the rear seat. "I

thought that it would be in good condition. What is more, sir, I had some packages to deliver in Hampstead

"This limousine is a white elephant," declared the mill owner. "I purchased it a year ago and brought it out to

my estate from New York. The car is too large and unwieldy for the roads in this section of the country. It

"Then there was trouble with the generator. I scarcely used the car for six months. Soon after Wishart became

my chauffeur, the car broke a rear axle. That was being repaired when I went away on my vacation."

The Shadow spoke the question casually. Watching Wishart, he saw that the query had no effect on the

"No," replied Chadron; "we sent the car over to Newburg, some miles from here. There is a better mechanic

"Only this morning, Mr. Chadron." replied the chauffeur. "The car was brought over from Newburg."

The Shadow knew that the chauffeur's statement was incorrect. Yesterday, the limousine had been used by

Doctor Mocquino in Hampstead. In fact, The Shadow had reason to believe that it was in this very car that

The repair job had certainly been completed some time ago; early enough for Harry Vincent to spot the

limousine while it was in Mocquino's service. At that time, the car had been bearing the false license plates,

as it had last night. Moreover, The Shadow was positive that Wishart had been Mocquino's chauffeur.

Wishart had lied. The question was whether or not the chauffeur's falsehood was intentional. There was a

chance that Wishart like other persons had been a victim of Mocquino's hypnotic influence. Yet the odds

were equal that the chauffeur might be a paid underling in the employ of the Voodoo Master.

THE big car took to a side road, curved beneath the looming bulk of a high hill and entered a broad gate. It

followed a driveway and pulled up in front of a large mansion. The Shadow alighted with Chadron, who

dismissed the chauffeur. The Shadow watched the limousine swing past the house and roll into a fourcar

Chadron's house seemed gloomy when they entered it. The sun had settled beneath the huge hill that flanked

the large estate. There was a servant in the darkened hall; Chadron told him that there would be a guest for

dinner. Then the mill owner led The Shadow to a secluded room at the side of the house. Turning, on the

"We have everything here, Mr. Arnaud," he declared. "Even to models of the latest machinery in use at the

plant. These blue prints" he brought an envelope from a cabinet "show the complete arrangements of our

electric installations. Here are plans of the entire plant; also lists of the employees, with their full records."

The Shadow had seated himself at the desk. He took the envelopes as Chadron extended them. As The

"I have assumed, Mr. Arnaud." he stated, "that you are an expert in these matters. Though you have not

declared yourself to be a special investigator, the circumstances of your visit have caused me to believe that

The Shadow delivered a slight smile. Looking up, he nodded; then went back to work. Chadron took a chair

The Shadow looked up from a set of diagrams. He had completed a thorough survey; he noted that darkness

had settled meanwhile. Pointing to the diagram before him, The Shadow made comment.

"All of your machinery," he stated, "is geared to a low current. I observe that each circuit is controlled by a

The Shadow nodded. He had seen the transformer boxes outside the large rooms with their long rows of

"Suppose," suggested The Shadow, "that there were no transformers to reduce the current. The effect, as I see

it, would be chaos. Machines would speed up; flywheels would be loosened; belts would snap. The damage

would be instantaneous and tremendous! Hundreds of workers would be trapped at their looms!"

CHADRON'S pudgy face showed horror; then the expression faded. The mill owner tapped the diagrams and

"For a moment, Mr. Arnaud," he declared, "I was so frightened that I was ready to call that plant and order it

to shut down before the night shift. But you have overlooked the one point that provides against such disaster.

There is no possible way to remove the transformers. Should they burn out, the current would cease. There

"Not without deliberate intent. The boxes are locked; there are twenty of them altogether. That would require

twenty men, all provided with keys for the boxes. Only one man has those keys; he is the plant supervisor."

"Richard Lassman," read The Shadow, referring to the lists. "He is scheduled to act as supervisor tonight."

"Lassman is one of our oldest and most trusted employees," declared Chadron. "But granting that he did, by

some quirk, pull the switch of a transformer. Even then, there would be no damage. Other men are close at

hand, inspecting each room at the time when the supervisor examines the transformer box for that particular

"They would notice the speeding of the machines. They would immediately offset Lassman's action. The

machinery would be shut down; any excitement would be confined to one room alone. No, Mr. Arnaud, such

disaster could not occur. I can assure you of one thing: half past nine the time of the inspection is the

STUDYING Lassman's record card, The Shadow considered Chadron's statement. The mill owner was right;

yet The Shadow still saw the transformers as the only danger. He noted that Lassman's duty ended at ten

"I shall not stay for dinner," he remarked quietly. "Instead, I should like to be present at the plant. If you will

For a moment, Chadron hesitated. He had gained his only moment of suspicion. If danger existed, it seemed

unwise to allow a stranger to visit the knitting mills. Thinking over The Shadow's visit, Chadron realized that

Then came an afterthought. The Shadow had pointed out the only possible danger. Certainly he would not

have done so had he held any interests other than those of preventing crime. Chadron sat down at the desk

"It is half past six," he remarked. "I shall have Wishart take you to the knitting mills in my coupe."

"To Hampstead would be better," stated The Shadow, quietly. "I can go out to the mills later."

"Of course," agreed Chadron. "That would be preferable. One moment, Mr. Arnaud, while I call up the

"A quiet departure would be best," he told the mill owner. "I noticed a side door as we came through the hall.

Suppose that I go to the garage, instead of waiting for the car to come to the front."

"You can give it over the telephone while I am on my way to the garage. I should like to reach Hampstead as

CHADRON shook hands at the door of the room. Crossing the darkened, deserted hall. The Shadow reached

the outer door. He saw the lights of the garage, less than fifty feet away. With quick stride, he followed the

The door of the garage was drawn slightly back. The Shadow entered the lighted space where the big

limousine was parked alongside a coupe and a sedan. He saw a small door at the back of the garage; half

opened, it showed a lighted room. The Shadow heard Wishart's voice; the chauffeur was talking over the

"Certainly, Mr. Chadron..." Approaching, The Shadow heard Wishart's half of the conversation. "Yes. I can

have the coupe ready in a few minutes... Very well, sir. I shall look for Mr. Arnaud..."

Wishart hung up the receiver. He turned about, his lips twitching. Evidently the chauffeur was troubled by

this new development. First there had been the questions about the limousine; now a dinner guest was going

back to town. Wishart mumbled to himself as he stepped toward the door that led out to the main room of the

Then the chauffeur stopped with a blurted gasp. On the threshold of the doorway was the man whose arrival

he had not yet expected. Keen eyes burned in the chauffeur's direction optics that shone from the face of

Had Wishart encountered The Shadow cloaked in black he could not have been more terrorstricken. The

Shadow's fierce gaze made up for his drab attire. His eyes carried the accusation that made men of evil quail.

That instant told its story. Wishart was no mere victim of Mocquino's hypnosis. Chance had served The

The Shadow was prepared to gain the facts he wanted. From Wishart's lips, he would learn the location of

THE room where The Shadow had confronted Wishart was the workshop of Chadron's garage. The room was

equipped with benches and tables; tools lay strewn about, except in the nearest corner which was bare only

The Shadow had entered by the only door. The opposite wall was blank; but far to one side was a wide,

opened window, which might have served Wishart as an emergency exit had the chauffeur expected this

The room was illuminated by a single brilliant light bulb that hung from the ceiling. The glare upon Wishart's

face showed the man's features more plainly than had daylight. Previously, The Shadow had noted a certain

Eyes beady, lips drawn, Wishart resembled a human rat. Cornered, he squirmed; his hands seemed itchy for

action, yet all the while he showed a preference for flight. Once his tenseness had ended, Wishart snarled. He

made a sudden shift in the direction of the window. As The Shadow blocked him with a quick stride, Wishart

The Shadow had picked a midway position. He was ready to seize the chauffeur, no matter which way the

fellow turned. Wishart backed toward the corner where the telephone stood. Almost there, he sprang to a

workbench and snatched up a huge monkey wrench. With livid face, he swung his arms blindly in The

A gripping hand caught the chauffeur's arm, stopping the drive of the heavy monkey wrench. An elbow

jabbed a backarm stroke, upward to Wishart's chin. Catching the man just above the neck, that short blow

Wishart gurgled; staggered backward against the table in the corner. He lost his hold on the wrench; a twist of

"I'll I'll talk!" he gulped. "Don't sock me! I'll spill it all about the dirty business! All about "

It was The Shadow who supplied the name of the Voodoo Master. Wishart stared; his eyes blinked. He did

"THAT'S him!" asserted the chauffeur. "The guy that had the apartment down in Hampstead. Herbert

Prensham but it's not his own moniker. I don't know him by any other, though. I'm giving that straight!"

The Shadow's eyes were steady upon the kneeling chauffeur. Wishart recognized that further talk might help

"He called me up, Prensham did. About a week ago." Nervously, Wishart tried to tell his whole story at once.

"Said he knew Mr. Chadron. Wanted to see me. I went down there. Prensham let it out that he was a

bigshot. Knew a lot about me, he did. About my doing time once, in a State penitentiary. Something that

"Prensham wanted me to get a car for him. That's why I used the big limousine. I dug up some auto tags off

an old junker. Put them on instead of the regular plates. Prensham told me to do it. I was scared honest "

Wishart winced at The Shadow's sharp query. Knowing the ways of Doctor Mocquino, the wealth of the evil

Voodoo Master, The Shadow was confident that more than mere threats had urged Wishart to become

"How'd you get wise to that?" gasped Wishart. "About the dough that Prensham slipped me?"

"Two grand," confessed the chauffeur. "Half of it when I saw him the first time. The rest after "

Wishart nodded feebly. The Shadow's knowledge was uncanny. Wishart did not realize that The Shadow had

penetrated deeply into the schemes of Doctor Mocquino, alias Herbert Prensham. Considering Mocquino's

dealings with Wishart, The Shadow had naturally assumed that the Voodoo Master would require the

More than that, The Shadow saw another use to which Mocquino had put Wishart. Not only had the Voodoo

Master known about the chauffeur's past; he had probably recognized that Wishart was still a crook at heart.

As Chadron's chauffeur, Wishart would know facts about the town of Hampstead. It was likely that

The steadiness of The Shadow's gaze made Wishart guess that his inquisitor had divined the truth. Wildly,

"I I didn't know what was due!" he claimed. "The trouble at the steel works the terrible accident at the

QUICKLY the chauffeur tried to check himself. He had made a slip. There had been no actual disaster at the

chemical plant. Wishart's reference showed that he had known that crime was scheduled there.

Steadily, The Shadow's eyes focused closer to those of the cowering traitor. The Shadow was pressing

Wishart's fears. He knew that the man had more to blab; but statement of that fact was unnecessary. Through

"I'll tell you where the bigshot is," promised Wishart hoarsely. "I took him out to the place where he keeps

his crew. They've got prisoners there in the old house where they are. It's two miles north of the Denbury

road first turn to the right after the forks. Maybe you've heard of the house. It's an old joint that looks like a

The Shadow had not heard of Myram's Folly. But he had long since come to the conclusion that Mocquino's

hideout must be some isolated house, reached only by a back road. The wooded slopes and valleys near

Hampstead had many such buildings, relics of the days when there had been no through highways in this

The Shadow was ready to proceed with a simple plan. He would have Wishart drive him to Hampstead and

lead the way from there. Wishart could drive Chadron's car, while The Shadow followed in his own.

Knowing that he was trailed by a master of vengeance, Wishart would be too yellow to attempt any deed of

Slowly, The Shadow stepped back and motioned for Wishart to rise. The chauffeur came to his feet; lips

twitching, he faced The Shadow. Standing between Wishart and the window, The Shadow motioned toward

the door. His gesture indicated that the chauffeur was to precede him out into the garage proper.

Wishart began to nod; then stopped. With hoarse outcry, he began a sudden protest as he faced The Shadow.

"I won't talk!" voiced Wishart. "I don't know nothing, I tell you! You can't make me talk! I never met this

Instantly, The Shadow spun about. He had caught the reason for Wishart's change of front. Staring past The

The chauffeur had recognized a peering face. The Shadow knew that a menace had arrived.

AS he swung, The Shadow grabbed Wishart and sent the chauffeur sprawling to the cover of a workbench.

Still spinning, The Shadow continued toward the door, reaching it at the end of his rapid whirl. His entire

move was one continuous action. As he reached the doorway, The Shadow was facing toward the window.

There he saw vacancy, backed by darkness. The outside watcher had dropped away. Quickly, The Shadow

snapped an order to Wishart to stay in his spot of safety. The chauffeur, however, had other hopes. He saw

an open path to the window; he believed that he could take it and elude The Shadow. He was a

Leaping from the cover of the workbench, Wishart took two long strides toward the window. As he sprang in

that direction, a muffled, sighing sound came from the outer darkness. There was a whistle through the

Wishart jolted upward as he took his third long stride. A gasped cry broke from the chauffeur's lips; clutching

air, Wishart staggered backward, lost his balance and flattened, face up, upon the floor.

From the darkness, The Shadow heard a quick scramble; then the thud of an automobile door, accompanied

by the pur of a motor. The car was starting from an obscure lane beyond a hedge that ran parallel with the

Wishart lay motionless, dead. His assassin was gone; but The Shadow knew the murderer's identity. The

killer was Banzarro; the proof was the handle of a knife that projected from Wishart's breast. Amid the

outside darkness, Banzarro had been ready with his powerful air gun. Again, Mocquino's lieutenant had lost

Thwarted by The Shadow's quick twist for cover, Banzarro had reserved his single shot for another victim.

Wishart had leaped squarely into the path of Banzarro's aim; the murderer had fired a knifethrust straight to

the chauffeur's heart. Banzarro had decided to eliminate the one man who could serve as an informer.

Mocquino needed Wishart no longer; Banzarro had seen to it that The Shadow would learn no future facts

Wishart's lips were rigid. They had ended their twitches forever. Those lips, however, had spoken in response

to The Shadow's urge. They had named the location of Doctor Mocquino's headquarters. Though death had

STANDING in the doorway between the workshop and the garage, The Shadow listened to the trailing

fadeout of Banzarro's motor. After that sound had ended, silence reigned complete. Neither Wishart's last

cry nor the departure of Banzarro's car had attracted attention in Chadron's house.

Alone on the scene where death had struck, The Shadow was confronted with a problem. That concerned

Wishart's body. Once found, it would cause inquiry. James Chadron, when questioned, would remember that

That was a fact that could not well be eradicated. The simplest way to handle it would be to erase the

character of Arnaud altogether. By such procedure, The Shadow would have full leeway to move against

Doctor Rodil Mocquino. Since there would be no trail to Arnaud, it would not matter if the law blamed him

for Wishart's death. The character of Henry Arnaud was purely a fictitious one that offered no lead to The

The Shadow chose the simplest and most effective course. He left Wishart's body where it was. He turned out

the light in the workshop; he went into the garage and did the same. Sliding the outer door open, The Shadow

boarded the coupe and drove from the garage. He rolled slowly past Chadron's mansion.

To all appearances, Wishart was setting out for Hampstead with Henry Arnaud as his passenger. It would

take half an hour for the coupe to reach the little city; another half hour for Wishart's return. It was obvious,

therefore, that no one would wonder about Wishart until an hour had passed. The Shadow had all the time

All the way into Hampstead, The Shadow was alert. There was always a possibility of ambush, where Doctor

Mocquino was concerned. Though The Shadow believed that Banzarro had headed back to the headquarters

at Myram's Folly, he was not certain on that point. His vigilance did not lessen until he had actually arrived in

There, The Shadow parked Chadron's coupe on a side street. Leaving the car, he strolled to the Hampstead

House and went up to his room. Using the guise of Arnaud for the last time, The Shadow packed; came down

to the lobby and checked out. Carrying his suitcase, he walked to the garage where he had stored his own car.

A few minutes later, he was driving along the main street of Hampstead, bound toward the Denbury road.

THE main street was ablaze with lights; long lines of blinking bulbs had been strung from lamp posts. People

were plentiful; store fronts were lighted. The Shadow saw large banners and sparkling lights that advertised a

double feature at Hampstead's largest motion picture theater. Already crowds had formed a line in front of the

Pulling into a corner gasoline station. The Shadow ordered the attendant to fill the tank. That done, the man

began to wipe the windshield. In the fashion of a chance visitor, The Shadow inquired:

"Sort of general enthusiasm," chuckled the attendant. "People hereabouts have been feeling kind of glum

lately. On account of some pretty bad accidents that have hit Hampstead. They sort of think the jinx is

The Shadow dropped the subject of the celebration. He inquired if he happened to be headed toward

Denbury; the attendant told him he was. The Shadow then made guarded inquires concerning Myram's Folly,

found it had been built by an old judge, who had died thirty years ago. The place hadn't been lived in since,

The Shadow thanked the attendant in the casual tone of Arnaud. He paid for the gasoline and drove from the

Near the forks, The Shadow stopped. He donned cloak and hat of black. This was the attire that he intended

to wear until his work was completed. He had finished with the role of Arnaud; even at the filling station, The

With two sets of automatics beneath his cloak, The Shadow drove past the forks. He found the road to the

right; took it and continued with dimmed lights until he reached a clearing in the woods. He was one and

seventenths miles from the beginning of the road; here was a suitable spot to leave his car. Driving over the

chunky ground of the clearing, The Shadow parked beneath the shelter of silent trees.

Extinguishing the lights, The Shadow stepped from the coupe. He groped to the road, followed it farther

inward. There was light enough to pick the path; for an early moon had risen and the whitish rays filtered

through the upper boughs of trees. Only the road showed splotches of moonlight. The woods themselves were

like looming walls, waiting to engulf any unwary person who might step into their blanketed area.

To The Shadow, those woods were welcome. They offered a vantage spot any time that he might choose to

FOLLOWING the old road, The Shadow reached a spot where moonlight revealed a pair of huge stone gate

posts. Each was surrounded by a battered, crouching lion. One of the stone beasts was tilted on its pedestal.

The moonlight showed a name chiseled in old English letters, upon one gate. The Shadow read the dim name

Moonlight showed that the stone gates were flanked by a wall, also of stone. This barrier probably girded the

entire estate. The posts, themselves, were barred by a rusted iron gate. Half off its hinges, the barrier offered

The Shadow approached; he managed to wedge the big gate inward, although the task was more than a

oneman job. Stepping through the opening, The Shadow forced the gate back to its former position.

Trees still shrouded the stony road that now served as a driveway to a house somewhere in the woods. From

Wishart's confession, from the filling station attendant's talk in Hampstead, The Shadow was confident that

It was after eight o'clock; but there was time for the campaign that The Shadow intended. As he glided along

the curving stretch of driveway, the cloaked investigator summarized his findings and his plans.

Danger threatened at the Hampstead Knitting Mills. Although The Shadow had found no weakness in the

management of that plant, he felt sure that Doctor Mocquino had discovered one. Granting that point, The

Shadow had decided that trouble might come at half past nine, when Richard Lassman, the night supervisor,

Therefore, The Shadow had planned to be at the knitting mills at that time, coming there openly, if necessary,

in the guise of Henry Arnaud. Circumstances had caused The Shadow to alter that intention. Banzarro's

Coming here to Myram's Folly, The Shadow saw a better opportunity. By a meeting with Doctor Mocquino,

he would have a chance to block off disaster at its source. If he could deal with Mocquino within the next

hour, The Shadow would still have time to drive back to the Hampstead Knitting Mills and be there at half

The Shadow believed that Mocquino would expect him to concentrate upon the knitting mills; then seek the

Voodoo Master's hideout afterward. By learning of Mocquino's presence at Myram's Folly; by coming here

Though deep in these thoughts. The Shadow was watching the curving driveway ahead. He saw trickles of

moonlight; he edged closer to the trees at the side of the old driveway. Stealthily, invisibly, The Shadow

came to the inner fringe of the woods. He stopped upon the edge of a large, irregular clearing. There, beneath

THE building was in the center of the clearing. It was constructed in sections some of stone, other portions

of wood. The front of the edifice looked like a colonial mansion. It had pillars; but they were small ones.

Once white, the pillars were weatherbeaten and looked tawdry, even in the moonlight.

The driveway went past the front of the mansion and any one approaching the home from that direction might

have accepted it as an old colonial homestead. But The Shadow's view, from the side, enabled him to see the

many styles of mongrel architecture that had been added to the original portion of the house.

Directly in back of the colonial section was a MidVictorian annex that was built in garish style. It had a

squareshaped room that formed a fourth floor above the threestory building. The square room had

windows in every wall; all of these were heavily shuttered. Above the square room was a broad roof, the size

of the room itself. This was girded by a solid wooden railing, four feet in height.

There were other extensions of the house, all unsightly. They had been connected to form an almost solid

building. In one rear corner was the most curious part of all. Old Judge Myram had not stopped with a

MidVictorian addition to a colonial mansion. He had finished with walls of gray stone; above these he had

added a roundish tower that looked like the turret of a castle. It rose two floors above the house roof and was

topped with oddshaped battlements that were considerably higher than the MidVictorian tower in the

The Shadow could picture but one reason for this unsightly pile. The builder had probably intended to study

the completed effect of each section; then rid himself of the composite eyesore by tearing down the portion

that he liked least. After that, new wings could have been raised to conform with the section of the house that

Apparently the castlelike portion of the house had been prompted by the fact that a small pond stretched from

the rear of the building and continued as a moat on one side. The Shadow could see the stretch of water that

Such speculations, however, did not concern The Shadow long. One feature of the building was all that

interested him: that was some mode of entry that could be accomplished without observation. To The

UNTIL his arrival at Myram's Folly, The Shadow had followed the simple process of performing the most

direct action that offered. Through that policy, he had arrived quickly at Doctor Mocquino's headquarters.

The most obvious step would be to choose the shortest route into the house itself with the exception of the

The Shadow, however, decided against quick entry. He knew that Mocquino's henchmen were many. He

could picture patrolling groups, keeping constant eye on spots where intruders might try to enter. The

Shadow's choice was the most difficult one; for that would mark an unguarded place.

One portion of the building filled the bill. That was the high, castellated turret at the rear. It could not be

reached directly without crossing a stretch of water. Therefore, The Shadow chose a roundabout course.

He circled along the edge of the clearing, swinging past the extent of pond behind the house. Following

almost to the front of Myram's Folly, The Shadow paused on the far side. The house stood between him and

Like a ghost come to haunt the monstrous building, The Shadow approached the front corner. He could see a

portico beneath the pillars; the space was flooded with moonlight. The Shadow observed three automobiles

parked in a cluster. He recognized the rakish touring car in which he had last seen Doctor Mocquino.

Edging to the side wall, The Shadow glided toward the rear of the house. He came to the forward end of the

moat, which was nothing more than a slimy ditch dug frontward from the pond. There was space between the

moat and the wall. Clinging to that precarious fringe, The Shadow continued his rearward course.

He came to the stonewalled extension that was topped by the castellated turret. The stone was dark,

untouched by moonlight. It was rough; it offered projection for gripping hands, space for toeholds.

Clutching the wall, The Shadow began an upward course. Black against the wall, he remained invisible as he

The Shadow's climb was comparatively easy until he reached the tower. He encountered difficulties, but slits

in the stone of the tower aided him. Climbing farther, he found the crenelles of the battlement. Hunching

himself up from the darkness, The Shadow rolled over the edge and lay flat upon a rounded roof.

THE moonlight showed The Shadow's cloaked form clearly; but no observers could have seen him. Not only

was The Shadow above the level of the square room that topped the center of the house; he was also hidden

Here, as he had hoped, The Shadow discovered a trapdoor. Lying flat, he produced a compact jimmy. Prying

in expert fashion, he loosened the fastenings that held the trapdoor from beneath.

Once inside, The Shadow lowered the trapdoor above him. He risked a flashlight's blink, keeping the rays

almost covered by folds of his cloak. The beam showed the top step of a spiral stairway.

Descending, The Shadow found no further use for his light. The stairs were revealed at intervals by streaks of

moonlight that came through slits in the wall. There were eight of these slits; two for each quadrant of the

At the bottom of the steps, The Shadow expected a door. Instead, he saw an unclosed exit that formed a dull

frame against the dim lights of an inner, thirdfloor hall. Stepping into the corridor, The Shadow noted

Obviously, wherever rooms or halls were lighted, windows were kept covered so that Myram's Folly would

retain its abandoned appearance. Visualizing the composite house as he had seen it from the outside, The

Shadow remembered a stretch of blocked windows on the second floor, directly beneath the square,

The Shadow wanted to reach that portion of the house; for there he believed that he would find Mocquino's

own sanctum. To arrive at his destination. The Shadow chose darkness instead of the lighted hallway. From

that moment on, he began one of the most fantastic trails that he had ever undertaken.

THE various portions of the house had been built upon different levels, probably from separate plans supplied

by different architects. There were short flights of steps in every hallway; rickety doors offered access to

deserted rooms. Moving from one apartment to another, The Shadow followed a mazelike course through

The whitened gleam, coming through grimy windows, was sufficient for The Shadow to trace the route he

wanted. At intervals, however, he paused to step behind open, badly hinged doors or to linger in some

cobwebbed corner. Each halt came when The Shadow heard the shuffle of footsteps or caught the sweeping

Soon after a shuffling guard had passed a room where The Shadow lingered, the cloaked invader emerged

into a hallway. There, the moonlight from an end window showed a stairway down to the second floor. The

Shadow descended; he was greeted by a lighted hall below. Stopping in the gloom of the stairs, he looked

It was deserted; there were rows of doors on both sides. One door attracted The Shadow's immediate notice.

It was new, and made a strong barrier. It had evidently been put in place since Mocquino had occupied this

Advancing, The Shadow reached the door. Edging close against the portal, he tried the knob. It yielded. The

Shadow inched the door inward and peered into a tiny anteroom that was dimly lighted and backed by purple

For a moment, The Shadow paused; then, from a turn in the hallway, he caught the sound of footsteps. The

Shadow's only course was to glide from view. He opened the door farther, stepped silently into the anteroom

Gripping an automatic, The Shadow listened just within the door. He was ready to slide behind the barrier if

the arriving man opened it; should he encounter the guard, quick fray would be necessary. As The Shadow

listened, the footsteps went past the door and faded in the hallway. Need of battle was ended. The Shadow

still had opportunity to continue his stealthy search. He had need of speed as well. The Shadow had used up

valuable time in his foray into the heart of Mocquino's own domain. The purple curtains promised new

discovery. Still gripping his automatic, The Shadow approached the curtains and spread them far enough to

Beyond the curtains was mellow light that displayed a room of barbaric magnificence. The walls were draped

with hangings of a royal purple hue, broken only by grotesque designs in gold. Depicted on the walls were

hideous figures, all in golden pattern. Some were dwarflike shapes, lifesize, with glaring faces, fanglike

teeth, claws that served for hands. Others were tigerish beasts that gaped with yawning jaws so lifelike that

There were snakes upon those purple drapes golden serpents with venomous fangs and twisted coils. They

were as lifelike as the beasts; they looked ready to writhe and raise their heads to hiss.

The room was a fiend's nightmare. No sane man could have stood long, imprisonment within its walls. The

Shadow could remember another such room that Doctor Mocquino had owned in the past. That had been a

room hung with crimson, where captives lost all time sense under the glare of ruddy lights. But this purple

room, with its walls that seemed alive, was a greater and more vivid threat than any that Mocquino had

AT the far end of the room was a dais; that platform was carpeted in purple. Upon it stood a thronelike chair

of ebony black, with gold designs on the arms. The chair was upholstered in purple that matched the velvet of

the walls. Each arm formed a miniature lion's head in gold. Beside the throne was a high pedestal, also of

Upon the pedestal stood an object that The Shadow had seen before. This was Mocquino's hypnotic light. The

unfrosted bulb was mounted in a squatty lamp base that formed a coiled figure of a lizard. With spread jaws

and extended tongue, the golden lizard was as lifelike as the other ornamentations in the room.

Behind the throne were golden curtains, that formed a relief against the purple walls. Viewing them, The

Shadow understood the purpose of the apartment. It was Doctor Mocquino's throne room. The Shadow

recalled the Voodoo Master's boasts of grandeur; the promise that some day he would rule over hordes of

A whispered laugh crept weirdly through the curtained throne room. That subdued taunt foretold The

Shadow's purpose. The Shadow had found Mocquino's purple lair. The room had become The Shadow's own

Within this hideous room, The Shadow planned to learn Mocquino's schemes; then seek the Voodoo Master

FROM the moment when he had reached the center of Doctor Mocquino's throne room, The Shadow had

taken definite interest in one particular object that stood in the purple lair. That was the ebony pedestal beside

The pedestal was the size of a low table. Its single leg was large and squareshaped. The top of the pedestal

resembled a box, its depth almost as great as its other dimensions. That fact indicated that the top was some

Approaching the pedestal, The Shadow discovered that the lizard lamp base was not a permanent fixture. A

cord ran from it to the floor. Lifting the lamp, The Shadow rested it upon Mocquino's throne and began an

inspection of the pedestal. Fingering the under edge, he discovered a slight separation in the woodwork.

Carefully, The Shadow probed for a hidden spring. The pedestal was like a Chinese puzzle box, dependent

upon a secret catch. The Shadow found a section of wood that gave under pressure. There was a muffled

click; the top of the pedestal slid to one side. Pulling it farther, The Shadow saw the space within.

Indirect lights that shone from corners of the curtained room supplied sufficient glow for The Shadow to

discern the contents of the pedestal box. There was a folded sheet of heavy paper that lay beside a thin,

leatherbound book. The Shadow unfolded the heavy paper; standing beside the purple throne, he studied

diagrams that were inked upon the sheet. They represented plans of this mansion. Shaded portions

represented the parts of the house that Mocquino had occupied for his headquarters.

On each floor, The Shadow noted stairways. He discovered as he had supposed that the MidVictorian

square tower in the center of the building served as an observation post. In addition, he learned a fact that

interested him even more. One diagram showed the basement of the building. The cellar space was marked

Those could be Mocquino's dungeons, where Harry Vincent and others lay prisoners. The Shadow had not

forgotten the men whom he had come to rescue, the human stakes whose lives depended upon the outcome of

his duel with Mocquino. Studying stairways and halls, as depicted in the diagrams, The Shadow chose a

definite route to the cellar. That done, he folded the paper and replaced it in the pedestal.

OPENING the leatherbound book, The Shadow scanned written statements that pertained to the Voodoo

Master's recent crimes. Moving through the pages, he came to one that bore the entry he wished to see. In

The first two items were obvious. Mocquino actually intended destruction at the knitting mills; and Lassman

was the hypnotized dupe who had become the Voodoo Master's tool. The reference to "Control Switch C"

was something, however, that did not conform with facts that The Shadow already knew. In going over

papers with Chadron, The Shadow had studied every phase of mechanical methods that concerned the

knitting mills and their operation. He had seen no reference to any control switch that bore the letter "C."

Turning farther in the book, The Shadow discovered listings that gave an answer to the riddle. They read as

As he studied these items, The Shadow grasped the full significance. A and B meant apparatus that operated

here in the old mansion. Control Switch C, however, referred to an outside matter. Mocquino had found some

The "power transformer" must mean one of Mocquino's own. It explained how the Voodoo Master intended

crime tonight. His transformer had been placed to intercept the current to the mills. It was cutting down the

flow of electricity, taking the burden from the regular transformers in the mills.

When Lassman made his ninethirty inspection, he would simply switch off the transformers at the mills.

The action would cause no havoc; therefore. it would pass unnoticed by others who were inspecting the

looms and other mechanism. Lassman would lock the transformer boxes and go his way. The simple reason

why no trouble would occur was because Mocquino's outside transformer would still be in operation.

At quarter past ten, after Lassman had gone off duty and would be back in his own home, Mocquino would

swing Control Switch C. The outside transformer would quit. Full current would travel through to the mills,

producing a simultaneous effect in every machine room. Looms would speed; flywheels would ride free;

The disaster would prove the greatest that had yet struck Hampstead. Its cause would never be discovered.

Lassman could not be blamed; for all would happen after he was elsewhere, with a complete alibi. Every one

would concede that the supervisor could not be responsible for a sudden failure of transformers fortyfive

minutes after inspection time. As Chadron had told The Shadow, those transformers could do no worse than

Chadron, however, had never dreamed that a master transformer had been implanted outside the mills to take

over the work of the inside equipment. The Shadow had not divined the existence of such a device; although

he had gained the conviction that Mocquino somehow intended to nullify the regular transformers. At last,

THE discovery simplified The Shadow's task. It meant that he could handle everything here in Mocquino's

own domain, without returning to the mills. It also gave him three quarters of an hour longer in which to

work. At present, it was nearly nine o'clock. The Shadow would have until quarter past ten.

In items D, E, and F, The Shadow saw new evidence of Mocquino's machinations. There was only one sort of

damage that the Voodoo Master could hope to deliver at the theater, the hotel, and the powerhouse. That

would be destruction through explosion. It was apparent that Mocquino had mined the three structures

named; that when he pulled the switches, he would blast the buildings skyhigh. Tapped wiring; dynamite

planted in basements: highspeed fuse attached to the hidden bombs those items could have been arranged

The Shadow could give the answer. The explosions would follow the disaster at the knitting mills, probably

within a half hour. Mocquino would destroy the theater while it still had a capacity audience. The hotel would

go up soon afterward. Last of all the powerhouse, to cut off lights and leave the wrecked town in darkness.

The last on the list Control Switch G unquestionably referred to this very mansion. The time fuse was an

emergency device. Through its use, Mocquino could dynamite Myram's Folly. Such would be his course if he

discovered that his lair was known. The purpose of a time fuse was important: it would allow Mocquino and

his henchmen time to pack up and leave before the house was wrecked. The blasting of Myram's Folly would

cover Mocquino's trail; the Voodoo Master, ever elusive, could move to a new hideout.

AS he began to turn farther in the book. The Shadow heard a slight sound that indicated an opening door. It

came from beyond the curtains on the other side of the room: those drapes through which The Shadow had

Instantly, The Shadow replaced the book in the pedestal, along with the folded diagrams that he had already

put there. With his right hand, he slid the pedestal top shut; with his left, he swung the lizard lamp base and

With the same motion. The Shadow faded behind Mocquino's purple throne. His cloaked form dropped,

merging with the darkness of the door. The golden curtains behind the throne parted at the bottom. Their

upper borders scarcely rustled as The Shadow moved into a darkened space behind them.

The cloaked investigator was just in time. Rising behind the golden curtains, The Shadow peered between

them to view a man who had entered the room from the other side. It was Banzarro; the ugly faced lieutenant

was carrying his powerful air gun in the crook of one arm. He looked straight toward the throne as he entered.

Pausing as if he expected to see Mocquino, Banzarro waited a few moments; then shrugged his shoulders and

turned about. As he went tack to the purple curtains, his weapon swung into clearer view. The Shadow saw a

The fact that the lieutenant had come inside, bringing his gun with him, was proof that he had merely arrived

to deliver a routine report. Not finding Mocquino, Banzarro was going back on outside duty.

Another fact was evident. Banzarro had access to the purple throne room. That explained the reason for the

diagrams and the book that were hidden in the pedestal. Banzarro was schooled to carry on with Mocquino's

schemes, in case the Voodoo Master should be absent. So, perhaps, were others. Mocquino had spoken facts,

A SLIGHT thud told that Banzarro had departed beyond the anteroom door. The Shadow remained behind

the golden curtains; but he risked a flashlight, knowing that he was free from observation. The rays showed

that he was in a small space between the curtains and a wall. It had a door of its own one that probably

That was not all. Against the wall The Shadow saw an insulated board. Upon it shone a row of glittering

switches, each marked with a different letter. Beside the last switch G was a clock dial marked off in

Hinged above the switches was a metal panel, with overlapping edges. It was held upright by a catch. Once

lowered, it would cover the switchboard. The Shadow saw three spring locks attached to the panel: each with

a keyhole. If Mocquino chose to cover the switches, he could do so by simply swinging the metal panel

downward. It would lock automatically; only Mocquino could open it afterward, unless Banzarro or others

A few moments ago, The Shadow had held the opportunity to drop Banzarro with a single pistol shot. He had

spared the evil ruffian simply because he had not wanted to start action too soon. Similarly, The Shadow had

a present chance to put Mocquino's switchboard out of commission, from A to G. Again, he refrained from

action. The Shadow wanted to leave no evidence that he was present in Myram's Folly.

With more than an hour ahead of him, The Shadow could let such deeds wait. There were prisoners below,

including his own agent, Harry Vincent. The first task was to release those captives; to gain them as allies in

the work that was to come. For The Shadow could foresee hard conflict before he settled scores with Doctor

Stepping through the golden curtains, The Shadow crossed the throne room. He put away his flashlight;

moved through the purple exit and reached the outer door of the anteroom. With hand on the knob, The

Shadow paused. He was sure that he had heard a sound from the depths of the throne room. Stepping back,

Across the room, he saw the golden curtains part. Into view stepped Doctor Mocquino, clad in a purple robe

with sleeves and borders of golden braid. The Voodoo Master had come through the doorway that The

CALMLY, Mocquino seated himself upon the throne. His hand rested upon the ebony pedestal, fondling the

golden lizard that served as lamp base. Upon the Voodoo Master's countenance appeared a benign smile, that

To Doctor Mocquino, human lives were trifles. He relished the part that he played in their destruction. He

was looking forward to the deeds that were scheduled for tonight, patiently awaiting the time when his plans

Hand beneath his cloak, The Shadow gripped an automatic. Again he paused, to let the .45 slide back into the

deep pocket that served as its holster. As he had spared Banzarro, so did he decide to let Mocquino live. Even

the death of the insidious Voodoo Master could not serve The Shadow at this moment.

Henchmen would respond if they heard a single shot. Mocquino's death would madden them. Some would

battle The Shadow, while others would reach the helpless prisoners in the dungeons. The captives would die

Leaving the Voodoo Master to his thoughts of crime, The Shadow glided noiselessly across the anteroom. He

reached the outer door, opened it so silently that even Mocquino's keen ears could not detect the sound.

Edging out into the hallway, The Shadow found it clear. He closed the door as softly as he had opened it; then

The Shadow was taking the path that led below. Venturing alone through this stronghold peopled with

Mocquino's minions, he was choosing a swift but dangerous task: the release of the prisoners to whom Doctor

All depended upon this present mission. If it succeeded, The Shadow would hold power equal to Mocquino's,

THE SHADOW'S course was clear until he reached the ground floor. There, he found immediate need for

caution. At the foot of the stairs, he heard the pacing that indicated one of Mocquino's patrolling henchmen.

Swiftly, The Shadow drew back to semidarkness; clung close to a wall while the man passed.

The patroller was a squatty, darkfaced rogue, who looked ugly enough to be a cousin of Banzarro. He was

clad in rough clothes; from his belt extended the heavy blade of a knife, which The Shadow recognized as a

machete. Squinty eyes glanced toward the stairs; they failed to detect The Shadow. The patrolling henchman

Following the hall, The Shadow chose a path through a darkened room. He found a closed door; he opened it

and peered into another corridor. There he saw another of Mocquino's minions standing by a doorway. This

fellow was taller than the rogue who had passed The Shadow; but he was of similar appearance. He was

wearing a dirk at his hip; but The Shadow also saw the handle of a revolver projecting from the man's jacket

Like the first patroller, this henchman failed to detect The Shadow's approach. After a few moments, the man

From his closeup view of Mocquino's watchmen, The Shadow had observed that they were the sort of

servitors upon whom the Voodoo Master had always depended. They were imported killers, brought from

tropical lands. Their presence here explained, in part, why Mocquino had chosen so isolated a hideout. The

Voodoo Master knew that his darkvisaged followers would excite attention, unless kept under cover.

Such men served as the inside guards. There were other rogues outside, under Banzarro's lead. Among them,

The Shadow was positive, were thugs recruited from American cities. Such crooks could move about more

freely; they would also prefer guns to knives. They had proven that fact in their combats with The Shadow.

Though the inside guards, with their knives, would prove more dangerous in handtohand combat, The

Shadow preferred them on the present occasion. He knew that a forced encounter could be made a silent one.

Confident on that point, he proceeded more rapidly. He found the stairway that he wanted; he made a swift,

NEAR the bottom of the steps, The Shadow paused. Directly ahead was a door; in front of it stood another of

Mocquino's men. A ceiling light showed the rogue's sallow face, his shocky, jetblack hair. Short, but wiry of

build, the guard was also one who preferred a knife. His dirk rested in a leather sheath that hung at his right

The sallow guard did not note The Shadow's approach. He was busy, for the moment, rolling a cigarette. The

Shadow watched the process; saw the sallow man fish in his pocket for a match. Finding none, the guard

The door opened inward, cautiously. The guard thrust his face through the aperture; spoke a few words.

Finally he emerged, bringing a few matches in his hand. The Shadow heard him speak to some one on the

"Bah, Toussant," snarled the guard. "Why is it not important that I should call you when I need a match. You

have nothing to do in that cave of yours! When I give the signal, it is for you to answer!"

Slamming the door himself, the guard stepped away from it. He struck a match to light his handmade

cigarette. As the flame flickered beneath the sallow face, The Shadow glided forward.

The guard was alert. He sensed The Shadow's approach. He flicked the match away, gave a sudden snarl as

he looked toward the stairs. The Shadow lunged. The guard saw the sudden surge of blackness and made a

Then The Shadow was upon him. Barehanded, the cloaked battler smashed down the guard's raised left arm.

With a quick grab, The Shadow caught the hand that was beginning a knifethrust. For a moment, he

The next effect was terrific. The light form of the wiry guard buckled upward. The Shadow spun the man in

midair; then released him. Flat on his back, the rogue struck the floor. He lay stunned, almost paralyzed by

Looking about for a place to stow his prisoner, The Shadow saw a space beneath the stairs. He carried the

man there; bound his arms with the belt that the fellow wore. Ripping lining from the prisoner's jacket, The

Shadow used it for a gag. There was a broken barrel in the corner. The Shadow wrenched away a wire hoop,

RETURNING to the door at the foot of the stairs, The Shadow gave four quick taps. A few moments passed;

the door moved inward. Shoulder first, The Shadow bashed the door wide open. He flung himself into the

space beyond and swung quickly about to meet the man whom he knew must be behind the door.

Here was a dingy, stonewalled passage, lighted by dim bulbs set in the wall. The glow showed Toussant.

The Shadow had staggered the inner guard by the quick smash against the door. Nevertheless, in Toussant,

Floundered against the wall, Toussant formed a gigantic figure. He was fully six feet eight in height; his

physique was proportionate. Though dullfaced, Toussant showed himself quick of action. He rallied as The

Huge arms flayed forward. Hamlike hands gripped for The Shadow's throat. In a trice, the cloaked battler was

confronted with a situation that he had scarcely foreseen. The Shadow had expected fight from Toussant; but

he had not guessed that the man would possess such formidable proportions. By choosing handtohand

conflict, The Shadow had gained chance for a silent struggle; but such advantage was offset by the size and

Had The Shadow tried to elude Toussant's grip, he would have failed. The giant's drive was too quick; his

arms and hands were too long and powerful to escape. Instead of wresting away, The Shadow let Toussant's

clutch take hold. Then within the gripping circle of the giant's arms, The Shadow drove forward.

A cloaked shoulder pounded the pit of the giant's stomach. Toussant doubled backward; The Shadow's surge

thrust the huge man against the door. The barrier swung shut. His back against it, Toussant recovered. His

fingers had slipped from The Shadow's throat; but he had gripped the cloaked arms below. With a mammoth

Grimly, The Shadow had gripped Toussant's arms. In sprawling, he took the giant with him. They rolled

across the stone floor. As The Shadow tried to twist away, Toussant at last gained a throat grip with one

mammoth hand. His other arm girding The Shadow's body, Toussant steadied to drive his opponent's head

One such smash would have been The Shadow's finish. Toussant had the strength to crack a skull with such a

stroke. His own arms trapped in Toussant's girding grip, The Shadow's plight seemed hopeless, at least to

Toussant. One of The Shadow's hands was jammed beneath his cloak a fact that made his cause look even

worse. But The Shadow's hand was busy. Upon it rested his salvation in this fray.

As Toussant shouted a fiendish laugh, he started his forward thrust. Simultaneously, there was a muffled

report from within the folds of The Shadow's cloak. Toussant's laugh changed to a highpitched shriek. The

giant's arm quivered. It did not complete its thrust. Huge fingers loosened; slow, like an overbalanced tower,

His collapse revealed a curl of smoke wreathing at the spot where he had been. That coil of smoke came from

The Shadow had managed to twist a .45 toward Toussant's body. With a jab of the trigger, he had dispatched

a bullet to the giant's heart; Toussant was dead. The Shadow had passed the last of the guards who blocked

THE SHADOW was panting; wavering, he slowly recovered from the effects of the clutching fingers that had

temporarily choked his throat. Stepping past Toussant's prone form, The Shadow followed the passage

toward its inner end. There he found a vaulted opening that led down a short flight of steps to a corridor that

The Shadow remembered the diagrams in Mocquino's throne room. All the small rooms opened from that

inner, lower corridor. There, The Shadow would find the prisoners behind their bars. With Toussant dead,

There was a glow from the lower corridor; dim, like the lights in the passage where The Shadow stood. About

to descend the steps, The Shadow noted a sudden blink ahead. He stopped short; turned about.

The lights in his own passage were blinking also. Instantly, The Shadow remembered the instructions in

Mocquino's book. Control Switch B: the alarm lights. Some one had learned of trouble here below. Either

The Shadow's fight with Toussant had been heard; or the bound outside guard had been found beneath the

Whichever the case, the result was the same. Word had been carried to Mocquino's purple lair. The Voodoo

Master had pressed Control Switch B. Everywhere, lights were blinking the emergency signal. Soon

Gripping a pair of automatics, The Shadow started for the outer door of the passage. He had wanted to avoid

this conflict until later; but his only course was to begin battle. At least, The Shadow had gained a vantage

point that would help his plans. By holding this passage, he could also protect the prisoners, for he would be

By reaching the door, The Shadow could first offer resistance on the stairs; then withdraw, if necessary, to the

passage. Since the door was his immediate objective, he headed for it rapidly. Before he reached it, the door

STOPPING short, The Shadow stood face to face with six blocking enemies men whose faces and attire

were as strange as any that he had ever seen. Each antagonist was brawny; all bore a marked resemblance.

Dark of features, glaring of eyes, they faced The Shadow with fixed expressions.

Each foeman wore a helmet with raised visor. Each was equipped with a steel breastplate that resembled

Roman armor. For weapons, the six held upraised sabers. They stood like waxen figures, as if awaiting a

Instantly, The Shadow recognized the nature of these foemen. They were zombie human machines who

lacked will of their own. Well did The Shadow know that the zombi lore of Haiti was pure superstition; that

the belief that dead bodies could be brought to life had never become a proven fact.

But The Shadow knew the ways of Doctor Mocquino. He knew how the Voodoo Master could take living

victims and make them appear as zombie. These were former henchmen who had incurred Mocquino's

displeasure. The Voodoo Master had forced them to face his brilliant, dazzling light of many colors; not once,

but often. Through such regular treatment they had become the equivalent of zombie. They were shock

troops, entirely at Mocquino's call; fighters who would battle like machines, never stopping, even though

Their visored helmets; their heavy breastplates, were thick enough to stop pistol bullets. Equipped with such

armor, each fighting zombi would come forward, flaying with his saber until too crippled to proceed. Unless

they could be stopped before Mocquino arrived, these monsters of doom would become a hideous menace.

The Shadow leveled his automatics straight for the rows of glaring eyes. His move was too late. From the

stairway beyond the zombie came the sound of a fierce hiss. Arms raised mechanically, at the very instant

when The Shadow aimed his automatics. Hands slapped the sides of helmets; visors clicked down, covering

A musical laugh sounded from the stairs; the melodious tone was tinged with an insidious note. Beyond the

zombie, The Shadow sighted a figure in a purple robe. Doctor Mocquino had arrived in time to give his order.

The Voodoo Master was ready to launch his steelclad monsters of doom against The Shadow!

BRIEF moments would have sufficed The Shadow in his attempt to down Mocquino's inhuman warriors; but

those moments were denied. The zombie had heard the Voodoo Master's hiss. They had obeyed the order to

Mocquino alone could give that command. Knowing it, The Shadow tilted an automatic farther upward; he

jabbed quick shots at the stairs. Again, Mocquino was too quick. With his hiss, the Voodoo Master had

leaped forward. His purple clad figure dropped from view just as The Shadow fired.

At the bottom of the stairs Mocquino was protected by the massed bodies of his zombie. Clustered in the

doorway, those six saberarmed fighters formed a solid phalanx. There was no space through which The

A fierce cry from Mocquino; a harsh order in some unknown tongue. The zombie heard it; they recognized

their master's wish. With martial stride, the six stepped forward, spreading to form a fanlike rank in the wider

As the zombie closed upon him, The Shadow did not retreat; nor did he open fire. Instead, he sprang directly

into the closing circle, under the very weapons that gleamed from upraised arms.

Instantly, the zombie halted. Mocquino had trained them to strike when they closed with a foe. Arms began

Those arms were met by hands that carried steel. Swifter than the mechanized warriors, The Shadow had

begun strokes of his own. His arms flayed above his head; his fists drove his heavy automatics straight for the

Clanging one saber at the guard, The Shadow knocked the weapons from the zombie grasp. With backhand

upswing, he struck a descending forearm to ward off another fighter's blow. Twisting, dropping back, The

Shadow dropped his hand to the floor. Coming up with his other arm, he used the barrel of his second

automatic to meet the sharp blade of a saber that was cleaving straight for his head.

The zombie were breaking rank. Twisting about, The Shadow threw his back against the wall. He clamped

one foot upon the saber which the first zombi had dropped. Beating back two attackers, The Shadow made a

side swing with his arm and sent his righthand automatic scaling along the passage, clear to the arched

That gun would be safe there ready, later when The Shadow needed it. For the present, The Shadow wanted

another weapon; one that he had a chance to gain. Dropping to the floor, he grabbed the saber which he held

beneath his foot. Swishing away, he grasped the handle with his right hand. The zombi who owned the

weapon had already clutched the blade. The Shadow's tug took the saber from the zombi's grasp.

Hands streaming with blood, the zombi lurched forward. Though weaponless, though wounded by the slither

One swinging saber had just slashed The Shadow's sleeve. Another was driving downward with a truer

stroke, when the weaponless zombi jostled the one who sought to cleave The Shadow's skull. The stroke was

diverted as The Shadow whirled away. Retreating a few paces along the passage, The Shadow was ready for

Moreover, The Shadow had a saber of his own; and with that weapon, he held an unexpected advantage. The

zombie were cluttering forward, swinging their sword arms. The Shadow, slowly retreating, had assumed a

fencer's pose. His right arm was extended; his hand used its saber like a fencing foil. His left was ready with

Framed in the outer doorway, Doctor Mocquino leered with rage. He had not anticipated this situation. He

foresaw that his zombie would fail to reach The Shadow with their blades. In mechanizing these henchmen,

Mocquino had deprived them of all human emotions. They lacked cunning, just as they had no fear. They

were trained for closerange battle; they would advance until they gained it. That type of fight would be

impossible while The Shadow parried with his saber. Not one of the five zombie could get within arm's

Only the sixth zombi, weaponless and bloodyhanded, could manage an approach. Having no saber, he kept

marching forward, clutching at The Shadow. Each time he came close, The Shadow shifted to deliver a

lefthand, backswing stroke with his automatic. Each crash found the visor of the zombi's helmet, jolted the

With clenched fists, Doctor Mocquino snarled from his doorway. Clashing with the zombie, The Shadow

heard and saw the Voodoo Master; he took quick aim and fired with his .45. A sidestepping zombi

blundered into The Shadow's path and took the bullet against his breastplate. Saved from The Shadow's quick

DESPITE his superhuman efforts, The Shadow was losing the advantage. He had backed far along the

passage. His limit would soon be reached. Though tireless, The Shadow knew that his enemies were the

Death to the zombie was The Shadow's only course. Such death, when delivered, would be merciful. Long

under Mocquino's hypnotic sway, these creatures could never be brought back to a state of individual

In his parries, The Shadow had discovered the system of the strokes delivered by the zombie. Their

mechanical motions were uniform. In meeting the strokes, The Shadow was making a regular round, always

ahead of each expected blow. Mocquino has seen that from his doorway; on that account, the Voodoo Master

Twisting his position, The Shadow found that the zombie followed. He shifted; two enemies ran afoul and

their saber blades clashed. The Shadow dodged both strokes; drove straight in on a zombi who had completed

a swing. With a thrust of his own saber, The Shadow stabbed the point between the close bars of the zombi's

Jamming his shoulder against the mechanical fighter's breastplate, The Shadow gave a forceful pry. His thrust

ripped the helmet upward, clear of the zombi's head. Twisting away from the glaring face, The Shadow

warded off a pair of saber strokes; pressing back against the wall, he thrust his saber point into another visor

The first of the two unhelmeted zombis was again upon The Shadow, coming from an angle which cut off

retreat. The saber arm was swinging from above the glaring face. Another fighter, this one with a helmet, was

Lunging from the wall, The Shadow jabbed his automatic straight at the zombi who wore no helmet. As he

pressed the trigger, The Shadow swung his saber to ward off the other zombi's blow.

Both moves sufficed. The Shadow's gun blast dispatched a bullet through the unprotected zombi's brain. The

killer sagged, a glare still on his face. His body clattered to the floor; his arm never completed its saber

Swinging back toward the steps to the dungeon, The Shadow turned suddenly to meet the second zombi

whom he had deprived of a helmet. He fired another straight shot to stretch this adversary on the stone floor.

Passing the guard of the nearest zombi, The Shadow made another of his expert visor thrusts. Off bobbed a

helmet; even before it clattered upon the floor, The Shadow delivered a closerange bullet that destroyed this

MOCQUINO had heard the shots. Venturing a quick look from the doorway, the Voodoo Master saw the

climax. Three of his zombie were flattened upon the floor. Above the motionless, steelbreasted forms, The

A helmet popped off as Mocquino stared. An automatic thundered. Clanging, a zombi hit the floor, his steel

Sabers flashed as The Shadow parried with the last of the pair. Then came a thrust; a helmet jounced upward

and an automatic tongued its doom. Clear at the rear of the passage stood The Shadow, triumphant.

Suddenly, a darkish form lurched up from the floor. It was the sixth zombi; following in the wake of those

whom The Shadow had dropped, this forgotten battler had stumbled upon a saber. He still wore a helmet, this

zombi; swinging his fresh blade, he was blindly charging upon The Shadow, undeterred by the fate that had

The Shadow met the lunge; parried and stepped back to gain a position from which he could stab the zombi's

It brought The Shadow over the top sill of the steps that led down to the dungeon corridor. The cloaked

fighter lost his footing; before he could regain it, the zombi was upon him. Clutching the monster's bloody

hand, The Shadow went sprawling to the stone floor below, carrying the zombi with him.

Mocquino heard the clatter and dashed madly through the passage. He reached the steps, to see The Shadow

rising from beside the zombi's body. Twisting away, The Shadow had let the steelweighted monster strike

head foremost. The crash against the stone below had broken the zombi's neck. The Shadow, however, was

Grabbing at an iron ring that projected from a stone wail, the Voodoo Master tugged. There was a clatter

from above; with a terrific clash, a steel gate dropped within the archway, at the very top of the steps. Never

pausing, Mocquino wheeled about, to dash for the safety outside the front door of the passage, where The

Doctor Mocquino had offset The Shadow's victory. The cloaked warrior had slain the Voodoo Master's

IT was six feet to the top of the stone steps. Jarred by the fall, The Shadow was slow to gain a position behind

the barred gate. He had plucked up the automatic that he had tossed down the steps; he was ready to add

Mocquino to the list of casualties. He arrived too late, however, to find the Voodoo Master.

Stopped by the steel gate, The Shadow found it a most formidable obstacle. Not only was the gate a heavy

one; it had dropped between two portions of the archway. There was no way to attack the barrier; its bars

The dim passage showed the sprawled bodies of the zombie. Mocquino had picked a route between them and

had gained the cover of the outside door. He had pulled the door shut after him; but it was not quite closed.

As The Shadow stared, with automatic leveled, the tones of the Voodoo Master echoed to his ears.

"Seek the prisoners!" issued Mocquino's snarled challenge. "Rescue them! Bring them past the barred gate!

A pause; then a gangly sneer that betold Mocquino's belief in the strength of his snare. Then, in harsher tone,

"You have slain Toussant and my zombie but you can thank them for your plight. It took their full strength

to raise that gate to its position. To lift it, you will require the power of seven men.

"When you are free, you will find me in my throne room. Perhaps you may arrive in time to witness the

completion of my schemes. But I warn you, unless you reach me before the appointed moment, you shall

THE SHADOW lowered his automatic. Eyeing the gate, he recognized that Mocquino had spoken actual

facts concerning it. Its weight was certainly sufficient to tax the strength of Toussant and the six zombie.

Plainly, The Shadow saw what Mocquino's course would be. It would not be long until quarter past ten. At

that time, the Voodoo Master would operate his control switches. First would come the havoc at the knitting

mills; then destruction of theater, hotel and powerhouse. Finally, Mocquino's tone had told The Shadow, this

Mocquino would have no further use for Myram's Folly. His move would be to pack his belongings; set the

time fuse and depart with his henchmen. Knowing Mocquino's speed at such transfers, The Shadow could

foresee that the time interval would be short. Its exact duration was unimportant, however. The Shadow, even

in his present plight, was determined to be free of this pit before Mocquino began his first operations.

Hundreds of lives were at stake. Actual massacre was scheduled for the town of Hampstead. The Shadow

To avert it, The Shadow must leave this trap. He must bring a band of followers with him. Therefore, the first

step was the rescue of the prisoners. The Shadow knew that they would be comparatively few in number;

certainly less than half a dozen. Otherwise Mocquino would fear that they could lift the steel gate, copying

Mocquino certainly felt no fears. As proof of his surety, he had removed all guards from below. That was

good policy on his part. Having witnessed the slaughter of his zombie. Mocquino was too wise to put other

henchmen within range of The Shadow's guns. The steel gate might bar progress; but it offered loopholes for

Knowing that the outer passage would be clear, The Shadow moved down to the bottom of the steps. The

corridor below was lighted; The Shadow looked for the dungeon doorways. He still saw a chance to free

himself and the prisoners to escape the fate of living entombment that Mocquino hoped to bring by blasting

Four doorways greeted The Shadow's gaze. Each was fronted with steel bars. Each dungeon was dark; but as

The Shadow gave a commanding whisper, a face appeared at the one gate. The Shadow recognized Harry

"Five," replied Harry. "Two are caretakers who belonged here. Another is a man who had some trouble with

Mocquino. There are two others who landed here in their car, taking the wrong road by mistake. They are in

Harry's voice broke off. A sudden, gushing sound had started in the darkness of his dungeon. Harry pointed

"The sluices have opened!" he exclaimed. "Mocquino promised us that such would be our death! The water

THE SHADOW understood. The dungeons were below the level of the broad pond in back of the large

house. So was the corridor wherein The Shadow stood. Cells would be flooded first; then the corridor.

The Shadow looked for the lock on Harry's cell. The agent shook his head; Harry's wellmolded features

"These bars are not doors," stated Harry. "They are solid gratings. Mocquino's men fixed them in place with

Stepping back, The Shadow studied the bars. Harry was right; Mocquino had placed these prisoners in cells

where he intended them to stay forever. Though they had been fed and welltreated, they had known that

Yet, in permanently sealing the cells, Mocquino had not gone to great labor. The stone walls of these cellar

archways were old and crumbly. Holes had been driven into one side of Harry's door; bars had been inserted

there. The other side of the doorway had been torn down, so that the bars could be swung inward. After that,

There was no use to attack the new masonry; it was too solid. The old stones, however, told their own story.

Since one side of the doorway had been broken down, the other side could be similarly handled. The Shadow

Harry stopped as The Shadow swung away. Over by the spot where the dead zombi lay, The Shadow stooped

and picked up two sabers. One was the weapon that he had used; the other was the sword that the last zombi

Coming back to the cell, The Shadow thrust one weapon through to Harry. Keeping the other, he rammed its

sharp point between two stones. Jabbing, prying, The Shadow began to loosen the masonry that held one end

Harry cooperated from his side. One stone fell under The Shadow's efforts; it struck the steps by Harry's feet,

bounced down into the dungeon and splashed into a sixinch depth of water. The gushing pipes were still at

There were clangs at the doors of other cells. Prisoners, excited by the inpouring torrents, had roused to hear

The Shadow pried away another stone; Harry chiseled one loose, higher up. Finding a deep cavity for his

saber, The Shadow gained a powerful leverage and broke away the intervening chunk.

Shoulder against the bars, The Shadow shoved back and forth. Harry supplied added effort. The barrier

swayed; its own weight served to crack other sections of the decayed masonry. At last, as The Shadow

tugged, Harry fought frantically outward. The bars ripped away; Harry sprawled to the stone of the corridor.

HARRY splashed water as he came free. The tide had risen to the top of the inner steps upon which he had

The Shadow passed the sabers to his agent. In response to a quick command, Harry hurried the weapons to

the next cells and passed them through to eager prisoners within. Coming back to the cell that he had left,

Harry found The Shadow wrenching one of the loosened bars. It came free from its crossfastenings; The

Shadow passed it along to Harry, who carried it to another prisoner. This new implement was better than the

Within the next four minutes, every prisoner had a tool with which to smash at the weak side of his cell door.

The Shadow had a bar of his own; so did Harry. The water had reached the corridor; its torrent seemed

Stones were clattering; barriers were yielding. One row of bars came down from the doorway where two

prisoners were confined within. Eagerly, these rescued men joined in the outside work. Stones cracked; bars

twisted. The third door fell. With the water kneedeep, the fourth barrier crashed, releasing the two last men.

Wearied prisoners stood gasping, until one saw the steps up from the corridor, with the formidable gate

beyond. That upper archway was new, it had been specially installed by Mocquino. There was no way of

The other prisoners stared. They recognized that their combined strength would be insufficient to hoist the

gate that had taxed the gigantic Toussant and the six inhuman zombie. Not including Harry, these prisoners

were but five in number; and they were wearied. Even if The Shadow could exert the strength of two

Not by mere brawn alone but The Shadow saw opportunity for an added measure. It was one that

Mocquino had not considered; for the Voodoo Master had not supposed that his dungeon doors could be

THE exprisoners obeyed. Each groped in the water that surged about his knees and found solid stones from

the shattered doorways. Harry remembered one that had rolled down into his dungeon. He ducked below the

Dripping as they brought the last large stones, the eager men found The Shadow on the topmost step by the

big gate. He was holding the steel bars battered from the prison cells. As the men laid the stones beside him,

he supplied each with a rod. Taking a bar of his own, The Shadow wedged it under the space formed by the

Standing on the dry step just below the top, The Shadow brought his bar down upon one of the raised stones.

The bar became a lever; the stone served as the fulcrum. All were ready; The Shadow called for downward

The long leverage brought an instantaneous result. Groaning, the steel gate went a full foot upward. The

Strongest of all, The Shadow held his weight upon his lever while he ordered a weaker man to wedge stones

beneath the gate. That done, The Shadow piled smaller stones on larger, to gain a closer, higher fulcrum. The

aiding men worked quickly, performing the same action. Again, the leverage was applied in unison. New

The water was almost to the top step. Further leverage was impossible with the slippery footing; but no more

was necessary. The twofoot space beneath the gate was sufficient. Shoulders first, The Shadow wriggled

through between the two pairs of supporting stones. He was on his feet, an automatic in his hand, watching

Meeting no challenge, The Shadow ordered his followers to arm themselves with sabers that lay scattered

beside the dead zombie. He had his extra automatics ready to pass to others, if they encountered groups of

Mocquino's henchmen; but for the present, The Shadow held his own weapons. He had reason to believe that

he would need them later. Hence he preferred, if possible, to keep his own men armed with swords instead of

For The Shadow planned more than mere escape. In his release of the prisoners, he had accomplished his first

objective in less than the time required, thanks to the stout cooperation that the men themselves had given.

There was still an interval wherein The Shadow could accept Doctor Mocquino's ironical invitation to meet

him in the purple throne room. Within that space of time, The Shadow hoped to save the city of Hampstead

THE SHADOW expected encounter with Mocquino's henchmen. It came soon after he and the prisoners had

escaped the Voodoo Master's snare. Hastening through the passage where five dead zombis lay, The Shadow

wrenched open the outer door. He stopped short, blocking the six men who were behind him.

Harry Vincent, at the head of the former prisoners, saw why The Shadow had halted. Coming down the stairs

from the first floor were two of Mocquino's inside guards, probably, bound for a last inspection of the cellar.

Both were armed with two weapons: revolver and knife. Each chose differently, when they sought to deal

with The Shadow. One man raised his gun; the other whipped the knife from his belt. The Shadow, one hand

He dropped the man with the revolver before the ruffian could fire. The other hurled his knife just as he

received The Shadow's bullet. Staggering as he finished his throw, the knife hurler never found his mark.

Dropping back, The Shadow flipped the door half closed and stopped the blade in flight. The knife stopped in

The blade had traveled too high to strike The Shadow; he made his quick move with the door to protect the

The Shadow started for the stairs while his enemies were still tumbling toward him. Harry, close behind his

chief, grabbed up the revolver which the first sprawled man had dropped. One of the caretakers snatched the

gun from the second foeman's belt. Two of The Shadow's followers were supplied with revolvers, instead of

In the firstfloor hallway, The Shadow encountered four more of Mocquino's men, who had converged there

when one had called out the news of shots below. The Shadow opened with quick fire; Harry and the

caretaker joined immediately. This skirmish was a short one. Three of Mocquino's minions flattened; the

This produced two more guns for The Shadow's followers. The Shadow passed one of his own automatics to

Harry; ordered him to give his revolver to the fifth member of the band. All were now armed. In quick tones,

The Shadow gave a final command. Even as he spoke it, lights began to blink. The alarm had reached

LEADING the way, The Shadow cut through to the front of the house, following a route that he knew from

Mocquino's diagrams. His purpose was twofold: first, to beat back Banzarro's outside band; second, to make

His order to his followers was a simple one. They were to drive outward, with Harry Vincent at their head,

The Shadow was the first to reach the massive front door. None of Mocquino's men had arrived to block the

path. Opening the door, The Shadow swung halfway through; then dropped back. His action was perfectly

A missile whistled through the air; it struck the door frame by The Shadow's shoulder and quivered there.

The object was a knife, fired from Banzarro's air gun. Mocquino's lieutenant had seen The Shadow, had

started to fire, then altered his aim as the cloaked target disappeared. He had pressed the trigger too late.

Banzarro had fired from some spot of darkness. There was no gun flash to betray his position. The Shadow,

however, had a better line on where Banzarro lay. The instant after the knife struck, The Shadow clamped his

hand beside it, let the muzzle of his automatic lie straight along the handle of the knife. With that, The

The big .45 ripped its return message to Banzarro. A howl from the darkness marked The Shadow's hit of an

unseen target. The Shadow had remembered the knife that Banzarro had fired into the room of the hotel in

Hampstead. He knew the dead line on which these blades could ride. Deliberately, The Shadow had made

himself a target for Banzarro, that the assassin might dispatch an indicator to mark his position. The knife had

served The Shadow; not Banzarro. The Shadow's aim was sure, the moment that he chose the line of the knife

SWINGING back into the hallway, The Shadow pulled the door wide. Harry Vincent was awaiting the move;

he dashed outside, with five followers behind him. Wild shots began as Harry and the former prisoners

From the doorway, The Shadow opened a short barrage, picking the spots where guns spurted.

Harry and his men were opening quick fire. Spurred by the advantage that The Shadow had given them, they

were pursuing the outside horde. Though outnumbered two to one, Harry's stout band had the edge; for their

opponents were in flight. Inspired by The Shadow; anxious to serve the superman who had saved them, the

Within the house, The Shadow closed the door. A strange lull had fallen. The front stairs short route to

Mocquino's lair remained deserted. Wisely, The Shadow chose another course. He hurried through the

ground floor, found an obscure stairway and ascended to the second floor. He reached the hallway that

Only for a moment did The Shadow slow his progress; that was while he opened the door. He made that

action silent so not to warn Mocquino, should the Voodoo Master be within. The door opened, The Shadow

did not stop to close it after he had entered. He surged through the anteroom, past the purple curtains, into

The golden curtains at the far wall had been drawn apart. There, by the mellow light, The Shadow saw

Mocquino. The Voodoo Master was at his switchboard; the gloat upon his face showed that the time for

BOTH of Mocquino's clawlike hands were ready. His left grasped Control Switch C, prepared to cut off the

transformer that intercepted the power line between the powerhouse and the knitting mills. His right hand, as

eager as his left, clutched two switches at once. They were D and E; if pulled, they would produce

instantaneous explosions at the theater and the hotel, in the very heart of Hampstead.

The Shadow had arrived at precisely quarter past ten. Stopping short in the center of Mocquino's throne

room, he delivered a burst of sinister laughter that halted the motion of the Voodoo Master's hands. The

Shadow's challenge was a wise one. He had seen the clutch of Mocquino's claws. Bullets could not stop the

Turning as he heard the laugh, Mocquino saw The Shadow. His glaring eyes spotted an aimed automatic;

keenly, Mocquino saw the mark to which the gun pointed. It was his own right hand the one that was ready

Quickly, Mocquino yanked his hand away. His action was instinctive. The Shadow fired; Mocquino snarled

triumphantly and yanked the lone switch that his left hand held. In the same move, the Voodoo Master dived

The Shadow sped forward. He had tricked Mocquino, without giving the Voodoo Master time to pause and

realize it. Had The Shadow aimed for Mocquino's heart, the fiend would have tugged all the switches. By

Letting the explosions wait until later, Mocquino had managed to complete his first objective. He had pulled

the switch that would wreck the knitting mills, at the precise time that he had prophesied. Pressed by The

Shadow, Mocquino had taken to flight, forgetting that his one deed could be offset.

At the switchboard, The Shadow seized Control Switch C and pressed it upward. Through his own

knowledge of Mocquino's device, he was quick enough to avert the disaster that had been started. The

MILES away, the effect of those moves was felt. At the knitting mills, a sudden roar had greeted workers at

their looms. Machinery had begun to speed. Employees had leaped from their benches, shouting in terror as

huge wheels wabbled; while belts began to snap. For a moment, destruction had been on its way. Then, only

brief seconds later, chaos ended. Machines had speeded up, threatening horror, at Mocquino's tug of the

switch. They had slowed, found stability, when The Shadow had thrown off the extra load of power.

Had Mocquino pressed the other switches that he had first handled, his move could not have been rectified.

By outguessing the Voodoo Master, The Shadow had prevented even greater destruction than that which

Crowds in the theater and hotel at Hampstead would have perished without a warning, had Mocquino had his

way. As it was, The Shadow's action had saved those threatened hundreds without giving them a single

The Shadow's next duty was to prevent any possibility of Mocquino again operating the switchboard.

Reaching above the control switches, The Shadow released the metal panel that was hinged to cover the

switchboard. He paused as he noticed Control Switch G and the clock dial beside it. Quickly, The Shadow set

the dial for ten minutes; then pulled the switch. He was allowing time for his own departure; also relying on

That done, The Shadow pulled down the panel. As soon as the latches clicked, he bashed the locks with a gun

handle. No key could open those locks; if Mocquino should return, he would try vainly to raise the panel.

Given half an hour, Mocquino might manage to jimmy the locks. But Mocquino would not have a half hour.

At the end of that period, Myram's Folly would go up in thunder. The Shadow had set Mocquino's own time

fuse to destroy this useless structure. There was no need to follow Mocquino, to rout him from some hiding

place. The Shadow's own course had become departure; to join Harry and the rescued men before the blast

The surest course was back through the throne room, out by the hall. Combat en route did not seem a great

threat to The Shadow. He had already quelled Mocquino's scattered henchmen whenever he had met them.

With surety that he could clear the way, The Shadow started through the throne room. He stopped as he

Purple curtains ripped away from the doorway at the anteroom. Revolvers bristled, glimmering, from the

hands of a dozen foemen. Mocquino's henchmen were here in greater number than The Shadow had known.

Summoned to one duty, they had arrived en masse to block The Shadow. Glaring faces, leering lips; these

No lone fighter could hope to survive a battle with that throng. The Shadow had nullified Mocquino's hour of

disaster; he had averted doom that threatened hundreds of helpless victims. Mocquino would never have a

Probably, the Voodoo Master had realized it. Therefore, he had chosen a course which pleased him equally.

He had hurled his henchmen to a final thrust. The Shadow, himself, was the victim whom Mocquino sought.

This was Mocquino's challenge. The Shadow, though he had saved the lives of hundreds, was faced by death

HALTED between Mocquino's purple throne and the ebony pedestal beside it, The Shadow stood half

crouched. He was at bay; his foemen recognized his plight. The Shadow was too far forward to escape

through the golden curtains. The throne could not serve him as a shield. Bullets from revolvers would rip

Mocquino's henchmen had spread in the same fashion as the zombie. The Shadow faced them with a lone

automatic; his weapon was not even raised. Beneath his cloak he had another brace of guns; but he would

never have time to draw them. For he was faced by vengeful marksmen, who would fire as one. Unlike the

Individually, they feared The Shadow. In a horde, they lost their dread because of numbers. Once a single

trigger finger tugged, all would follow. The only factor that stayed the assassins was the motionless position

They knew the fallacy of quick aim, did these killers. They welcomed the pause that gave them a chance to

steady and level their revolvers. They were ready to fire before The Shadow could move his gun hand.

They saw The Shadow's gun fist loosened; clad in a thin black glove, it seemed helpless. They spied a

tremble of the gun hand; it was matched by a twitch of the other gloved fist. His fingers shaking as if seized

Suddenly, the tremble ceased. Free fingers moved; a sharp click sounded. With it, the purplewalled room

was filled with spontaneous light. The Shadow was gone, hidden in a protecting glare. In his place was a

dazzle of tremendous light that came in vivid colors from a rounded cage of glass.

The Shadow had pressed the switch at the base of the lizard lamp stand. He had snapped the current into

Mocquino's highpowered bulb. The Voodoo Master's own device was loosened, shooting the instantaneous

flashes of brilliance that could overpower all who faced it excepting The Shadow and Mocquino himself.

WITH wild shouts, Mocquino's henchmen dived for the cover of the purple curtains. They knew the power of

that light; how Mocquino used it to turn sane men into zombie. With one mad surge, the entire dozen took to

Nor did The Shadow wait. The instant that he clicked the switch, he made for the golden curtains on the

chance that some adversary might sizzle a pot shot in his direction. Though he could resist the glare himself,

The Shadow like others was unable to discern objects beyond it. He did not care to waste wild shots. His

plans were already made; there were less then ten minutes for his departure from Myram's Folly.

Cutting out through Mocquino's own exit, The Shadow was confronted by a trio of Mocquino's reserves.

They were at the end of a hallway; they opened fire suddenly, but not in time. The Shadow was swinging for

cover as they attacked. Springing to a doorway, he heard a sharp snarl from beyond the marksmen.

Jamming a door inward, The Shadow cut through a darkened room. He came out into another hall; made for a

stairway, only to reverse his course. Four more enemies had bobbed in view; they were from the crew that

had invaded the purple lair. Safely away from the sparkling light, they had again become maddened,

The Shadow delivered quick shots from a doorway. One enemy sprawled; the others took to the stairway that

The Shadow wanted. Knowing that attack upon that ambush would be futile, The Shadow took to the other

end of the hall. More of Mocquino's men appeared. Quickly, The Shadow cut through another room.

The next few minutes produced quick surprises. Weaving in and out from unexpected doorways, The Shadow

encountered Mocquino's henchmen at every turn. The house was alive with the murderous rogues. The dozen

who had grouped against The Shadow were but half of the total that Mocquino controlled. Needing one hand

to yank at doorknobs, The Shadow was restricted to use of a single gun. He employed it at every turn,

switching his emptied weapon for a fresh one. Halts were useless; they would only bring a massed throng to

The Shadow's one objective was the front door; to gain it, he needed to reach a stairway. Each flight of steps

proved to be a nest for Mocquino's minions. All that The Shadow could accomplish in four minutes of hectic

fray was the elimination of three enemies, each a member of a different group that he encountered.

WITH sudden change of tactics, The Shadow chose a stairway that led upward to the third floor; and hence

proved unguarded. At the top, The Shadow came upon a group that he had not seen since his first encounter

with them on the floor below. There were four in the cluster: Doctor Mocquino and the three underlings who

As The Shadow opened fire, Mocquino leaped for a doorway. The Shadow saw him spring upward, taking

the stairway that led to the central lookout tower of the building, that squarewalled room that loomed above

the roof. Two of the bodyguards succumbed before The Shadow's rapid shots. The third followed Mocquino,

There was no chance to follow. The Shadow's gun was emptied. As he reached for his last automatic, he

heard thuds of footsteps everywhere. Bands of enemies had located the sound of the fray. They were coming

to surround The Shadow, to block off his escape. This time, he would be ambushed if he tried to reach the

Few minutes remained. Departure by the ground floor would be impossible. Any delay would bring the

moment of destruction. The Shadow took the one course that remained a route that he had reserved in case

of final emergency. Speeding toward a darkened hall, he dashed through the rear portion of the third floor,

Shouting fighters followed, thinking their enemy in flight. They fired wildly, uselessly, in the darkness. They

could not see The Shadow; but they heard his footsteps, for he was making no attempt to cover his route.

Suddenly, The Shadow's course led upward. Mocquino's minions stopped at the entrance to the old castle

The Shadow had gone above, following the circular stairway, keeping to the wall, away from the open center.

With shouts to their fellows, half a dozen of The Shadow's enemies dashed upward in pursuit.

The Shadow reached the rounded roof; slamming the old trapdoor, he pounded its surface with the handle of

an emptied automatic. Wood splintered and jammed the trap in place. It would take minutes for the men

below to crack it. Swinging to the roughhewn parapet, The Shadow looked beyond the stone bulwark,

There, in the clear glow of moonlight, he saw a figure above the solid wooden rail of the MidVictorian

tower, a dozen feet lower than The Shadow's own vantage point. It was Doctor Mocquino, his purple robe

The Voodoo Master had guessed The Shadow's objective, for he had heard shots from within the rounded

AS he saw The Shadow, Mocquino rasped a command. Mocquino's last bodyguard bobbed up beside him.

Both opened fire with revolvers. Bullets chipped the stone beside The Shadow; he dropped below the level of

Jabbing his automatic through a stone crenelle, The Shadow used that space to return the fire. His bullets

splintered the wooden rail; one found Mocquino's henchman. The Shadow heard a cry. He fired for the rail,

Men were pounding at the trapdoor close by The Shadow. That sound did not trouble him. Mocquino was the

only enemy who could battle him during the scant moments that remained. The Shadow halted his fire,

The moonlight revealed a grisly sight. Up from the rail of the square roof moved a deathstilled figure. It was

Mocquino's last bodyguard, his corpse as mechanical as one of the Voodoo Master's zombie. From beneath

the dead man's right arm there came a living hand, aiming the bodyguard's own revolver.

The hand was Mocquino's. The Voodoo Master had taken his dead henchman for a shield. Ready with the

gun, Mocquino awaited The Shadow's reappearance. Through ghastly artifice, Mocquino hoped to win a last

The Shadow delivered a triumphant laugh. From his parapet, the mirth rose in sardonic mockery. The

trapdoor was breaking below him; Mocquino was prepared to stop him with a deadly aim; nevertheless, The

Shadow knew that victory was close. He sprang into view, wheeled across the rounded roof and neared the

MOCQUINO fired. His bullets sizzled wide of the moving target. The Shadow was too swift for Mocquino's

hand to follow him, for the Voodoo Master's arm was burdened with the weight of the dead man whom he

The Shadow fired return shots; weaved one direction, then the other. Suddenly, he sprang to the rear parapet

The Shadow sped a bullet that came a scant inch from Mocquino's projecting arm. It was his last shot; but it

At that moment, the trapdoor splintered open; a head poked through; with it a fist and a revolver.

The Shadow hurled his emptied automatic straight for the glaring, grimy face. The heavy weapon crashed the

Mocquino saw the action; observed that The Shadow was weaponless. Dropping the corpse that served him

as shield, the Voodoo Master aimed. Simultaneously, The Shadow spun upon the parapet. With a long,

sweeping dive, he went head foremost over the rear edge, taking a fortyfoot plunge for the pond below.

The Shadow had held out to the last possible moment, knowing that he would be a target when he reached the

moonlit pond. He was gone from Mocquino's range; but there would be others, on the rounded roof. Last

moments had seemed slow to The Shadow. He had lingered in hope of a quake which he knew would come.

The token came while The Shadow was speeding downward through the air. From the depths of Myram's

Folly came a muffled blast. The building quaked; the depths delivered another burst. Then came the third

explosion one that seemed to rip the countryside with a searing volcano of flame.

The Shadow had hit the water; arms tilted upward, he shot to the surface at the end of a shallow dive. Nearly

As his face came above the water, The Shadow swung his head toward the tower that he had left. He was met

SWIMMING away with the sweeping wave, The Shadow saw the end of Myram's Folly. The gray stone

tower had buckled inward. Pygmy men who had reached its top were tilted from it, down into the crumbling

ruin of the building below. Foundations had been shattered by the buried mines that Mocquino had installed.

Outer walls had fallen to ruin. The stone tower was gone, to give weight to the debris. Cracking stone and

splintering wood were scourged by the thrusts of flames. The men on the stone tower had met their doom;

those within were buried in the crash. Others, lower in the house, were lost in the destruction.

Oddly, amid that tremendous smash, one portion of the building resisted. Swaying, it seemed to fight against

the fall. That was the square room above the center roof the MidVictorian tower.

Upon it, his clenched fist high above his head, stood Doctor Mocquino. With his other hand, the Voodoo

Master was clutching the wavering wooden rail like the captain of a sinking vessel, stationed on the bridge.

From the shore of the pond, The Shadow saw the finish. Others, too, observed it: Harry and the rescued men,

back from the chase in which they had downed the last of Banzarro's ruffians. They watched Mocquino sway

as the square tower lurched; they saw the lookout room collapse and take its final plunge.

Down into the ruins of Myram's Folly went Mocquino, still clinging to the wooden rail. The woodwork

splintered as the Voodoo Master went from view, into the very center of the shattered mass that no longer

Last sections of wall tumbled. Flames crackled high amid the dust of crumbled stone. The last sign of life had

ABOVE the roar of the rising fire came a grim, sardonic laugh. Mirthless, it told of deserved triumph. It

marked the doom of evil men who had engaged in schemes of murder and destruction. It foretold that facts

would be made public, when revealed by Harry Vincent and the others who had been prisoners in Mocquino's

Crime would be laid where it belonged to Doctor Rodil Mocquino and his chief assassin, Banzarro. Some

past deeds would be understood, such as Banzarro's murder of Wishart, the chauffeur. Others would be

For the full tale of Mocquino's mad reign of crime had been grasped by The Shadow alone. He, the master of

right, would preserve those details in his hidden archives. The Shadow, alone, had conquered Doctor Rodil