THE CRIME CLINIC ........................................................................................................................................1

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

CHAPTER I. COMING EVENTS..........................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW BEGINS ................................................................................................6

CHAPTER III. CASSLIN'S CASTLE ...................................................................................................11

CHAPTER IV. MURDER STRIKES ....................................................................................................15

CHAPTER V. THE SHADOW SEES ...................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VI. CARDONA'S THEORY..............................................................................................26

CHAPTER VII. THE JACKDAW'S MINIONS...................................................................................32

CHAPTER VIII. AT THE CLINIC .......................................................................................................37

CHAPTER IX. THE CONSULTATION..............................................................................................41

CHAPTER X. MELKEN FINDS A FRIEND .......................................................................................45

CHAPTER XI. THE JACKDAW ORDERS .........................................................................................50

CHAPTER XII. CARDONA PERSISTS..............................................................................................54

CHAPTER XIII. AT WINCHENDON'S ...............................................................................................58

CHAPTER XIV. THE CALL ................................................................................................................61

CHAPTER XV. THE SHADOW RETURNS .......................................................................................64

CHAPTER XVI. CARDONA LEARNS ...............................................................................................67

CHAPTER XVII. THE NEXT NIGHT .................................................................................................72

CHAPTER XVIII. THE INTERLUDE.................................................................................................78

CHAPTER XIX. THE JACKDAW ARRIVES .....................................................................................82

CHAPTER XX. THE SHADOW'S TASK ............................................................................................85

CHAPTER XXI. THE JACKDAW'S NEST .........................................................................................87

A SHORT, stocky man was strolling beneath the superstructure of an East Side elevated. The collar of his

brown overcoat was upturned. His gray hat was tilted down over his forehead. His hands were thrust deep in

his side pockets. The man had all the appearance of an idler. He looked like a typical denizen of this dingy

Jostling shoulders with bums, the saunterer continued his slow pace. He growled at those whom he

encountered, and there was a challenge in his air that commanded immediate respect. He seemed to be as

The street was gloomy; nevertheless, the stroller showed a marked aptitude for turning his head away from

any lights that he approached. Shop windows were lighted, for there was some evening business even on this

tawdry thoroughfare. The muffled man avoided the glare from the little stores, sought only the shadows.

Only once did the stocky individual relax his effort to remain unrecognized. That was when he reached the

entrance to a side street, where he idled in meditative fashion. He wanted to be sure that he was unobserved,

and in convincing himself that this was the case, he unwittingly eased his vigilance. The glow of a street lamp

temporarily revealed the man's upturned features. That light showed a swarthy, squarejawed countenance.

The muffled man was Detective Joe Cardona, ace of the Manhattan force. A prowler in the borderlands where

crime was fostered, he had every reason to keep his identity unknown. After short, quick glances along the

Perhaps there were those who knew Cardona's gait; perhaps there were spying eyes that had caught that

momentary revealment of the detective's face. Whichever the case might be, there was a distinct activity

Another idler across the street turned suddenly and walked away. A sneaky, stealthy man slipped from the

protection of an obscure doorway. He passed a lounger who was standing beside the steps of an elevated

NEWS was going through the underworld that Joe Cardona had arrived within the realm of crime. The

grapevine telegraph was hard at work, reporting this event. Such was the way in the badlands of Manhattan.

Yet amid the subdued excitement, no one had noted the activities of the first individual who had taken action

after viewing Joe Cardona's face. This fellow had passed as one of the underworld. He looked like a husky

gangster, who had every right to be in this forlorn district. Hence he had passed unchallenged.

In the light of a dingy cigar store, this man who had seen Cardona appeared as a different type. His face,

though firm and determined, showed a keenness lacking in the usual gangster. Ensconced in a telephone

"Cardona in vicinity," announced Marsland. "Entered alley alongside Climax Brass Shop. Went into third

This secret conversation had a meaning. Cliff Marsland, pretended gangster, had reported Cardona's arrival.

The man to whom he had spoken over the wire was a chap named Burbank one whom Cliff had never seen,

For Cliff Marsland was an agent of The Shadow; and Burbank was The Shadow's contact man. As a prowler

in the underworld, Cliff picked up data of importance, and sent it to Burbank; the contact man, in turn,

To the underworld, a secret visit by Joe Cardona was a matter of importance. Whatever concerned the

underworld, concerned The Shadow also. For The Shadow, mysterious personage whose very identity was

unknown, battled crime and swung the balance of power into the hands of justice.

Cliff Marsland, sensing suppressed excitement in the neighborhood, had picked up the information that Joe

Cardona had been seen. He had passed the word along to The Shadow. From now on, it would be The

JOE CARDONA was a detective of capability. He had a tendency, however, to rely upon grit rather than

craftiness. He had come to this district, confident that he could conceal his identity. So sure of that had

The detective was laughing gruffly he ascended a pair of dilapidated stairs within the building that he had

entered. He stopped in front of a door on the third floor and gave two short, quick raps; after a pause, he

The door opened, and a peaked, wildeyed face stared through the crack. A sickly grin appeared upon the

Joe Cardona stepped in. The little, stoopshouldered man who had admitted him quickly closed and locked

"Nobody seen you?" he questioned, in a hoarse, frightened voice. "Sure nobody seen you, Joe?"

"Not a chance, Scoffy," returned Cardona, with a grin. "Look I had my collar up my hat tilted. I looked

"Don't stay long, Joe," pleaded the little man as he sank to a tumbledown chair. "I ain't got much to tell you

tonight. I took a big chance, Joe, when I told you to come to this hideout. Say if anyone wised that I was

"It ain't much, Joe" "Scoffy's" voice was a hoarse whisper "but it may mean a lot later on. I just got the

Scoffy's lips twitched as his beady eyes stared toward Cardona. The little stool pigeon was anxious to see

what effect his words had on the detective. He expected that Cardona would be startled. The expectation was

Cardona's eyes narrowed. His jaw hardened. His fists tightened. The star detective sat down upon the only

"Nothin' at all, Joe," pleaded Scoffy. "Nothin' honest. I'd blab if I knew who he was "

"Well," asserted Scoffy, in a confidential tone, "he's a real guy, all right. Everybody knows how he used to

work. He went after swell stuff jewels bonds the kind of swag you'd find in a big banker's home."

"Sometimes an' sometimes with a mob. All dependin' on the lay. Then he scrammed an' came back. But

"Because I seen Bennie Lizzit back in town and Bennie was workin' in The Jackdaw's mob."

"Not a one, Joe honest. Say Bennie an' me used to be pals. If he knowed that I was squealin' to you, Joe,

Cardona eyed the furtivefaced stool pigeon. There was no question about Scoffy's sincerity. The palefaced

gangster was telling all that he knew. Joe was determined to take advantage of Scoffy's potential usefulness.

"All right," said the detective, rising. "I'm counting on you, Scoffy. Keep your eyes open. Pal around with

Bennie Lizzit again. Find out the fellow he's working for. If The Jackdaw is back again, I'm going to crack

"It ain't goin' to be easy," volunteered Scoffy, with a shake of his head. "I knowed Bennie was workin' for

The Jackdaw. I was the only guy that knowed it. But I never got no hookup on the rest of the mob.

"The Jackdaw is a silkhat, Joe. He may use some gorillas when he needs 'em, but he ain't in their class. He's

a guy that moves high. He knows the swells, an' he works alone whenever he can."

"I know his game," nodded Cardona. "If he had stayed around long enough I would have grabbed him. Now

that I know he's back, I can get to him. But I may have to do it through the mob. That's where you come in.

"Give me a call," ordered Cardona. "Tell me as soon as you have any new dope. Nobody knows that you're

With this assurance to the stool pigeon, Cardona closed his coat collar about his chin. He slouched his hat

down over his eyes, opened the door, and thrust his hands into his pockets as he stalked down the stairs.

Scoffy listened at the door. He heard the thud of Cardona's footsteps. He was glad that the detective had gone.

The interview had taken only a few minutes. Scoffy tried to convince himself that no one had recognized the

detective. The stool pigeon realized that he had taken a long chance in bringing Cardona here.

Satisfied as to Cardona's departure, Scoffy closed the door. He stood trembling as he fished in his pocket for

a pack of cigarettes. Matches rattled as a wooden box came out in the shaky hand.

Scoffy's gaze was toward the window. Suddenly, it turned to the door. With a wild gasp, the stool pigeon

SIMULTANEOUSLY with the sound of footsteps, the door swung open, and a bigshouldered, uglyfaced

ruffian thrust himself into the room. In his right hand, this fellow held a big revolver. He covered Scoffy with

The name was gasped from Scoffy's lips. The intruder laughed as he closed the door behind him.

"Didn't expect to see me, eh?" he snarled. "Who'd you think I was that smart dick comin' back?"

"Joe Cardona," jeered Bennie Lizzit. "Say that clodhopper was lamped when he hit the avenue.

Everybody knew he was down here. I heard where he headed. I figured maybe he was comin' to see you."

"What'd he want to see me for?" asked Scoffy. "I ain't said nothin' to him, Bennie. You an' me we're pals

Scoffy saw what was coming. Bennie Lizzit was between him and the door. With a frenzied cry, the trapped

stool pigeon made a dash for the window. Bennie overtook him; with a sweep of his arm, the big gangster

With these words, Bennie shot his left hand forward, and pinned the stool pigeon's neck to the wall. Before

the cornered squealer could manage to squirm away, Bennie made a vicious swing with his right arm. His

The little fellow sagged. Bennie Lizzit delivered another skullcrushing blow. He released his left hand.

Bennie gloated as he surveyed the work which he had done. Still holding his revolver, he turned toward the

The murderer's eyes began to bulge. His fist tightened on his revolver. His hand, however, did not rise.

Bennie Lizzit, killer though he was, felt pangs of fear at the uncanny event which was taking place before his

The door was swinging open, of its own accord. As Bennie stared into the darkened hallway beyond, all that

he could see was a pair of blazing eyes. As he stared, the murderer saw a form materialize. He gasped as he

Bennie's blurted recognition was a fitting tribute to the mysterious presence of The Shadow. A tall form

garbed in black, The Shadow had arrived as an avenger from the night. His shape seemed spectral beneath the

folds of a black cloak. His features all save those terrible, blazing eyes were invisible beneath the shade

THE one symbol of realism was the huge automatic that projected from a blackgloved hand. The sight of

that weapon brought terror to Bennie Lizzit. The mobster had killed. His victim lay at his feet. The Shadow

An ominous laugh came from unseen lips. The Shadow had arrived too late to prevent the death of Scoffy,

the stool pigeon. He was here, however, to learn the reason why Scoffy had been slain. His sinister laugh was

Had The Shadow trapped Bennie Lizzit at any other moment, the gangster would unquestionably have

quailed. From his lips, The Shadow would have learned the reason for the murderer's crime.

But with Scoffy's body at his feet, Bennie Lizzit still was dominated with a savage thirst for murder. At the

sound of The Shadow's laugh, the killer spat a fierce oath and swung his gun arm upward to fire pointblank

The room reechoed to the roar of an earsplitting report. The flash of flame came from The Shadow's

automatic. A split second before his enemy, The Shadow had delivered his message to prevent the gangster's

Bennie staggered backward, clutching his left shoulder. Crippled, he still snarled his rage. With clawing

finger, he managed to pull the trigger of his revolver. Shots went wide from his wavering gun.

Once more the automatic thundered. The bullet clipped the gangster's arm. With a shriek of pain, Bennie

Lizzit sprawled sidewise. He was against the window as he fell; his useless hand, as it lost the revolver,

The sash beyond was open. Lurching, where he had sought solidity, Bennie Lizzit floundered headforemost

over the low sill. He made a wild clutch with his left hand; his fingers slipped as they clicked against the

The window shade snapped loose. Wrapped like a shroud about the hurtling gangster, it accompanied Bennie

Lizzit on his threestory plunge to the paving beneath the window. A hideous scream ended in a crash below.

Silent, The Shadow stood within the door of this room where death had been delivered and avenged. Shouts

came to him from the street below. The black cloak swished. The tall form disappeared into the darkness of

Coming events had brought The Shadow to this spot. Joe Cardona had talked with Scoffy. The stool pigeon

had died at the hands of Bennie Lizzit. The murderer, in turn, was dead. These startling occurrences were but

The Shadow, though he had not heard the words from Scoffy's lips, foresaw the coming conflict. Though Joe

Cardona, alone, had received word that the smooth crook called "The Jackdaw" had returned, The Shadow

LATE the next afternoon, Detective Joe Cardona was seated at his desk in headquarters. The place was

deserted. Cardona, alone, was giving vent to his feelings by means of a sullen scowl. The chief object of

Cardona's annoyance seemed to be the evening newspaper that was lying on the desk before him.

Leaning back in his chair, Cardona spent a few minutes in reflective thought. Then, in a decisive manner, he

He sat down in a chair on the opposite side from a grayhaired man who was busily engaged in completing a

Klein did not appear to notice Cardona's arrival. When he had finished his report sheet, however, the grizzled

He pointed to the newspaper as he spoke. Klein looked at the item indicated and shook his head.

"Why does this bother you?" he questioned. "A couple of smallfry mobsters killed that's all. There have

"Listen, inspector." Cardona's voice was serious. "I've got a hunch that there's trouble coming. There's

something big behind this. I'll tell you why. I was using this fellow Scoffy. Just breaking him in as a

Inspector Klein arched his eyebrows. The statement aroused his immediate interest.

"Last night," went on Cardona, "I went down there to see him. He told me about this fellow, Bennie Lizzit.

Scoffy was afraid of Lizzit. More than that, he told me Lizzit was hooked up with a big game. I told Scoffy to

keep an eye on Lizzit. Then what happens? This. Lizzit kills Scoffy; and someone gets Lizzit."

"Which leaves me out," declared Cardona. "My stool's dead; so is the man he was watching. That's why I

"I know what it's about," asserted Cardona. "You know the trouble we had with those swell society robberies.

You know how little we learned. Some rumors about a smart crook they called 'The Jackdaw.' Whether he

was a gentleman burglar or a gang leader, we didn't find out. The only way we figured that he'd ducked out

"Well, last night Scoffy tipped me that Bennie Lizzit had worked for The Jackdaw. With Bennie back in

town, Scoffy figured The Jackdaw might be back. Now that Scoffy and Bennie are both dead, I figure The

THE statement brought a frown from Inspector Klein. Cardona knew the reason. He spoke before Klein had

"I know what you're thinking, inspector," said the detective. "It's going to raise hob if we start going after

some unknown bird that we call 'The Jackdaw.' The commissioner put the taboo on my mentioning The

Shadow in reports even though I knew there were cases in which The Shadow figured. Now, if I say there's

"Easy, Joe," he said. "You're getting ahead of yourself. There are no reports of robberies as yet."

"That's just it," returned Cardona grimly. "The other times we came in after The Jackdaw was gone. This trip

"I've figured it this way," asserted Cardona. "If The Jackdaw is back on the job, he'll be after big game. Here

right on the same page of this afternoon's newspaper is something that ought to interest him."

Inspector Klein looked at the item which Cardona indicated. Half aloud, he read the words which most

"Among the gems which Rutherford Casslin will exhibit at his home on Wednesday night is a large diamond

of a decided reddish tint. Its value has not been stated; but Mr. Casslin stated that he regards it as the prize of

"Casslin is a millionaire," explained Cardona. "Lives out on Long Island in a big place he calls 'Five Towers.'

"Yes. I told him who I was. I asked him about being present at his home on Wednesday night."

"I think he's crazy," growled Cardona. "He told me to go back to Bombay; that he was tired of people calling

him up and misrepresenting themselves. He wanted to know if I was the same fellow who talked to him in

"That's odd," commented Klein. "He must have obtained the diamond in India. Listen, Joe; why don't you go

out here this evening and see this millionaire? Get his slant on whatever he suspects; but don't mention

anything about The Jackdaw. That ought to pave the way for a visit on Wednesday night."

A shadow fell across the floor as the inspector was speaking. Joe Cardona saw the approaching streak of

black; he wheeled in his chair, and looked toward the door. He grinned as he saw a tall, stoopshouldered

janitor, who was carrying a pail and mop. The fellow looked at the detective with dull, listless eyes.

"Well, I'm not interfering," said Cardona. "I'm on my way right now." He turned to Klein. "I'm all set,

"So he can see you're not from Bombay," added Klein, with a short laugh. "That sure is an odd one, Joe,

"No." Klein was rising from the desk as he spoke. "Unless there is some Hindu business mixed up with that

The two men walked from the room. Klein was pocketing his report as he went. He looked toward the janitor,

IT was then that Fritz ceased his mopping. His tall form seemed to straighten to unusual proportions. A soft

laugh came from his thick lips. In the direct light of the room, Fritz's face took on an artificial expression that

Stooping again, this curious janitor shambled from the office. He emitted a friendly "Yah" to a detective

whom he passed in the hall. He reached an obscure room, placed mop and bucket upon the floor, and opened

Folds of black cloth tumbled forth. A cloaklike garment rolled over the janitor's head. Long hands placed a

slouch hat upon the head above. With swift, gliding stride, a phantom shape swung away from the locker, and

No one could have traced The Shadow's course from then on. Not even the real Fritz, arriving for janitor

duty, saw the lurking shape which waited near the outer door until he had passed. The Shadow, by his

remarkable impersonation, had listened from the corridor to the conversation between Detective Cardona and

Inspector Klein. He had learned why Joe Cardona had visited Scoffy; he had also discovered why Bennie

To The Shadow, the information gained was usable for a more direct purpose than an immediate visit to the

home of Rutherford Casslin. One hour after his departure from headquarters, The Shadow appeared in an

obscure portion of Manhattan. A corner light revealed him only as a passing shade of blackness against a

The Shadow had arrived in a district of cosmopolitan Manhattan where members of a darkskinned race were

wont to be. Hindus are rare in New York, but the spot chosen by The Shadow was one which they frequented.

The tall shape was lost in obscurity; it reappeared at a little used doorway, and glided into the side entrance of

Half an hour passed while The Shadow watched from obscurity. The proprietor of the restaurant was a Hindu,

garbed in American attire. Most of his patrons were Americans; but as The Shadow lingered, a darkskinned

individual entered and spoke to the restaurant keeper. After that, he went to a table in a corner of the place

The Shadow glided from the unused entrance. Shortly afterward, a second Hindu entered, spied the one

seated at the table, and joined him. The men waited until bowls of curried rice had been set before them.

Alone, they were about to speak, when a tall American strolled in and took his seat at a table near by. One of

the Hindus glanced in his direction, then shrugged his shoulders, and started to talk to his companion.

THE Hindus were obviously men of intelligence. The fineness of their Aryan features showed that fact. Their

talk was partly English, partly the native tongue familiar to them. It would have been an indecipherable

The customer near by had ordered a dish of Indian food. He seemed quite oblivious to the words which the

Hindus were uttering. Nevertheless, his ears were keen, and nothing escaped him. The dialect came within his

"It can only be the one," a Hindu was declaring. "Its color red is all that we need to know. It is the

"No," was the reply. "Once it had left London, and come to New York, the price would be too great for any

"Yes. The Nizam of Hyderabad would gladly buy it for his vast collection. The Nizam would pay a great

"You are going back to India," said the first speaker. "If you should carry with you the Bishenpur diamond, it

"Tippu is watching at the American's castle. Tippu is bold. He will do his utmost to seize it."

The listener nodded in agreement. His dark eyes gleamed at the thought of great gain. The ensuing discussion

While the Hindus were still talking, the American finished his meal and arose. He strolled leisurely from the

restaurant. The plotting Hindus gave no more thought to him. They had no idea whatever that he had

NOT far from the restaurant, the tall listener stopped beside a parked coupe. He stepped into the car.

Blackened folds of cloth dropped over his shoulders. Black gloves and slouch hat completed his adopted

The coupe moved, guided by an unseen hand. As it rolled from the vicinity where New York's small Hindu

population thronged, a soft laugh betrayed the hidden thoughts of the driver of that car.

The Shadow had learned more than Joe Cardona. He had discovered why Rutherford Casslin had regarded

the detective's telephone call as a hoax. Possessor of a rare stone which he had brought from India, the

American millionaire had refused all offers which had been made for its purchase.

The Shadow had learned of a definite danger which overclouded Rutherford Casslin's possession of the

diamond. He had heard the name of a man who was watching the millionaire's Long Island home Tippu, a

The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was bound for Rutherford Casslin's home. Whether or not The Jackdaw was

concerned in this enterprise did not matter. Crime threatened and where crime hovered, there would The

The clock on the dashboard of the coupe showed the hour of nine as The Shadow guided his car through the

THE chimes of a jeweled clock were striking nine. A fashionable throng was gathered in the spacious living

room of Rutherford Casslin's home. The group had come to this apartment following a sumptuous dinner.

Rutherford Casslin, a tall, portly man of fifty years, surveyed the group with a selfsatisfied air. Most of the

men present were ones who had gained prestige and wealth through commercial success. A small group, but a

Most of the women were of middle age. There was one exception, Casslin noted, as he smiled beamingly.

That was Yvonne Lydell, a beautiful girl in her early twenties. Garforth Lydell, Yvonne's father, was one of

Casslin's old friends. Garforth, Casslin remembered, was away from New York at present.

Beside Yvonne was seated a young man, attired in a perfectly fitted Tuxedo. This was Bart Melken, wealthy

scion of an old New York family. Melken was Yvonne Lydell's fiance. The pair would make an excellent

Only one guest was not seated. Of middle height, but thin to an extreme that made him seem tall, this worthy

was standing in a corner of the room. He was a man whose status as a surgeon had gained him high

Rutherford Casslin had considered long before inviting Doctor Lysander Dubrong to dine here tonight. There

was something about the physician's cynical demeanor that made it difficult for Casslin to understand him.

Rutherford Casslin was a domineering, boastful individual. So long as he could hold the center of

conversation, he was a perfect host. His guests seemed to sense this; out of courtesy, they listened as Casslin

took the floor. The millionaire was about to make an announcement which he regarded of paramount interest.

"Tonight," declared Casslin, "I have a treat in store for you. This is Monday. I have announced that on

Wednesday I shall exhibit certain rare gems which I possess. Those jewels are in a safedeposit vault with

"I refer to the prize of my collection a beautiful diamond of high value. I brought the stone from India. It is

A murmur of surprise swept through the throng. Casslin had created the effect that he wanted. He paused to

"Many persons have wondered," he stated, "how I am able to keep valuables in my home with absolutely no

fear of burglary. My answer is that this house is itself as strong as any vault.

"This building, which I have called 'Five Towers,' is the modernized replica of a famous English castle. No

feudal lord ever possessed a more formidable fortress. Each turret of this castle has walls of solid stone; and

one tower, in particular, is especially provided against attack. It is there that I keep any valuables that I bring

Casslin stared about him with a proud smile. Seeing interest on the faces of his listeners, he proceeded with a

"Some of you," he declared, "have seen the arrangement of my stronghold. Others have not. I am going to my

THE invitation was promptly grasped by several of the persons present. There were exceptions, however, and

chief among them was Doctor Lysander Dubrong. With a cynical smile upon his thin, dry lips, the physician

"Sorry," he explained. "I must forgo the pleasure. I have visited your tower before."

"It is after nine o'clock," objected Dubrong. "I have an important appointment in Manhattan."

There was criticism in Rutherford Casslin's tone. It was matched by the sharp sarcasm of Dubrong's reply.

"Cold stones," said the physician, "do not impress me. Though they may sparkle, they are mere baubles. The

Dubrong was shaking Casslin's hand as he spoke. With a gesture that bordered almost on contempt, the

physician swung and walked from the living room. He stopped in an outer hallway.

Alone, he donned his hat and coat, in slow, methodical fashion. He was peering through a curtained doorway,

and his gaze was centered upon Bart Melken, the young man of wealth who was engaged to Yvonne Lydell.

So far as the group was concerned, Doctor Dubrong's departure was of no importance. Even Bart Melken, the

man Dubrong watched, had given no further thought to the physician. When Dubrong went from the outer

Rutherford Casslin had summoned two servants. Husky fellows, attired in uniform, they looked like a pair of

bodyguards. Casslin referred to one as "Hubert" to the other as "Hodges." At the millionaire's order, each

Casslin's living room was on the second story of the castle. It had two doorways; one at the side, through

which Doctor Dubrong had gone; the other at the rear. It was through this opening that the millionaire invited

his guests to follow him. Three men and two ladies responded; the others remained in the living room, for

Mrs. Casslin, the millionaire's bejeweled wife, remained in the living room talking to the few who had not

followed her husband. Among these persons were Yvonne Lydell and Bart Melken. Speaking to Yvonne,

"It is a marvelous stone," said the portly hostess. "These jewels which I wear are merely trifles compared

"Your necklace, Mrs. Casslin?" inquired Yvonne in surprise, as she indicated the string of jewels which the

"They are paste," confided Mrs. Casslin, with a smile. "I would never dream of wearing the real ones. They

are in a safedeposit vault. I do not like to have valuable gems here in the house."

Bart Melken, half a dozen paces away, was listening to Mrs. Casslin's statements. With an attitude of

indifference, as though talk of jewels was boring, the young man strolled toward the side windows of the big

living room. There, he extracted a cigarette from an ornate case. He drew a lighter from his pocket and

THE flame responded and died. It was repeated. Melken seemed nervous. A third attempt failed. It was only

after he had stepped away from the window that Melken managed to obtain a light for his cigarette. At the

No one had been watching the young man at the time of his odd performance. Keen eyes might have taken

his flickering work with the lighter as a signal to someone on the ground beyond the window. The few

Meanwhile, the guests who had accompanied Rutherford Casslin had reached a gloomy spot in a hallway that

paralleled the rear of the living room. They were standing in front of a steel door that was set in the solid

Casslin was talking like a lecturer as he drew a key from his pocket. He turned the lock, and before he opened

"This," he said, "is the entrance to the rear tower. I alone hold the key. It is my practice to enter here by

Unlocking the door, Casslin revealed the interior of a circular, stonewalled tower that extended upward for

thirty feet, a hollow shaft. A narrow circular stairway of iron formed the mode of ascent. The stairway ran

Casslin pressed a switch. The interior of the turret was lighted with dim illumination. The visitors noted that

the steps of the circular stairway were unblocked; one could see between them. The entire shaft showed

Casslin handed the key to Hubert. While this servant and Hodges waited below, Casslin led his guests up the

steps. The big door clanged behind them. Their footfalls sounded weirdly upon the iron steps.

Casslin's voice came in echoes as the millionaire preceded his friends on the thirtyfoot climb. Casslin was

pointing out a feature of the tower: tall, slitlike windows at intervals along the stairs.

"These windows," he explained, "were placed here before I made the tower my stronghold. You will observe,

however, that they are less than eight inches in width. Moreover, they are strengthened by horizontal bars, set

The guests could observe what Casslin said. The windows were tall, each nearly three feet high, to admit

light. They were fitted with glass in iron frames, so that they could easily be opened. The crossbars, however,

Casslin reached the top of the steps. Here was another door, of wood, but braced with iron, which he opened

with a smaller key. The door swung inward. Casslin pressed a single light switch and conducted his guests

THE room was stonewalled and unfurnished. It was about a dozen feet in diameter. It possessed three long,

slitted windows, like those on the stairway. They were also barred with crosswise metal rods.

"In oldtime castles," explained Casslin, "these served as openings through which archers delivered their

shafts. You will notice that three directions are covered. The openings were purposely narrowed, so that if the

"This portion of the wall" he turned to the half which had no opening "holds the strong box. It is a small

The guests saw the spot indicated. The front of a small, square safe projected from the wall. Set in solid

stone, buttressed by the house itself, this device was capable of withstanding the attack of a dynamiter.

"Now," decided Casslin, "I shall ask you all to retire below. I never permit anyone to be here when I open the

The guests filed out through the door. While they were clanking down the circular steps, Casslin shut the

barrier. He opened the safe and removed a small metal box. He closed the safe and followed the others who

Hubert and Hodges were waiting outside the lower door. The guest had opened it from the inside; Casslin did

the same. He took the key from Hubert, shut the steel door, and proceeded to join his guests who had gone

back to the living room. The two servants, holding their revolvers, formed a bodyguard for the millionaire.

The tension was dramatic when Casslin entered the living room and placed the box upon the table. In the

light, the small container showed its beauty. The box was inlaid with ivory. Casslin pressed a catch; the lid

Set upon white plush was a diamond of lustrous beauty. The stone sparkled with gorgeous radiance; its size,

too, was remarkable. The feature which made the spectators gaze in awe was the coloring of the gem. A

distinctly reddish tint seemed to pervade the diamond; and this elusive hue was always present.

"I purchased this diamond in India," lectured Rutherford Casslin. "It is said to have come from the collection

of the King of Bishenpur. That monarch owned two of the most magnificent rubies in existence! I suppose

"Shortly after I bought the diamond, I was approached by a jewel merchant of Bombay, who offered me one

hundred and fifty thousand rupees for it. I could have shown a fancy profit above the price I paid, had I

"However, I refused his offer. I would not part with this gem at any price. I am simply mentioning, though,

that in India, this jewel would command the equivalent of fifty thousand dollars.

"The offer I had received followed me on my journey from India to England. In London, persistent

representatives of the Bombay merchant still tried to buy the gem. They failed. I am keeping the diamond

As he concluded his talk, Rutherford Casslin held the jewel between thumb and forefinger. He raised it above

the level of his eyes. A pale crimson aura seemed to hover about the Bishenpur diamond. Then, with a

dramatic gesture, Casslin replaced the jewel in its case. With a bow that caused the guests to spread apart, he

Yvonne Lydell walked toward the side window, where Bart Melken, cigarette lighter in hand, was having

trouble making new bursts of flame. The young man looked up as his fiancee approached. He dropped the

Yvonne, as she came from the back of the room, was facing toward the front window. Something made her

stare in that direction, instead of looking at her fiance. Suddenly, the girl gripped Bart Melken's arm.

Pressed against the front window was a brownish face. Dark, glittering eyes caught the girl's stare. Then, in a

Bart Melken, as he followed the direction of Yvonne's gaze, was too late to see the visage that had been

Yvonne's startled gasp faded on her lips as the girl felt Bart Melken's firm and reassuring grip upon her arm.

The question came in a whisper from Yvonne Lydell. Bravely, the girl was trying to curb the sudden terror

Although the young man's voice was calm, his own face had turned ashen. Yvonne did not notice Bart's

strained expression. She was staring toward the front windows. Beyond them, she could see the rail of a

narrow balcony that ran to the right from the living room, and probably opened upon other windows at the

The intruder, whoever he was, had gone. With a slight shudder, Yvonne turned back toward the other guests.

Rutherford Casslin, with Hubert and Hodges beside him, was departing in the direction of the tower. Guests

were asking questions about the Bishenpur diamond. Yvonne's suppressed excitement had not been noticed

"Say nothing," prompted the young man. "There is no need to alarm anyone at least not until after Mr.

Casslin had walked through the rear door, in company with his two servants. He had evidently entered the

steel door to the tower, and had gone up, for Hodges had returned, and was standing just within the doorway

Every guest was in the living room. Hodges, as though to make sure that all was well, stayed in the room

himself. After a short interval, he turned to go back and join Hubert at the foot of the stairway to the tower.

At that moment, a hoarse, raucous shout came from beyond the door. Hodges stood momentarily startled;

some of the men started toward the door before the servant moved. Then Hodges sprang to action. With three

THE cause of the cry was immediately apparent. Backed against the steel door was Hubert. He was clutching

at a man who had pinned him there a man in rough clothes, who turned a dark face toward those who came

In his hand, the darkskinned man held a flashing knife. It was dripping with crimson blood, for the fellow

had stabbed Hubert before the servant had gained an opportunity to shoot him. Seeing Hodges, the assailant

made a move as though intent on flight; then realizing the predicament, leaped suddenly at the advancing

The knife gleamed as the dark hand came upward. Hodges, justifying the faith that Rutherford Casslin held in

his ability, fired pointblank. The assailant was uttering a wild cry as he sprang forward. It turned to a shriek

The darkskinned man rolled to the floor. His features showed in the light as he landed on his back. It was

Startled exclamations came from the guests who were with Hodges. All remembered Rutherford Casslin's

The Hindu was dying. His hands lay loosely at his sides. The knife had fallen a foot away, and the man made

no effort to grasp it. One of the guests seized the weapon. Hodges, whose quick action had saved the

The man at the door had collapsed to the floor. Blood was issuing from his side. His revolver lay beside him.

"The master" Hubert panted as he paused "in the tower. The master look after him. The key here

Hubert's fingers clawed at a pocket in the side of his coat. His effort failed. His body sagged and sank away

from the arm that held him. Hubert, like the Hindu, had received a mortal wound.

Worried guests were crowding about. They looked to Hodges for advice. The servant, thrust in a position of

importance, showed excellent judgment. He managed to calm the excited men about him.

"Someone call for a doctor," he said. "Mr. Casslin is in the tower. We can inform him what has happened.

Hodges stooped over Hubert's body and found the key. One of the guests was trying the steel door. It was

They could hear Mrs. Casslin in the living room, talking excitedly. A few moments later, the woman

appeared in the hallway. She placed her hands to her head in horror as she saw the bodies on the floor; then,

"In the tower, madam," returned Hodges. "The key was in Hubert's pocket. I have it here."

"He is safe, then!" exclaimed Mrs. Casslin. "He does not know what has happened here. This is terrible! Why

"Shall I inform Mr. Casslin what has happened?" questioned Hodges. "Or shall I wait, madam, until he has

"Wait a few minutes, Hodges," decided Mrs. Casslin. "He will be back here any moment. He must be safe;

One of the guests appeared, to announce that he had called Doctor Dubrong's apartment. There had been no

"We must call another physician," she decided. "Yes, we must call another. We must call the police, also "

"I got the apartment house on the phone," informed the guest. "They said that if Doctor Dubrong returned or

called, they would tell him to come here. There was no answer when they rang his apartment. Probably he

Mrs. Casslin was nervously wringing her hands. She looked from one guest to another. She seemed incapable

"What is keeping Rutherford?" she questioned. "He must have put the diamond away by now? Where is he?

AT that moment, another servant appeared at the end of the hallway. The uniformed man stopped short as he

saw the confusion that existed. His face turned pale. He stared at Hubert's body, then looked toward Mrs.

"No," returned Gilkins, his face still ashen. "We we were sitting in the kitchen. The door bell just rang I

"No, madam," returned Gilkins. "There is a man who wishes to speak with Mr. Casslin. He says that he is

from detective headquarters. His name is Mr. Cardona it is important, he says, that he should see Mr.

The servant hurried from the hallway. Mrs. Casslin rested against the wall, pressing her hands to her heart.

All the others had come from the living room, including Bart Melken and Yvonne Lydell. They formed a

Everyone waited in tense silence. Then footsteps sounded, and Gilkins reappeared at the other end of the

hallway. As the servant stopped, another man stepped by him. Detective Joe Cardona appeared to view this

The first object that Cardona noted was the gun which Hodges was still holding. Without a word, the

detective stepped forward and plucked the weapon from the servant's hand. Hodges yielded the revolver

With precision, Cardona opened the gun and noted its contents. He pocketed the weapon; stooped and picked

up the other gun, which was lying beside Hubert's body. He examined that weapon also, and dropped it in

The guest who held the knife moved forward and gave the weapon to Cardona. The detective looked at it, and

placed it on a small, narrow table that stood beside the wall. He bent over the Hindu's body, and saw that the

man was dead. He made an examination of Hubert's prostrate form. Then he looked at the palefaced group

"Both men are dead," he asserted. "What has happened here? Has anyone left this place?"

MRS. CASSLIN was too weak to answer. One of the guests, a middleaged gentleman, stepped forward, and

"Ah!" exclaimed the detective, in a respectful tone. "You are Stephen Gloucester, of the State banking

"Yes," replied the gentleman, with dignity. "I am a guest here this evening. I observed ail that occurred. This

servant" he indicated Hodges "is in no wise culpable. He is to be commended. His companion"

Gloucester pointed to Hubert's body "was slain by the Hindu. This man Hodges was forced to shoot the

"I don't know, sir," interposed Hodges, who had gained his tongue now that blame had been lifted from him.

"Hubert, here, was standing by this door. He was guarding it while Mr. Casslin was above. I heard Hubert cry

for aid. I rushed here from the living room. This is the key to the tower door, sir. It was in Hubert's pocket."

"I doubt that he heard the shot, sir," began Hodges. "This door is thick; there is another door above"

"Rutherford should be here!" blurted Mrs. Casslin suddenly. "He should not have remained in the tower so

Cardona raised his hand for silence. He motioned to all the guests, and lined them along the hallway. He

strode to the living room, saw that no one else was there, and walked back to the steel door. He passed a

"I shall ask you, sir," decided Cardona, "to see that no one leaves this hallway. I am going into the tower. I

shall ask you to accompany me, Mrs. Casslin, and you" he turned to the servant, Hodges "can come along

Cardona opened the steel door with the key that Hodges had given him. The light was on within the tower.

As Hodges and Mrs. Casslin started up the circular stairs, Cardona made sure that no one was under shelter of

the spiral. He followed them rapidly. He reached the top of the stairs just behind the two who had gone ahead.

Cardona pounded upon the door. There was no response. Mrs. Casslin gave a nervous cry.

"Go down to the bottom of the stairs," Cardona ordered Hodges. "Call that other servant, and tell him to bring

Hodges clanked down the steps. He called for Gilkins before he reached the bottom, and relayed the order to

the other man. Hodges returned at Cardona's call. The detective turned to Mrs. Casslin.

"Let me stay here," she pleaded. "I know that something has happened if it has happened, it would be better

Gilkins was coming up the steps. The servant had a large fire ax. Cardona moved Mrs. Casslin and Hodges a

short way down the steps and remained with them while he ordered Gilkins to attack the door.

With husky strokes, the servant demolished the barrier. As a huge piece of wood splintered away from the

long metal hinge that reinforced it, Gilkins uttered a cry of horror, and stepped back against the wall.

Cardona leaped up the steps, revolver in hand. He jammed his shoulder through the opening, and sprang into

the strong room. Swiftly, boldly, he looked about him to see that the three windows were closed. His eyes fell

There lay the body of Rutherford Casslin. A gaping wound showed that the millionaire had been shot in the

back! Sprawled upon the floor, with arms outstretched, Rutherford Casslin exhibited empty hands with

spread fingers that rested almost against the base of the wall, just below the closed door of the safe.

Detective Joe Cardona was dumfounded. This tragedy was stunning, through the very circumstances that

Here, within a tightly locked room, behind slitlike windows braced with crossbars, with a steel door locked

below and the key in the pocket of a trusted servant, Rutherford Casslin had been slain.

Empty hands told the motive of this mysterious murder. There was reason for the death of the millionaire.

Somehow, in this isolated place, a prize had been plucked from a dead man's hand.

AMAZING though events had been at the home of Rutherford Casslin, the time element had been quite short.

The livingroom clock had been chiming nine when Doctor Dubrong had left. That same clock marked

thirtyeight minutes past the hour when Joe Cardona reassembled the guests in the living room, following his

In the space of less than forty minutes, Casslin had exhibited the Bishenpur diamond, Hubert had been slain,

Hodges had killed a murderous Hindu, and Casslin's dead body had been found under circumstances which

The bodies of Hubert and the Hindu still lay where they had fallen. Casslin's body was upstairs in the tower

room. The steel door was closed and locked; the key was in Cardona's pocket. The detective, ever alert, was

standing at the rear door of the living room. From this position, he could see all within the room, and also

Word had been sent to Inspector Timothy Klein. The grizzled police officer was coming hither with

detectives. In the meantime, Cardona, a lone investigator, was analyzing the strange situation that existed.

The guests were seated about the room. Gilkins and Hodges were standing within the doorway. Mrs. Casslin,

alone, seemed on the verge of collapse. She had not seen her husband's body, but she knew that death had

Cardona was in a quandary. He was solicitous for Mrs. Casslin, yet he knew the importance of obtaining

statements and proceeding with an investigation. He spoke to Stephen Gloucester.

"Yes," returned Gloucester. "All except Doctor Lysander Dubrong. He left, however, before Mr. Casslin

"Pardon, sir," said the servant, "I believe I heard the doorbell. Shall I answer it?"

"No, stay here," ordered Cardona. "Would you" he turned again to Gloucester "mind answering the

The dignified gentleman went from the living room. A few minutes later, rapid footsteps sounded. Into the

room strode Doctor Lysander Dubrong, with Stephen Gloucester behind him. The physician went at once to

Dubrong himself spoke to Cardona a moment later. Standing beside the chair where Mrs. Casslin was resting,

"Mr. Gloucester has told me what occurred," he said. "We must take Mrs. Casslin to her room at once."

"There are two maids in the kitchen, sir," volunteered Gilkins. "I do not believe that they know what has

"Call them," ordered Cardona, while Gloucester and Dubrong were aiding Mrs. Casslin from the room. "Tell

Gilkins went to the telephone. Cardona, half in the hallway, kept throwing occasional glances toward the steel

Yvonne Lydell was seated beside Bart Melken. Unconsciously, the girl found her eyes going toward the

window at the front of the room. She suppressed a gasp; Bart's fingers immediately clutched her arm.

For an instant, the girl had fancied that she had caught the gleam of eyes beyond that window. Then the

illusion was dispelled. She regained her calm. She heard Bart whisper for her to remain quiet.

Straining her eyes, Yvonne could see the balcony rail beyond the window. The rail seemed to emerge from a

haze of darkness, as though a blanketing cloud of black had been removed. Yet Yvonne decided that it could

IN this decision, the girl was wrong. There was someone upon the balcony. Eyes had actually viewed the

Earlier, she had actually observed the peering Hindu. This time, she had caught a momentary glimpse of the

A tall shape was moving along the balcony. Like a creature of darkness, The Shadow had arrived from the

void. He had not started for Five Towers as early as had Joe Cardona. Like the detective, The Shadow had

A window opened softly in the room that adjoined the living room. A creature of stealth, the blackgarbed

phantom entered. His footsteps were noiseless; even the swish of his black cloak was not apparent as The

The Shadow went by the side entrance of the living room. No one even glimpsed his gliding shape. He

arrived at the far end of the hallway. There his gleaming eyes saw the very sight which Joe Cardona was so

Hubert's body on the floor; beyond the dead servant, the form of the dead Hindu, whom The Shadow knew

was Tippu. The steel door also came within The Shadow's notice. Then, his cloak blanketing him like a

Doctor Lysander Dubrong and Stephen Gloucester returned into the living room via the side door. They took

chairs, and looked toward Joe Cardona. Neither had noted a gliding shape that had followed them. Beyond

the curtained doorway, The Shadow was looking in upon the quiz that was to come.

"Resting," replied Dubrong suavely. "I gave her an opiate. The maids are in attendance."

"All right," decided Cardona. "I shall ask you, Mr. Gloucester, to repeat the brief statement which you gave

Cardona made notes as Gloucester began. The other persons gave their versions all were corroborations of

what Gloucester said. It was Yvonne Lydell who added the only testimony that was remarkable.

As the girl began to speak, Bart Melken's hand grip tightened on her wrist. Nevertheless, the girl kept on.

"I saw someone on the balcony," stated Yvonne. "Just as Mr. Casslin left to go back to the tower, I happened

Bart Melken's grip again tightened on Yvonne's wrist. The detective did not observe the action. Bart was on

the other side of the girl. Doctor Lysander Dubrong, however, detected the movement. Nor were his eyes the

only ones that made the observation. Peering from the curtain, just beyond the spot where Dubrong was

"I intended to tell Mr. Casslin," announced Yvonne frankly. "However, he had already left the room. I

intended to speak to him when he returned, for he had mentioned that a Hindu in Bombay was anxious to

Cardona stared at the girl. He saw no reason to doubt Yvonne's testimony. It had been voluntary. There was a

naivete in Yvonne's expression that added to her simple beauty. Cardona, as he jotted down the point that

Yvonne had mentioned, felt that he had gained a valuable bit of evidence, one that would be useful later on.

There was no reply. Bart Melken did not speak. When Yvonne made no further comment, the young man was

relieved. He had not wanted Yvonne to mention that she had seen someone outside the window. However,

the girl had omitted the one point that worried Bart the most: the fact that she had spoken to him of the face

WHEN his turn for testimony came, Bart merely stated facts which others had mentioned. He gave his own

reactions to the hubbub in the hallway. When the statement taking was completed, no mention had been made

Nevertheless, Cardona had been seemingly thorough in his questioning; and he had barely finished before

Gilkins again announced that he had heard the doorbell. Stephen Gloucester volunteered to answer the ring.

When he returned. Gloucester was accompanied by Inspector Timothy Klein, a trio of detectives, and a police

Arrangements were quickly made. Two detectives were dispatched to make a thorough search of the ground

surrounding Five Towers. One was left in charge of the living room, with the guests. Klein, Cardona, and the

It was then that Doctor Dubrong advanced and stated that he would like to view the body of Rutherford

Casslin. Inspector Klein stated that he could accompany the group. They began by examining the bodies of

Hubert and the Hindu. Then Joe Cardona unlocked the steel door that led to the tower.

Strange it was that in this house, where death had fallen, a hidden being should be stalking almost within

reach of the investigators. The Shadow had moved into a darkened room upon the arrival of Klein and the

After the two sleuths had been sent out to examine the grounds, he had moved to the far entrance of the

hallway, where the bodies lay. Before Cardona had decided to unlock the steel door, The Shadow had

His phantom presence manifested itself outside the castle. A fleeting patch of blackness against cold, gray

walls. The Shadow circled the huge building, unseen by the detectives who were inspecting the dry ground

The rear of Casslin's castle was almost black in the gloom of night. The tall turret that housed the dead

millionaire's strong room showed as a massive cylinder with ivied walls. At intervals appeared gloomy

rectangles of light, the slitlike windows of the stairway and the three openings in the turret itself. The bars

Within the tower, Joe Cardona was leading the advance up the spiral steps. At each window, the detective

stopped to unfasten the ironbound glass frame. Every crossbar came under his careful inspection.

During the ascent within the tower, another climb was taking place outside. The Shadow, blackened against

the stones of the tower, was scaling the wall like a human fly. He was not trusting to the ivy; that was not

thick enough to support more than twenty pounds of weight. Instead, The Shadow was relying upon flat disks

Soft, squdgy sounds marked The Shadow's upward progress. Those disks were concave circles of rubber that

affixed themselves under pressure. A twist of hand or foot made each disk yield and come free while the

THE SHADOW'S climb was a steady one. When the blackgarbed investigator reached the uppermost

windows of the tower, his peering eyes saw that Cardona and the others had not yet arrived. Casslin's body

still lay alone upon the floor, with arms outstretched toward the wall below the safe.

The Shadow was clinging to the wall like a mammoth bat. His head moved away from the window as the

The detective's first action was to open each one of the three windows, and try the crossbars. In performing

this action, Cardona came within a foot of The Shadow's head. He did not, however, notice the phantom

As Cardona went over to Casslin's body, where the police surgeon and Doctor Dubrong were making their

examination, The Shadow's head appeared at the lowest point of the central window. The frame was still

open; Cardona had left it that way. Words as well as actions were plain to The Shadow.

"The same as those on the stairs," replied Cardona, in a laconic tone. "The frames are nothing anyone could

The Shadow saw Cardona make a gesture with his hands, to indicate a measurement.

"No one could squeeze through a space that wide," declared the detective. "Those bars are just as solid as if

they were part of the wall. That makes a square about six inches each way. This place is like a vault, so far as

"It's gone," assured Cardona, "unless Casslin put it back in the safe. That's locked "

"Are you sure?" interposed Doctor Dubrong, looking up from Casslin's body. "I don't see why Casslin would

Cardona walked over to the safe and tugged at the handle. The door refused to budge.

Cardona complied. The firm twist succeeded. The combination knobs had not been turned. The safe came

The detective stepped to the window. The Shadow's head wavered away from view. Cardona uttered a shrill

With Inspector Klein, Cardona completed the examination of Rutherford Casslin's stronghold. Accompanied

THE room was again empty, save for Casslin's body. The Shadow's right hand appeared upon the central bar

of the window. White fingers emerged from a glove. The Shadow touched the central bar one which

There was no firmness in The Shadow's grip. Cardona's examination had shown that the bar was firm. It was

with fingers only that The Shadow acted. His light touch moved along the bar, which was roughened with

The same fingers moved along each of the other bars. With gleaming eyes, The Shadow stared through the

opened slit, directly at the back of Rutherford Casslin's prone body, a dozen feet away.

Then the descent began. Slowly, steadily, The Shadow moved downward. The ground detectives had gone

within the house. At certain points, a tiny flashlight glimmered, its disk of illumination no larger than a silver

One hand was free; this, perhaps, accounted partly for The Shadow's slow descent. Rubber suction cups

paused in their squdge; occasionally, bits of ivy vine rustled under The Shadow's touch. Once a twig broke

At the bottom of the tower, The Shadow became a thing of night. His flashlight no longer glimmered as his

weirdly blackened shape again circled the house. The only sign of The Shadow's presence was a murmured

The eerie sound faded. Silence lay about Five Towers, the castle of death. The Shadow had again entered the

The Shadow had seen all that others had seen. The Shadow had learned more. From the outside of the tower,

THE clock in the Casslin living room was chiming twelve. This midnight hour found a group of four men

seated in tense conference. Of the guests who had been present while death had struck thrice, only one

This was Stephen Gloucester. The dignified banking official had volunteered to stay. The other guests had

With Gloucester were Inspector Timothy Klein and Detective Joe Cardona. The fourth member of the group

A man of dynamic personality, a powerful driver, who forced his subordinates hard along the trail of crime,

the police commissioner took an active interest in all cases where mystery lay thick. He had been reached by

Joe Cardona, in a careful but monotonous tone, was reading the testimony of all who had been present.

Stephen Gloucester was nodding his accord with every statement. When Cardona completed his reading, he

There was a pause. Cardona arose and paced the floor. His footsteps carried him to the hallway at the rear of

the living room. He swung back, hands in pockets. and faced the police commissioner.

"I have accounted for everyone," he declared. "You heard the statements, commissioner. I doublechecked

them, and they fitted. At the time when Rutherford Casslin left this room to go up to his tower, every guest

"Hubert and Hodges accompanied Casslin to the tower door," explained Cardona. "While Hubert was locking

Another pause. Cardona offered no theory. He was leaving that to Commissioner Weston. The ace detective

had an inferiority complex so far as the commissioner was concerned. He preferred to let Weston speak first,

and then offer suggestions. Whenever Cardona began with a theory, Weston was sure to shoot holes in it.

While the group was silent, a footstep sounded at the side door of the living room. Doctor Lysander Dubrong,

"Mrs. Casslin is resting well," he announced, in a mild tone. "Very well, indeed."

He drew a pipe from his pocket, filled it with tobacco from a pouch, and applied a match. The heavy aroma

of perique became apparent as the physician puffed the strong mixture. Dubrong sat down and looked from

COMMISSIONER WESTON, puzzled by the problem which confronted him, swung to the physician and

"At the time of the murder?" returned the physician. "No. I left here shortly after nine o'clock. I had started

home, but before I reached Manhattan, I called my apartment. They told me that I was wanted back here. I

made good time on the return ride. I called my apartment house from close by the bridge, so I had very little

A slight flicker of keen interest showed on Cardona's swarthy face. The detective made no comment,

however. He had not obtained this statement from Doctor Dubrong. The physician's exactitude of speaking

"It was after your departure, then," observed Weston, "that a few of the guests accompanied Casslin when he

"I presume so," smiled Dubrong. "Not having been here, commissioner, I am unable to state what happened."

"When he went up to get the diamond?" asked the detective. "Five, I think" Cardona paused to refer to his

"And the last time," reflected Weston, "Casslin went up alone. Hmmm. What puzzles me is this. The

Hindu was after that diamond. He didn't have it on his person, however. He was armed only with a knife."

"I have seen a few Hindus in New York," asserted the physician. "Perhaps you have heard of my East Side

Clinic, where I give free medical attention to characters whom others might regard as hopeless. Hindus have

"I do not believe so. I have, however, noticed this fact regarding Hindus who live in New York. Being far

from their native land, and few in number, they invariably travel in pairs. Therefore, I suppose that on an

enterprise so important as the theft of a valuable diamond, two would work together."

"Remarkable!" exclaimed the commissioner. "What is your opinion on this point, Cardona?"

"I have none, commissioner," admitted the detective. "The Hindus that I have seen, keep away from crime. If

"They are entirely different from the Chinese," interposed Doctor Dubrong, in an authoritative tone. "As I

have just mentioned, they travel in pairs. Every time a Hindu has come to my clinic, he has been

"This is a characteristic of the Hindu race particularly among those who are murderously inclined. I have

studied the history of the Thugs of India. With them, murder was a religion; and there were always two or

"But in this case," began the commissioner, "there could not well have been two. Unless one managed to

"That is not my theory at all," returned Dubrong. The physician puffed furiously at his pipe; then laid it on a

table, while he leaned forward to impress his point. "I believe there were two but that only one entered the

tower. How he passed Hubert is only a matter of conjecture. But let us consider it as follows.

"Two Hindus. One was doubly armed, with revolver as well as knife. Another was peering through the

window of this room. Miss Lydell, I understand, caught a glimpse of his face. The first Hindu was

somewhere in the house. He managed to follow Casslin into the tower. The other dropped from the balcony

"The Hindu who slipped by Hubert shot Casslin in the tower room. He took the box that contained the

diamond. He tossed it, and his revolver also, through one of the slitted windows, to his companion below."

"You mean why did he rid himself of the revolver as well as the diamond?" Dubrong smiled. "Because the

revolver was the instrument of murder. He did not want to have it on his person. Moreover, he knew that it

"Then came the attempt at escape," proceeded Dubrong. "The Hindu came down the stairs. He knocked at the

door. Hubert opened it. The Hindu leaped upon him, with the knife. He killed Hubert, but Hodges arrived in

"Thus, Mr. Commissioner, we have the answer. Hindus were seeking the Bishenpur diamond. Hindus were

unable to buy it from Rutherford Casslin. Hindus plotted, and Hindus gained the diamond."

As Dubrong arose and picked up his pipe, Commissioner Weston arose also. He extended his hand in

"I congratulate you, doctor," assured the commissioner. "Your theory is an excellent one. We shall send out a

flyer to apprehend all Hindus in New York. Perhaps we shall be able to capture the man who has the

Doctor Dubrong bowed. His thin lips wore a faint smile. Joe Cardona alone detected the expression. Dubrong

prepared to leave. Cardona watched him. After the physician had departed, the ace detective settled back into

COMMISSIONER WESTON seemed elated. He began to expound upon Dubrong's theory. Klein and

Gloucester received his words with nods. Cardona, alone, remained obdurate. The detective was referring to

"Well, Cardona," said Weston suddenly, "it looks as though we are on a real trail. Doctor Dubrong has

Cardona smiled grimly. This was the chance he had been awaiting. His own theory, vague, a few minutes

ago, had become strengthened. Placing his notes in his pocket, the detective arose and strode across the room.

"This," he affirmed, "is where Miss Lydell saw the face. I have examined this balcony, commissioner. It

opens into an adjoining room. I believe, to begin with, that the Hindu who was looking in from here was the

"Not at all," asserted Cardona briskly, "when we follow a theory that only one Hindu was concerned in the

As Cardona strode past the entrance at the side of the living room, he failed to notice a pair of gleaming eyes

that watched his progress. The Shadow, stationed in the adjacent gloom, was still upon the scene.

As Cardona walked through the door at the rear of the living room, Weston, Klein, and Gloucester followed

with one accord. Hardly had they gone, before a motion occurred at the side door. A shaft of darkness seemed

The Shadow became visible. Clad in his cloak of black, his face concealed by the brim of his slouch hat, the

tall master of mystery advanced across the room until he reached the doorway through which the others had

There, with steady gaze, he peered toward the group in the hallway. Joe Cardona and the others were standing

beside the steel door that formed the entrance to the tower. Cardona's words were plain as he pointed out

"Hubert admitted Casslin to the tower," he explained. "Then Hubert was struck down. Hodges arrived in time

"No," objected Cardona. "Doctor Dubrong omitted a very important point. I have notations here. Mr.

Gloucester can support them. Considering every element involved the face at the window; the locked door,

"That the Hindu did not come from the tower. He was trying to enter the tower, in pursuit of Rutherford

Cardona's voice rang with triumph. Stephen Gloucester nodded in accordance. The police commissioner

"There were two men here," he asserted. "Hubert and Hodges. Both were trusted servants. Hubert fought the

Hindu and died. Hodges killed the Hindu. The honesty of both servants cannot be questioned.

"How could the Hindu have followed Casslin? Remember, Hodges was here when Hubert closed the door.

No! The Hindu was there" Cardona was pointing down the hallway "and as soon as Hodges walked

The explanation came like a thunderbolt. Joe Cardona had scored a triumph. He could see Commissioner

"The Hindu wanted the key." Dramatically, Cardona was gesturing to depict the struggle at the door. "That is

why he attacked. He stabbed Hubert as they grappled. One more point, commissioner. Hubert had closed the

door. He was naturally facing it. That gave the Hindu the chance to spring at him."

IN simple, emphatic words, Joe Cardona had completely shattered the theory advanced by Doctor Dubrong.

There was, however, one point which the detective had not mentioned. Weston was quick to seize upon it.

"Then who," demanded the commissioner, "was the man that killed Rutherford Casslin?"

"Beforehand," smiled Joe Cardona. "Some guests went upstairs with Casslin. No one remembers just how

many were in the crowd. Let us suppose that one person managed to remain within the tower, to await

"He must have managed to escape, gun, diamond, and all. He couldn't have gone out through one of the

windows in the tower; he must have managed to come through this door. But the point is this, commissioner.

The Hindu was never in the tower. Casslin was killed in the tower. So someone else must have been in the

Weston considered. He turned and strolled slowly back toward the living room, the others pacing with him.

Within the living room, The Shadow suddenly moved away with remarkable swiftness. He had glided

"Cardona," said the commissioner solemnly, "I accept your theory. There is a murderer at large. The Hindu

still may have been his accomplice; or possibly the Hindu was working on his own. However, the murderer

"I am counting upon you to learn his identity. We must not form opinions too hastily, but it is probable that

he is a man of high intelligence, one who could pass himself unobtrusively in good company. Get him,

This was Weston's final statement. The commissioner left, accompanied by Stephen Gloucester, whose car

"Joe," said the inspector warmly, "you put it across great tonight. You're on the right track. The only question

Cardona wheeled as he was crossing the living room. He spoke emphatically as he tuned to Klein.

"I'll tell you the guy I'm after," he asserted bluntly. "I'm after The Jackdaw!"

"Of course not. I'll bring that up later. But The Jackdaw pulled this job tonight, and The Jackdaw is the guy

I'm going to get. He's keen enough to cover up his tracks. I'm good enough to uncover them."

From his pocket, Joe Cardona pulled a list of the persons who had been present here when Rutherford Casslin

had died. One by one, he crossed off the names. The last on the list was that of Bart Melken. Cardona crossed

Then, while Klein's back was turned, Cardona wrote another name at the bottom of the column. It was the

name of one who had not been here when the confusion had begun; yet one whose connection with affairs of

Cardona was standing beside the curtain when he wrote the name. Inspector Klein did not see the action. Yet

there were eyes that did see; eyes that peered from above Cardona's shoulder; eyes that the detective never

JOE CARDONA thrust the list into his pocket. He stepped forward to join Inspector Klein. Together, they

Again, The Shadow stepped from the gloom. His tall form basked momentarily in the light of the living

room. From hidden lips, lost in the folds of the cloak collar, came a soft, sinister laugh that was no more than

The Shadow had heard all. He had listened to Doctor Dubrong's theory a statement, which, if accepted,

would have diverted all suspicion from any persons other than Hindus. He had heard Joe Cardona's theory

Joe Cardona had learned the part that the Hindu had played. He knew that someone The Jackdaw had

accomplished the murder of Rutherford Casslin, and had departed with the Bishenpur diamond.

Joe Cardona suspected Doctor Lysander Dubrong. He had reason. The physician's words could well have

Was Doctor Dubrong The Jackdaw? Or was that mysterious crook some other person who had kept

The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was confronted with these questions. But The Shadow had gained advantages

He The Shadow knew that one man here tonight had been working for The Jackdaw. He knew that Bart

Melken had played a minor part in crime. Moreover, The Shadow had seen the tower room from the outside

The soft laugh whispered once again. It showed a glimmering of facts, an inkling of how Rutherford Casslin

could have been slain in his tower room without the murderer being caught in his escape. It told, moreover,

The Shadow, like Joe Cardona, was on the trail of mysterious crime. The Shadow, master of the darkness,

had found an insidious opponent worthy of his steel. From now on, The Shadow's quest would be to find The

Jackdaw, that master crook whose subtle ways were the mark of the supercriminal.

The Shadow's laugh faded as the tall form in black merged with the gloom beyond the door of Rutherford

EARLY the next evening, a young man sauntered forth from one of New York's uptown hotels. He hailed a

taxicab and entered it. As the vehicle pulled away, a tall figure suddenly emerged from the darkened front of

the building. A mysterious passenger stepped into another cab that was parked close by.

The taximan looked about in amazement. He had not heard anyone entering his cab. For a moment, he

hesitated; then he spied a pair of burning eyes peering at him from the darkness of the vehicle. A tendollar

The driver started his cab, and nodded as he took quiet instructions for every turn. He received no definite

information that he was following the cab ahead; the weird passengers merely required that he should obey.

Twenty minutes later, the lead cab pulled up in a decrepit district of the East Side. The passenger in the rear

cab gave a signal to stop. The driver obeyed. He waited, expecting further word. It did not come.

When the driver, gaining nerve, peered into the back of the cab, he found it empty. The burning eyes were

The young man who had come from the hotel was walking rather rapidly along a side street not far from the

spot where he had left his cab. His eyes were straight ahead; but had he glanced to the rear, he would not

have seen the flitting form that followed him. A streak of blackness, changing shape as it glided along the

The young man reached an alleyway, and stopped beneath a street lamp. His features came in view.

This visitor to a questionable neighborhood was none other than Bart Melken. The young man who had

appeared as a fashion plate at Rutherford Casslin's home had chosen a much less desirable district for

Melken entered the alley. Hardly had he disappeared before a blackened streak appeared beneath the glow

that permeated the sidewalk. That patch of darkness was the visible sign of an invisible being. The Shadow

BART MELKEN had been crossed from Joe Cardona's list. The ace detective had not held a single guest for

But The Shadow had seen Bart Melken's actions when the young man had urged Yvonne Lydell not to say

Until now, The Shadow had let Joe Cardona lead the way. That period was ended. The Shadow was working

on his own. He was trusting in no subordinate tonight. He knew the worriment that was festering within Bart

Melken's mind. Since last night, he had been waiting some step on the young man's part.

In the alleyway, Melken paused before an obscure door. It was the side entrance to what had once been an old

hotel, but which was now an apartment building, of a sort. Bart Melken pressed an obscure bell. The door

The Shadow did not follow. From the other side of the alleyway, he had spotted lights on the third floor. At

the rear of the dilapidated building was an oldfashioned fire escape with hanging ladder that was up. A long

stick could have reached that pivoted ladder. The Shadow, however, did not resort to so simple a measure.

Pressed against the surface of the wall, he moved his long, supple body upward. The suction cups were not

needed for this climb; The Shadow made the ascent by digging into the cracked spaces between the

The first manifestation of The Shadow as an actual form occurred when his tall figure appeared in the dim

light of a thirdfloor hall. A closing door betokened the fact that Bart Melken had entered an apartment. The

After a moment's pause, The Shadow moved to the next door. This place had obviously been a hotel once;

changed to an apartment, each room of the suite had its own opening on the hallway. A blackened instrument

of steel appeared in The Shadow's gloved hand. Keen eyes directed the probing tool. The door unlocked with

The adjoining door was open. The sound of voices came from that direction. The Shadow glided to the spot;

ensconced in darkness, he could see, as well as hear, what happened in the other room.

BART MELKEN was sitting in an easychair. Opposite him was another man. Their faces formed a contrast.

Bart Melken, handsome of physiognomy, but worried in expression, formed an antithesis of the man before

him. The other was a toughfaced, sullen fellow, whose ugly countenance registered nothing but

The sitting room which the two occupied was luxuriously furnished; an odd arrangement in this

neighborhood where poverty seemed rampant. The man with the ugly face was one whose identity was well

known in the underworld. He was "Bing" Claver, a gang gorilla who had gone into retirement.

Unwanted by the police, unconnected with any racket, Bing Claver, well supplied with cash that he had

saved, was the last man whom anyone would regard as a present menace to the law.

Such a character might well have been pleased to receive a visitor of Bart Melken's appearance. This was not

the case, however. Bing Claver's growls showed that the hardboiled gorilla was quite annoyed because Bart

"What's the idea?" he was questioning. "There's no use in you coming down here, Melken. You didn't get no

"I'm worried, Claver," protested the young man, in a troubled tone. "I I've got to get out of it. That's all. I'm

"Telling me?" Bing Claver snorted. "Tell The Jackdaw. That's who you'd better tell."

"I'd tell him," returned Melken nervously, "if I could find him. I've got to see The Jackdaw. That's why I've

"The Jackdaw?" Bing Claver was scoffing. "Say do you think I know who he is? Find The Jackdaw! Say

"Pipe down! Guys that go yellow get lead poisoning. I'm one of the guys that doses out the lead pills, too."

"Easy!" Bing Claver's growl was steady. "The bulls ain't after you, Melken. What've you got to worry about?"

Bart Melken was a picture of dejection. He licked his lips and stared pleadingly at his ugly tormentor. At last

"Here's the trouble, Bing," he stated. "I had to work for The Jackdaw. I was hard up after the gambling houses

swindled me. I stole some bonds; how The Jackdaw learned it is more than I know. You were the man who

got hold of me, and told me that I would have to work for The Jackdaw, or be exposed.

"I thought I could go through with it. All I had to do was play a minor part; work on the inside at the homes

of wealthy friends. There were times in between when I thought those jobs had ended. But always there were

new instructions from The Jackdaw; more jobs to do. I stood it until last night.

"I didn't care if Rutherford Casslin lost his diamond. He could afford it. But when murder crept in, I lost my

nerve. I didn't think, when I gave those signals with my cigarette lighter, that The Jackdaw intended to kill

"Yeah?" There was no sympathy in Bing's growl. "Well, you might have expected some guy would get the

"I told you I don't know," retorted Bing. "I get word from him like you do over the telephone. He needs me

once in a while, too. I'm telling you, Melken, if you go yellow, you'll get yours. If you expect to marry that

The reference to Yvonne Lydell brought a troubled look to Bart Melken's face. The young society man knew

"I'll I'll try to go through with it," stammered Melken. "But I'm telling you, Bing if you have a chance to

tell it to The Jackdaw that I'm likely to lose my nerve on the next job. This Casslin affair was something for

Bing Claver snorted contemptuously. He looked at Bart Melken to make sure that the young man had meant

"All right," growled the gang leader. "I'll put The Jackdaw wise when I hear from him. It won't be so hot for

you, though, if you try to slide out of your job. I guess you're getting worried on account of the girl."

"I don't think she will say anything. Her father Garforth Lydell is in Florida at present. He is the only one

Bart Melken bobbed in startled fashion as he heard a bell ring. Bing Claver laughed at this sign of nerves. He

"Just Limps Silvey," answered Bing. Claver. "He's harmless. A guy that's been hanging around here. Tells me

BING opened the door to the hall. A few moments later, dragging footsteps were heard. A pitiful figure

A man with a twisted form, frail of build, and faltering of step, hobbled into the room with the aid of a cane.

He turned a brownish, leering face toward Bing Claver; then looked with sharp eyes at Bart Melken.

"Just a friend of mine," explained Bing. "That's all, Limps. A guy I've known for a while. Sit down."

"Nah," rejoined the cripple. "Tings are quiet out on de street, Bing. Some of de guys are talkin' about dat

"Don't mind this guy," returned Bing, with a nudge toward Bart Melken. "Tell me what do you know about

"It ain't nothin' that I know, Bing. It's what I've figured. Dere's only one guy smart enough to get away wid

A smart grin spread over Limps Silvey's dirty face. Bing Claver smiled slightly.

The cripple arose from his chair and shuffled from the room. Bing Claver looked at Bart Melken.

"This guy Limps don't know much," he said in an undertone. "Sometimes I think, though, that he figures I

The gang leader paused to make a new study of Bart Melken's anxious face. Then, in a gruff manner, he arose

"Keep away from here after this," he ordered. "You got your job; I got mine. See? Just because I hooked you

up with The Jackdaw don't mean nothing. I don't know who the guy is. He pays me for what I do like he

paid you. But I'll tell you this" Bing's voice was harsh "and you can take it or leave it. Any guy that

crosses The Jackdaw don't live long. When you think about this Casslin bird, think about yourself. Maybe

Bart Melken nodded. He recognized the wisdom of the gang leader's words. He detested this exgorilla; he

had come here only in hope of reaching the unknown master whom both he and Bing Claver served.

Realizing, now, that he could learn nothing from the other minion, Bart Melken arose and walked from the

AS soon as his visitor was gone, Bing Claver strode back across the wellfurnished room to the door beyond

which The Shadow had been standing. He was too late, however, to spy that sinister figure which had

As though foreseeing Bing Claver's move, The Shadow had chosen a new and quick method of departure. His

fingers had raised the half opened sash of the window; his figure had swung clear of the sill. Silently, The

He was not departing directly downward; instead, he had shifted to the side. Hence Bing Claver, peering into

darkness, did not see his mysteriously descending form. Bing was watching for a sign of Bart Melken. It

came. A slight flicker of light denoted the opening and the closing of the door below. Bing could hear

Bart Melken, however, was not alone as he strode from that darkened area. Behind him, unseen in the gloom,

stalked the figure of The Shadow. As Bart reached the entrance of the alleyway, the tall figure lingered. Keen

eyes peered through darkness, as though watching for the appearance of another person.

A full minute elapsed. Melken had turned the nearest corner. Then, from the darkness across the street, came

a slinking human form. Soft feet took up a shuffling gait. Limps Silvey had been waiting to make sure that

The Shadow followed. The shuffler was moving at a rapid pace. Evidently he had capped his cane with a

rubber tip, for it made no sound as he tapped it against the sidewalk. Limps was not on Melken's trail; he had

remained only to assure himself of the young man's departure from the neighborhood.

Indeed, Limps moved so swiftly that his shifty form seemed to elude detection. The Shadow's trailing was a

marvelous achievement. Through streets and alleys, he kept on the track of Limps Silvey, until the course

ended abruptly in a culdesac where walls were on three sides. There were doorways here; none showed a

trace of Limps Silvey's entrance. The frail hobbler had made a rapid dive into some hideout.

The Shadow glided from the darkened blind alley. His laugh whispered softly as he reached the street. He

had, at least, learned the exact neighborhood where Limps belonged, and the sights that he marked along the

street outside the blind alley seemed to give The Shadow an inkling of the shuffler's whereabouts.

WHEN The Shadow again appeared, he was back at the improvised apartment house where Bing Claver

lived. This time he made his progress upward from the darkness of the alley; the rubber cups squdged as his

There was a light in the room where The Shadow had been before. A telephone bell was ringing. The Shadow

could hear Bing Claver's low growl. Peering from beyond the window, the master investigator saw the gang

"Yeah..." Bing's voice was emphatic. "He came here... Like I thought he would... Sure, he's yellow... You're

going to use him just the same?... I get you... All right... I'll be ready for the job when you want me..."

The receiver clicked Bing turned away from the telephone. He did not see the eyes of The Shadow. Those

burning optics had disappeared. Once more, the mysterious phantom of darkness was descending into the

Later, a shuddering burst of chilling laughter occurred in the darkness of a deserted street. It died as quickly

as it had come, but its eerie echoes seemed to cling to darkened walls. A policeman on the street stopped

short as he caught the reverberation. He turned and stared to seek the author of the uncanny mockery. He saw

That was the laugh of The Shadow. Departing from his mission to the bad lands, it was the weird

investigator's challenge to the hordes of evil. Tonight, The Shadow had scored a point in the battle which he

He had seen the minions of The Jackdaw. Through them, The Shadow would gain the clew to the murderer

himself. He had heard Bing Claver receiving instructions from the chief; had heard the gang leader report the

THE SHADOW, in his trailing of Bart Melken, had followed a lead which he had gained at Rutherford

Casslin's home. He had picked up a definite angle of the case which Detective Joe Cardona had failed to

Yet Cardona's negligence was excusable. The sleuth had found a track of his own, and was determined to

follow it with precision. Emphatically, Joe Cardona felt that through Doctor Lysander Dubrong, some answer

Casslin had died on a Monday night. The Shadow had trailed Bart Melken on Tuesday evening. Wednesday

afternoon found Joe Cardona ready for action. In his office at headquarters, the ace detective was considering

The Jackdaw had returned. Of that, Joe Cardona was convinced. Despite his natural egotism, Cardona was

not blind to his failures. He was positive that there had been an important prelude to the murder of Rutherford

Had either of those two been living now, Cardona would have been able to find a direct lead to The Jackdaw.

But with Scoffy and Bennie dead, the detective had a more difficult task. Pondering, Cardona was forced to

admit that he had played his cards wrong when he had made that visit to Scoffy's hideout. Joe realized that

The Jackdaw was in back of the trouble. He had eyes in the underworld. Cardona must avoid them. He had

failed to escape recognition by night; he knew that he would certainly be spotted by day. Yet the mission

Smiling grimly, Cardona opened a desk drawer and drew out a package. It was a large bundle; one that

completely filled the drawer. Donning his hat and coat, Cardona took the package with him and left the

office. Outside of headquarters, he hailed a taxicab and rode for some twenty blocks.

He reached an old house, entered the front door, and ascended to the third floor. In a little room at the rear, he

opened the package and drew out an old jacket, a pair of baggy trousers, and a mass of grayish hair, together

Within a few minutes, Cardona had donned these garments. He looked at his reflection in a mirror, and

uttered a chuckle. To all intents, Joe Cardona had become a decrepit old man with gray hair and gray beard

It was seldom that Cardona resorted to this disguise. He kept the articles at headquarters so that he could don

them if emergency demanded such action. To make doubly sure today, he had come to this secluded room,

This room was, in a sense, a hideout, a place to which Cardona came on rare occasions when he wanted to

remain unnoticed in Manhattan. The room was serving him well at present, for here he had plenty of

Weather was chilly. Cardona needed an overcoat. He brought one from the closet. It was an old, frayed coat

that Cardona had outworn during the previous winter. It was all that the detective needed to complete the part

Thus, instead of Detective Joe Cardona, a heavy but stoopshouldered old man came from the obscure house.

This oddlooking individual made his way to an elevated station, rode for some distance, and finally alighted

in a tawdry district. Joe Cardona was again invading the territory where he had gone to see Scoffy, the stool

SHAMBLING beneath the superstructure of the "L," Cardona crossed the thoroughfare and turned into a side

street. The buildings here were mournful. One, alone, showed signs of rehabilitation. Above it hung a sign:

Cardona, peering along the street, saw another man coming from the opposite direction. A frail, twisted

figure that hobbled with the aid of a cane, the approaching individual attracted Cardona's immediate interest.

This was Limps Silvey. Cardona did not know the man's identity, but he stared suspiciously at Silvey's

brownish, evil face, as they met outside the entrance to the clinic. Limps was a few steps ahead. Cardona let

Inside the door, Cardona found a large waiting room. Sprawled on chairs about the place were men and

Sullen, dejected bums; cripples more hopeless than Limps; women who stared solemnly at the bare walls

Joe Cardona had heard of this clinic. Doctor Dubrong had gained high credit through its institution. Three

days every week sometimes at more frequent intervals the eminent physician devoted his time to the

People had spoken of the work as a noble, philanthropic enterprise. Joe Cardona had considered it in this light

until two nights ago. Then, his sudden suspicions of Doctor Dubrong had caused him to gain doubts.

A middleaged woman was seated at a table in the corner. She was evidently Dubrong's secretary. She saw

Joe Cardona as he slid into a chair, and beckoned to him. Carefully feigning his part as an old man, the

"You will have to await your turn," she said. "Some of these people have appointments from two days ago.

Cardona nodded dully and resumed his seat. A moment later, the door opened, and another East Sider

entered. This was a rheumatic blind man, his body almost doubled. He wore black glasses, and he leaned

heavily on a weatherbeaten cane. He seemed to sense where he should go, for he tapped his way to the

corner, and mumbled a name to the secretary. He was told to take a chair, which he managed to find after

A clock struck eleven. The secretary arose and went to the front door. She latched it, so that no new patients

could enter. Then, referring to her list, she singled out Limps Silvey. The cripple, evidently one who had an

appointment from Monday, arose and hobbled to a door which the woman opened. Cardona caught a glimpse

of a gloomy anteroom with a door beyond. Then the opening closed behind Limps Silvey.

Cardona heard a voice beside him. One patient was talking to another. The words were informative.

"Dat was Limps Silvey," the speaker growled. "Foist on de list. Wisht I was foist. Gets my goat sittin' around

Cardona remembered the name. Limps Silvey. Probably the cripple was a regular patient at Doctor Dubrong's

clinic. There was something about Limps Silvey's shrewd stare that Cardona had not liked.

THE first patient had been ushered in at the stroke of eleven. Ten minutes later, a buzzer sounded. Evidently

Limps had been sent out through another door, for the woman secretary picked another patient from the list.

Thus proceeded the affairs of the East Side Clinic. Patient after patient was ushered through the little

anteroom to see Doctor Lysander Dubrong. At last only Joe Cardona and the blind man remained. While they

"I am sorry," said the secretary. "The clinic hours are ended. You two will be the first appointments on

Friday. That is, unless Doctor Dubrong is willing to remain a while longer a practice which he seldom

At that moment, the buzzer sounded twice. With a gesture that indicated the patients should remain, the

"Doctor Dubrong will see one of you," she announced. "It is your turn, Mr. Gaston."

Joe Cardona arose and moved toward the anteroom. He entered, and the door closed behind him. The blind

"I am sorry," she said, "you will have to return on Friday. You must leave now."

"All right, lady," he said. "I can come back Friday. Never mind the door; I can open it. I find my way very

As he spoke, the blind man edged toward the door. Seeing that he had found the knob, the secretary turned

and went toward her desk. There was a door in the corner just beyond the desk. The woman opened it and

stepped into a small closet to obtain her hat and coat. She heard the outer door open and bang shut. She

In this surmise, the secretary was wrong. The moment that she had turned, the blind man had gazed after her.

He had opened the door, and let it shut at just the psychological moment. In fact, while the door was

Across the waiting room, with long, noiseless stride, he had reached the door to the anteroom. There, his

ways had been those of stealth. Silently, he had gained that gloomy entrance to Doctor Dubrong's

He stood within a widened chamber that was lighted by a single bulb in the ceiling. Stretching his form to an

amazing height, he thrust a longfingered hand toward the incandescent. The light went out as he twisted it.

Simultaneously, the blind man slid his large, gogglelike black glasses to his forehead. His eyes, previously

hidden, seemed to blaze in the darkness. Edging toward the inner door, this remarkable intruder softly turned

the knob. He opened the door the fraction of an inch. Peering through the space, he could see the interior of

Doctor Lysander Dubrong was seated at a desk. Opposite him was the bearded old man who had entered as

the final patient. Doctor Dubrong was speaking; the bearded patient was listening attentively.

Neither man sensed the presence of a watching eye. The pretended blind man in the anteroom was peering

Joe Cardona was not the only surreptitious visitor to Doctor Dubrong's East Side Clinic. The detective, as

The fake blind man who had gained secret access to the anteroom was also in disguise. He was The Shadow.

JOE CARDONA was sitting away from the light. In this procedure, the detective was acting with method. He

was confident that he looked the part that he was playing; that Doctor Dubrong could suspect nothing if he

The physician had asked Cardona's name. He was writing down the one which Cardona gave him: Michael

Gaston. Meanwhile, the detective was noting the setup of the consultation room. It looked like a

wellequipped office. Three small, but strongly locked lockers formed a rather odd feature, inasmuch as they

were firmly fixed to the corner in which they were located. Cardona, however, gave them no more than a

Dubrong's brusque question made Joe Cardona immediately alert. The detective had an answer.

"Too sick. My brother Howard. He is in bed; he cannot move his arms. I wanted a doctor to come and see

"This does not come within the range of my clinic," declared Doctor Dubrong. "I can recommend a

physician; in fact, I can arrange for one to visit your brother, if that would be satisfactory."

"Tell me what doctor to see," urged Cardona. "I will go to see him. My brother Howard is very sick."

"Obviously," remarked Dubrong, staring hard at Cardona, "a paralytic patient could not well come to this

clinic. I try to take care of all deserving patients. Sometimes I am able to give advice which, if followed, will

"I mean that his case can be handled to perfect satisfaction if you will merely follow the advice that I shall

Joe Cardona was puzzled. He had expected Dubrong to recommend a visiting physician for the mythical

brother; this odd statement that indicated an immediate cure for paralysis was something that the detective

Doctor Dubrong had risen from his chair. He was pacing back and forth on the other side of the desk. His

hands were behind his back. His eyes wore a distant gaze; his lips a thin, suave smile.

"The trouble in this case," decided Doctor Dubrong, "is a very peculiar one. I can define it in a single word."

Cardona was staring as the physician gazed in his direction. Dubrong's smile persisted. His eyes were

"Whiskers," he repeated. "They are very uncomfortable, particularly to those who are unaccustomed to

wearing them. More than that, they can be responsible for strange mental delusions. They can make a normal

man imagine that he has a paralytic brother. Do you agree with me, Mr. Cardona?"

THE end of the statement came so suavely that Joe Cardona was caught almost unaware of it. His own name,

as uttered by Dubrong, seemed to reecho in his mind. While the detective sat stolidly in his chair, Dubrong

"You came here for a consultation," he declared. "I made a special effort to give you one. I would prefer,

however, that we conduct our talk face to face. Unless, Cardona, you would prefer that I also put on some

Realizing that he was discovered, Cardona's first impulse was to bluff it through. Then he realized that such a

plan would be folly. Dubrong had unquestionably recognized his visitor's true identity. Sullenly, Joe Cardona

"That is better," commented Dubrong, resuming his chair. "Now, Cardona, we are in a position to discuss the

There was a tinge of sarcasm in the physician's voice. Before Cardona could make a response, Dubrong

"I make a study of human beings," declared Dubrong. "Many types come into this consulting room. I have

been approached by thieves, by murderers, by gangsters; but never before by a disguised detective.

"A man possessed of less penetration than myself might well be annoyed by such a visit. We met two nights

ago, upon a scene where murder had fallen. At that time, I provided you with an excellent theory regarding

the death of Rutherford Casslin. I notice that the newspapers have emphasized the murderous qualities of the

"To have you come here now would indicate doubt on your part at least it would indicate such to a

suspiciousminded person. But to me, Cardona, the truth is apparent. Realizing that I must have been

observant in my clinic, you chose it as a spot to make some observations of your own.

"I quite admire your friendliness in not informing me that you intended to make this visit. It shows

consideration on your part. You thought, probably, that I might not like to have you here. On the contrary,

you are quite welcome. If that beard is not troublesome to you, I would suggest that you wear it and come

here regularly. If you are interested in underworld types, you will find a parade of them in my waiting room,

and I doubt that any will be keen enough to penetrate your really excellent disguise.

"Indeed, it nearly baffled me. As you sat there, however, I noticed it and realized who you must be. I saw that

you intended to remove the beard and reveal yourself, although you were hesitating for fear I might

misunderstand your motive in coming here. That is why I suggested, myself, that you should unmask."

Joe Cardona clenched his fists. He would have liked to throttle this suave man who talked in such artful,

purring tones of veiled sarcasm. Not content with merely unmasking Cardona, Dubrong had also saved the

detective the trouble of making an excuse. Dubrong was gloating over his ability at detecting Cardona's ruse.

CARDONA felt his partially formed suspicions crystallizing into a definite opinion. He realized that he was

"Well," he growled, "I thought maybe one of those Hindu mugs might be coming in here. I was a little

worried about you, doctor. That was all. Guess I shouldn't have been. You probably look out for yourself

"Of course," smiled the physician. He opened a desk drawer and brought out a stubnosed revolver. "I always

"No," returned Cardona. "I figured you might carry a gun, doctor. Thought I'd better make sure, though, that

things were all right. I didn't like to come brashing in here just out of a clear sky. Maybe some of your

"Another token of your consideration," commended Dubrong, with a wan smile. "Well, Cardona, if there is

any way in which I can be of service to you, be sure and advise me. How are you progressing with the

"No results yet," said Cardona. "We found out that the dead Hindu is named Tippu, but we haven't located

"I shall bear that name in mind," returned Dubrong sagely. "There are many persons in the underworld who

may make remarks to a physician that they would not make to a detective. Well" Dubrong was glancing at

his watch "I must be leaving. I would suggest that you resume your effective disguise, and allow me to

With a sour smile, Cardona picked up his false beard and donned it, together with wig and hat. Doctor

Dubrong nodded approvingly, but still maintained his sophisticated smile. The physician arose and

accompanied the detective to a doorway at the rear of the office. They went through a little entry, and came to

another door, through which Cardona passed alone. Doctor Dubrong locked the door after the detective had

Returning to his office, the physician locked the door of the entry, and began to chuckle. He seemed highly

pleased with his unmasking of Joe Cardona. He did not reckon, however, that he, in turn, was unmasking

himself. The peering eyes of The Shadow had never moved from beyond the anteroom door.

Seated at his desk, the physician remained a while in thought. His face showed peculiar changes; yet it was

impossible to gain an exact trail of his thoughts through the flickering expressions. At last, under sudden

The Shadow edged into the deep side of the little room. When Doctor Dubrong opened the door from the

consulting room, a shaft of light came through, but it did not reveal the silent, motionless form that was

Even in his guise of a pretended blind man, The Shadow had donned his habitual color: black. Somber as

ever, he had taken the guise of darkness as easily as a chameleon gains the color of its surroundings.

Moreover, Dubrong noticed something which engaged his entire attention. He saw that the light was out. He

chuckled as he stared toward the ceiling, and mechanically opened the door beyond. He thought that this had

simply been a ruse on Cardona's part, while the detective was in the entry. Dubrong clicked the wall switch.

The light did not come on. Finding that he could not quite reach the extinguished bulb, the physician

The Shadow moved swiftly then. He gained the consulting room, and looked about him. He could hear

Dubrong returning with a chair, to tighten the light. The Shadow noted the lockers in the corner. He moved in

Crouched in the corner, he softly tried each locker. Two were open; the third was closed. Its lock was strong

and of the most modern pattern. The light, flicking from the anteroom, was a signal that Doctor Dubrong had

readjusted the turnedout bulb. The Shadow arose and crossed the consulting room. He could hear the

THERE were two doors at the back of the consulting room. Cardona had gone through the one at left. The

Shadow slipped to the one at the right. It opened into a large closet, where coats were hanging. The Shadow

A few minutes later, Doctor Dubrong arrived. The physician took one of the coats, lifted a hat from a hook at

the side of the closet, and closed the door. The dull slam of the other rear door announced his departure from

Shortly afterward, The Shadow reappeared. The removal of his heavy glasses showed a hawklike

countenance that was dulled by puffy, masklike cheeks, which even the closest scrutiny would not have

shown as artificial. He went back to the closed locker, but made no attempt now to pick its ponderous lock.

Instead, The Shadow produced a tiny flashlight. Stooping, he turned its beams upward through the

overhanging slits that marked the front of the locker. His keen eyes saw within. A soft laugh came from

The flashlight went out. The Shadow returned to the closet. Beyond the coats, he made another inspection,

which, like the visit to the locker, brought a soft laugh in whispered tones. Pressing his fingers along the

edge, he was rewarded by a clicking sound. The rear of the closet slid away. The Shadow entered a smaller

closet. He smoothly opened the door beyond. The sliding panel closed behind him.

In his character of a bespectacled blind man, The Shadow now stood in the small groundfloor parlor of a

deserted house. On his right was a doorway to the street. It was locked, but it opened easily to the pick which

The Shadow applied. A short pause; then the stoopedshouldered blind man emerged upon the sidewalk. He

fumbled as he locked the door behind him. He moved away, tapping lightly with his cane as he advanced.

From the lips beneath the black spectacles came a soft, barely audible laugh; the third which The Shadow had

uttered since his arrival in Doctor Dubrong's East Side Clinic. There was significance in that laugh. It was

The spot where the pretended blind man had emerged was not upon a side thoroughfare. It was in a blind

alley; one which The Shadow, by day, recognized as a place that he had visited by night.

The secret exit from Doctor Dubrong's consulting room had brought The Shadow into the very culdesac

EVENING had come to Manhattan. Bart Melken, seated at a desk in the corner of his sumptuous hotel room,

was staring dully from the window. The twinkling lights of the great city; the distant glow of the Rialto; these

were discouraging rather than alluring to the young man who served as The Jackdaw's minion.

Since his protest to Bing Claver, Melken had been despondent. He had made the appeal to the gang leader,

hoping that it might reach The Jackdaw. He was sure, now, that if it had, there would be small comfort in the

Bart Melken knew that he was deep in The Jackdaw's toils. There was no retreating; but he felt the need of

aid. The murder of Rutherford Casslin had brought him face to face with desperate facts.

Crime was not distasteful to Bart Melken; the penalty was what he feared. Capable though The Jackdaw

might be, there was always chance of a slip. When that time arrived, Bart felt sure, he, and not The Jackdaw,

The telephone bell rang. It was only a few feet from the spot where Melken sat. The ringing startled the

young man. With trembling hand, he lifted the receiver of the telephone. He feared that this might be a

message from The Jackdaw a stern order giving him another task to perform for the crook who dealt in

subtle theft, with murder as a side line. Bart knew The Jackdaw's voice, a strained, faraway method of

"Hello, Bart," a friendly voice was saying. "How have you been since I saw you last."

"Farrell Sarborn," came the reply. "Just landed back in New York yesterday. Called you last night there

"Farrell Sarborn!" The exclamation came from Melken with a note of alleviation. "Where are you, Farrell?

"Apartment up on Seventyeighth Street," returned the speaker at the other end. "Come up and see the place.

Bart Melken repeated the address as Sarborn gave it to him. He agreed to come and see his friend at once.

Leaving the apartment, Melken went down to the lobby, arrived on the street, and hailed a taxicab.

ONCE again, the young man was followed. It was not The Shadow who trailed him tonight, however. A

young man, seated in the lobby, had strolled out to a coupe immediately after Melken's departure. He drove

This young man was Harry Vincent, an agent of The Shadow. Just as Cliff Marsland served as watchdog in

the underworld, so did Harry Vincent take up trails in the fashionable districts. Each of these subordinates

served The Shadow well. Since The Shadow had trailed Melken to his meeting with Bing Claver, other duties

had concerned The Shadow. To Harry Vincent remained the work of keeping The Shadow posted on

The taxicab stopped at a small apartment building on Seventyeighth Street. Bart Melken alighted, paid the

driver, and entered the lobby. He found a bell which was beside the card bearing Farrell Sarborn's name. The

Immediately afterward, Harry Vincent stepped into the same lobby. He saw the depressed button, not yet

released by a closing door. He knew the apartment to which Bart Melken had gone. He went away to report

On the third floor, Bart Melken spied an opened door. Framed there was the figure of Farrell Sarborn. Tall

and thin in his shirt sleeves, Sarborn was smiling a friendly greeting as he extended his hand to Melken.

A few minutes later, the two men were seated in Sarborn's living room, and a squatly, greasyfaced servant

was bringing them drinks upon a tray. Sarborn indicated the fellow with a nudge of his thumb.

"This is Jalon," he said. "Brought him along from Caracas. Needed a servant, and he speaks English. Used to

Bart Melken nodded. He was accustomed to Farrell Sarborn's brisk, phraselike way of speaking. Melken was

not a man with many friends, although he had numerous acquaintances. He was accustomed, however, to

Although Sarborn was not of the elite, he could take his place in any company. The man had money, and was

a traveler. A few months ago, he had started out for South America. His return had been quite unexpected. To

For though Bart had never said a word to anyone regarding the hold which The Jackdaw held over him, he

The traveler was truly a man of the world; his keen, poker face showed that trait. He was at least a dozen

years older than Bart Melken; that, too, gave Bart a greater reliance in his friend's judgment.

Bart Melken felt that a crisis was impending now. He did not intend to speak of it in detail, even to Farrell

Sarborn, but he saw in the traveler's presence an opportunity to gain a companion who might serve him well

"What have you been doing?" questioned Sarborn, in a friendly tone. "You aren't married yet?"

"Not yet," returned Bart. "I've just been hanging around New York. I see Yvonne quite often, of course.

"A wonderful girl, Yvonne," observed Sarborn. "You're very lucky to be marrying her. I hope you've been

Sarborn's eyes became keen. The traveler sipped from a glass, and stared at his companion. Bart Melken felt

"What have you been doing, Farrell?" he questioned, when his friend made no comment. "Seeing much of

"South America," he declared, "is responsible for my being in this apartment. If I hadn't been there, I

probably would be living at the Ritz. As it is, I have to keep a place where my pets can stay."

"Yes." Sarborn arose and beckoned. Melken followed him into an unfurnished room. There, in a long, wide

cage, Melken observed a dozen green plumaged birds that were sitting solemnly on perches.

"Parakeets," remarked Sarborn. "I made quite a study of them, and brought these along with me."

"Not these," returned Sarborn, "but there's the baby that does when he feels in the mood."

Melken turned toward the corner of the room. There, perched upon a metal bar set in the front of a deep

window sill, was one of the most beautiful birds that he had ever seen. Its plumage was of a vivid red; the

size of the bird was also remarkable. It measured nearly three feet from head to tail.

"A great scarlet macaw," explained Sarborn. "A rare species for one to find in captivity. This bird is worth

SARBORN approached the bird. He reached up and scratched the macaw's head. The big bird began to ruffle

its throat feathers and open its bill, but no sound came. Sarborn continued the treatment. He nodded to

"Bustle up toward the bird," he ordered. "Make out that you are threatening it. Stop short, though, before you

The macaw was watching Melken as it moved its bill. The young man followed Sarborn's instructions. As he

Melken stopped suddenly as he heard the high falsetto cry. Sarborn, still scratching the macaw's head,

"Be more affable," he said. "Then stroll away and pretend that you are going out the door."

Melken followed instructions. As he hesitated at the door, another call came from the macaw's trembling

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Melken, as the cry died. "The bird seems to have almost human intelligence."

"It is observant," admitted Sarborn. "More than that, it has an aptitude for remembering things that it hears. It

Melken laughed. Sarborn ceased stroking the bird's head. The macaw kept ruffling its throat, but gave no

further cry. Melken approached, scratched the bird's head; there was no response.

"It will only take its cues from me," explained Sarborn. "Speaking of birds here are some interesting eggs. I

Sarborn pointed to a glass case in the corner. There, Melken saw a variety of eggs of different sizes. He

"A condor's egg," replied Sarborn. "The condor is one of the largest of all birds. They can fly to greater

"No. They have no marked nesting habits. The eggs are found upon rocks, in the mountains. Such eggs are

A slight sound came from a covered box in the corner. Melken looked in that direction. Sarborn reached over

"Are you raising monkeys, too?" laughed Melken, as he saw the little creature scramble up to Sarborn's arms.

"No," replied Sarborn. "I started to, but gave it up. I'm going to get rid of this little beast later on.

Affectionate, but a nuisance. Just a common species. South American monkey. Called a sapajou."

The monkey had seized Sarborn's necktie. It was starting to climb up it, hand over hand. Sarborn wrested the

sapajou free, and dropped it back into the box. He closed the lid and strolled back to the living room.

"Well," he remarked, "you've seen the menagerie. Wouldn't do at the Ritz. Better here. Guess I'll get rid of

AGAIN, Sarborn looked quizzically at his friend. He seemed to sense the worriment that was present in

"Thought we might get together occasionally," returned Melken. "I've been nervous during the past few

"The trouble out at Casslin's house. You must have read about it in the newspapers."

"Hmmm." Sarborn was shaking his head. "Very mysterious affair. Read about it in the newspapers. None

"No," answered Melken, "but I'm worried just the same. Farrell, there were some other robberies a few

months ago robberies that took place at houses where I had been. This was the first one where a murder

"I don't know what to think. I'm worried. If there's one crook in back of all these robberies, there's no telling

"Here's why." Melken's tone became serious. "It's going to look as though someone might be on the inside of

some of these crimes. It's also going to be tough for anyone who might observe too much."

"Not on me," broke in Melken hastily. "That is not necessarily on me. On someone, though, and I might be

"Or," added Sarborn calmly, "someone might decide that you knew too much and give the orders to bump

"I don't know," responded Melken. "I only know that I've been terribly worried since Casslin was killed. I've

had a feeling that there is a menace hanging over me. We're old friends, Farrell. You're the only man to

Sarborn arose and clapped his friend on the shoulder. His action seemed to given Melken encouragement.

"Don't worry, old top," volunteered Sarborn. "If you have any idea whatever that trouble is brewing, let me

know. If you're uneasy, maybe you can arrange for me to be with you. I've faced everything. Anacondas to

"At Casslin's," he said seriously, "Yvonne saw a face at the window. She told me about it. That was just

before the murder. She told the police afterward; but I didn't say that she had spoken to me when she saw the

"That's what has me worried, Farrell. I'll be looking for danger signs from now on. I won't be able to keep

myself from doing so. If if I begin to look like I'm well, a menace to some crooks they may decide to

"Don't worry, Bart," reassured Sarborn. "This hunch of yours is interesting. I think we'd better stick around

Bart Melken shook hands warmly. He felt the value of this friendship. When he left Sarborn's apartment, a

Melken, like Cardona and The Shadow, was out to learn the identity of The Jackdaw. His purpose was not

guided by any dislike of crime; it was merely inspired by a desire for selfpreservation; to escape a bargain

Wrapped in thought as he departed, Bart Melken did not notice the peering eyes that watched him as he

crossed the street in front of Farrell Sarborn's apartment. He did not know that once again he was under the

Two days had passed since Bart Melken's visit to his friend, Farrell Sarborn. Those two days had been

anxious ones for Melken. The Jackdaw's minion knew well that he would soon receive another order to play

There were hours, in the late afternoon, when Melken made it a practice to remain alone in his hotel room.

That was part of The Jackdaw's bargain. Today, with afternoon waning, Melken was in the room. Today,

Accounts in the newspapers had given no new findings on the murder of Rutherford Casslin. That, at least,

was satisfactory to Bart Melken. He was sure that Joe Cardona was making no progress that would lead him

The position was a singular one. Bart was anxious that no one else would learn The Jackdaw's identity. He

was anxious, also, that he could learn it. His scheme was simply to meet The Jackdaw on an equal basis, for

the first time, and thus be able to make terms that would result in his own freedom.

To date, Bart had gained no inkling whatever regarding The Jackdaw's identity. That fact, as much as any

other, made him dread the power of his taskmaking chief. With Farrell Sarborn as an ally, there was some

As for The Shadow, Bart Melken had no idea whatever that his mysterious presence had appeared. He figured

only himself, the police, and The Jackdaw. Yet The Shadow's part, so far as Bart was concerned, was more

This very room in which Bart Melken sat had been fitted, during his absence, with a dictograph. In an

adjoining hotel room, a young man was on duty. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow, was not only watching

for any who might visit Bart Melken; he was also keeping tabs on Bart's end of telephone conversations.

The telephone bell rang while Bart was deep in thought. Yvonne Lydell was on the wire. Bart was relieved to

"Tonight?" he questioned. "Certainly. I can meet you at Winchendon's... Yes, about half past nine is the time

I expect to arrive there. I can take you home afterward. Very well. Has your father returned from Florida?...

Ah, next week... That is later than he expected... Very well, Yvonne. I shall met you at Winchendon's."

Melken hung up the telephone. He strolled back and forth across the room. The bell began to ring again. Bart

hesitated; then answered the summons. He paled as he heard the voice over the wire.

THERE was an effect about The Jackdaw's voice that had always placed Melken on the defensive. The

Jackdaw seldom asked questions. He dealt in statements, and gave his orders. He seemed to have plans for

crime already mapped. Moreover, his direct way of talking invariably gave Melken the impression that The

"Tonight," came The Jackdaw's oddly pitched voice, "you are going to an affair at the home of Silas

"The signal will be required," ordered, The Jackdaw. "Wait until all the guests are assembled in

Winchendon's living room. Signal near the French doors at the side. Retire, and act as the other guests."

A click came over the wire. The Jackdaw had ended the conversation. Melken knew the answer. He would

Melken paced the room. He was muttering to himself, but his words had no meaning.

Harry Vincent, in the other room, had noted down the few facts that he had gleaned from Melken's talk with

The Jackdaw. They were sufficient only to reveal that Melken had some important duty to perform at

Minutes passed; Melken, with a sigh of resignation, went to the telephone. His hand was trembling as it lifted

the receiver. The Jackdaw's minion was losing his nerve; he was afraid that he would fail in the task placed

Melken was choosing the only way out; he was reverting to his halfformed plan of counting on his friend,

Farrell Sarborn, as a protector. He gave the operator the number of Sarborn's apartment.

When he heard his friend's easy, cheery voice, Melken felt a return of confidence. He began a conversation

"This is Bart Melken," began The Jackdaw's minion. "Listen, Farrell, I'm still feeling nervous. More so than

ever. I have to go out tonight to a party at Silas Winchendon's home. I I'd like to get out of it."

Sarborn's reply was to the effect that such should be an easy matter. Melken quickly changed his tack.

"The trouble, Farrell," he said, "is that Yvonne will be there. She'll wonder why I didn't come. I've promised

to take her home, afterward. I I tell you what I'd like to do. I'd like to take you along. I might be able to

arrange it by calling Mrs. Winchendon. But there would have to be some good reason."

Sarborn put a question over the wire. It was a query regarding the type of party that was to be held.

"A swanky affair," explained Melken, "but a very quiet one. The Winchendons like to have interesting

people. They always invite guests who offer something unusual by way of diversion."

As Bart Melken paused, he heard Farrell Sarborn offer a suggestion. The idea caused a gleam to appear upon

"Great!" he exclaimed. "By Jove, that would be just the ticket! If you could give them a short talk on the bird

life of South America, and bring the big macaw with you, they'd fall for it to perfection. You will be the lion

"Certainly! I'll call Mrs. Winchendon at once. Unless you hear from me to the contrary, you'll know that it

has been arranged. I'll stop for you in a cab. This is important to me, Farrell" Melken's tone became sober

"and you'll never regret helping me out. I'll tell you more about the situation later on. Thanks, old fellow."

Melken hung up; then made another call, to the home of Silas Winchendon. As he had anticipated, the young

man had no difficulty in arranging for Farrell Sarborn to appear as an invited guest. His description of the

remarkable scarlet macaw aroused Mrs. Winchendon's interest to such an extent that it appeared that she was

A CURIOUS elation governed Bart Melken when he had completed his arrangements. He knew that trouble

was in the air. No specified orders had been given by The Jackdaw other than a necessary signal. What the

The presence of Farrell Sarborn, however, would be of vital value. That was the cause of Melken's elation.

He felt that with his friend there, he would be able to show nerve enough to either give the signal or

completely ignore it. All that he needed was surety that would enable him to make a decision one way or the

At heart, Bart Melken was a weakling. Susceptible to persons of stronger will, he had hitherto followed The

Jackdaw like an unprotesting lamb. Now, with the sense that he could depend upon the strong personality of

Farrell Sarborn, Bart had gained synthetic courage. He had lost his fear of consequences whether he might

continue his unliked work or whether he might choose to defy The Jackdaw's orders.

As Bart Melken rested in an easychair, he never once supposed that through his telephone calls he had

paved the way to startling consequences. The words that he had uttered had been recorded. Already, Harry

Vincent, seated in the adjoining room, was completing an exact report to The Shadow.

It was nearly five o'clock Melken's last call had been completed shortly before the hour when Harry

Vincent appeared in the lobby of Melken's hotel. The Shadow's agent hailed a cab, and rolled to a huge

skyscraper the Badger Building. He rode by elevator to a high floor, and entered an office which bore the

In an inner room, Harry came face to face with a lethargic, chubbyfaced individual, who was seated at a

desk beside the window. This was Rutledge Mann, who served as a contact man and special investigator for

The Shadow. Harry gave Mann the sealed envelope which contained his report. He left the office shortly

Ten minutes later, Mann left the Badger Building, and rode by cab to Twentythird Street. Here, he entered a

dilapidated building, and ascended a flight of dingy stairs. He stopped in front of an office which bore a name

Mann dropped the envelope through the mail chute. He stared a few moments at the door, with its frosted

front that made it impossible to see within. Every sign told of desertion. Cobwebs were apparent on the glass

Yet Mann knew that the letter which he had dropped would be delivered; for this mail chute was the

collection box where The Shadow received such messages as the one which Mann had brought.

No one approached that door after Mann had left. Yet the message in the mail chute was gained by the

recipient for whom it was intended. The proof of this took place in a silent, mysterious room, somewhere in

A CLICK resounded amid total blackness. A bluish light came on; its rays were concentrated by an opaque

shade so they spread uncanny illumination upon the polished surface of a corner table.

Appearing beneath the light were two white hands that moved like detached creatures creeping into life from

oblivion. Between them, they held the envelope which had come from Harry Vincent through the agency of

The hands of The Shadow! One token told of their identity. This was a gleaming gem that flashed

mysteriously from the long third finger of the left hand. That jewel, unmatched in all the world, was The

Shadow's girasol a fire opal of shimmering splendor. The strange stone emitted sparks that seemed to come

Harry Vincent's report tumbled from the envelope. It was written in ink; it was prepared in simple code. To

The Shadow, its wording was plain. Thus did the master learn all that Bart Melken had said over the

Strangely, the blueinked words began to fade as promptly as The Shadow read them. An invisible hand

seemed to be obliterating them from view. That was due to the special type of ink that The Shadow and his

agents used in their private correspondence. Writing disappeared shortly after it contacted with the open air.

Melken's conversations had been somewhat obscure in certain details particularly the one which he had

conducted with The Jackdaw. To The Shadow, however, the gaps were easy ones to fill. The report gave the

Crime was due to strike tonight, at the home of Silas Winchendon. Bart Melken, nervous and disturbed, had

called upon a friend to be close at hand without revealing facts to that friend. Orders had come from

Melken's superior and The Shadow knew the name under which that hidden crook masqueraded.

The Jackdaw planned to follow his success at Rutherford Casslin's with another welllaid scheme of crime.

Although his purpose was not mentioned, The Shadow seemed to sense the type of robbery that the crook had

The whispered laugh that echoed from the darkness revealed The Shadow's hidden thoughts. The

blackgarbed master was already formulating a method of offsetting The Jackdaw's efforts.

Tonight, The Jackdaw's cleverness would be met by The Shadow's skill. The meeting ground would be the

home of Silas Winchendon. A mighty struggle was in the making; what its outcome would be, only The

The light clicked out. A weird, chilling laugh broke the silence of the gloom. Reverberations died. Silence

The Shadow had departed from that room of blackness. He had left his mysterious sanctum to issue forth in

WHILE The Shadow, in his sanctum, was studying reports that were bringing him closer to The Jackdaw's

trail, Joe Cardona, in his office at headquarters, was gloomily considering the situation that he faced.

Ever since he had been forced to take Doctor Lysander Dubrong's bitter gibes, Cardona had been seeking a

comeback. He had realized fully that Dubrong was too clever for him. In that realization, however, Joe had

The detective was sure that someone had spotted him while he had been in Doctor Dubrong's waiting room;

that the physician had known the identity of his bewhiskered patient all during the clinic hours.

In proof of this, Cardona cited to himself the fact that Dubrong had departed from usual procedure by letting

a patient into the consulting room after the oneo'clock deadline. Cardona, therefore, had tried to figure who

In his twohour waiting period at the clinic, Cardona had studied the patients there. One, only, had aroused

his keen suspicion. That was the man whom he had encountered at the outer door, the shuffling cripple called

Was there collusion between Limps and Dubrong? Cardona had determined to find that out. He had,

accordingly, put stool pigeons watching Limps. So far, their findings had been meager.

Limps had appeared only at intervals. He had revisited the East Side Clinic; he had been seen wandering

about the streets at night. He had also shown a proclivity for passing out of sight in a hurry.

With another evening arriving, Joe Cardona was angry at this lack of action. He wanted to get close on Limps

Silvey's trail. He was positive that the frail, twisted man served Dubrong in some important capacity.

The telephone began to ring. Cardona picked up the instrument. He recognized the voice of one of his stool

"I'm wise to this guy Limps," the stool was saying. "He's been duckin' us cute until just now. I'll tell you

where he is he's sneakin' in an' out from Bing Claver's joint. He's there now, an' I think he's goin' to stay a

DUSK had settled. Cardona scorned disguise. He felt that he could trail Limps Silvey under cover of night.

He started out from headquarters. A while later, he appeared by the decadent alley where the side entrance to

It was darkening; the stool pigeons sneaked out and whispered as they saw the detective. Joe heard their

words. Apparently, Limps Silvey had suddenly dropped his usual crafty tactics. Off his guard, the stools had

Usually stolid, Joe Cardona was anxious tonight. He had cause to be. The blind lead on the Casslin murder

nothing had developed from the Hindu theory had brought criticism from Police Commissioner Weston.

Cardona had been forced to keep silent on the point concerning The Jackdaw. Had he brought in the idea of

an anonymous crook, a masquerader in the underworld, Weston would have been enraged. The commissioner

Yet Cardona was sure that The Jackdaw existed. He had a real hunch that the king of thieves had slain

Rutherford Casslin. Clews had failed at the millionaire's mansion. The dead body in the tower was still an

Cardona was relying upon one basic fact. Scoffy had told him that The Jackdaw had henchmen among

gangsters. One of these, Bennie Lizzit, had been slain with Scoffy himself. Where gunmen were employed,

there was usually a leader. Now, for the first time, Cardona had an inkling of who the gang chief might be:

This was a real achievement. Bing Claver, a dominating gorilla who had apparently retired from crime, was

just the type of gangster whom The Jackdaw might choose to command his crew of torpedoes. Limps Silvey

would also be an excellent gobetween. Cardona saw the link he wanted: a possible hookup between Doctor

Long minutes passed while Cardona waited in reflection. Suddenly, the detective became alert. He saw a

shaft of light in the alleyway; then a slinking figure coming in his direction. He recognized Limps, and eased

back into the cover of a deserted doorway, as he watched the shuffling man approach.

Apparently, Limps had no idea that anyone was watching him. The frail hobbler turned along the street, and

Cardona took up his trail. The detective, his overcoat up around his neck, was watching closely every time

So concerned was Cardona in watching the man ahead that he never thought to look in back. Thus he had no

idea that he, too, was being followed. It would have gained Cardona nothing, however, to have glanced

backward. He would not have caught even a glimpse of the one who was on his trail.

For the third member of this trio that was advancing along a dilapidated street was one who moved with the

silence of the growing night itself. No sign of his form was visible; only an occasional patch of sidewalk

The Shadow, fresh from his sanctum, had come to this section of the underworld. Unseen, unsuspected, he

SHUFFLING down another thoroughfare, Limps stopped in front of a dilapidated store. He looked craftily

about him. Joe Cardona was almost caught flatfooted; but he leaned back against a wall. Limps must have

Joe Cardona approached and looked through a grimy window. He crouched against the wall, and suppressed

The shuffler had gone into the store to telephone; and the coin box, although secluded in the store itself, was

within three feet of the window. Moreover, a pane was broken from the window and Joe, as he listened, could

As before, Cardona was intent upon his objective. He gave no thought to anything else about him. He did not

sense the presence of The Shadow, as the blackgarbed follower came closer. Stationed but a few feet away,

pressed beside a projection of the building, The Shadow, like Cardona, was listening in on Limps Silvey.

The cripple's voice was a husky one; although lowered, it could plainly be heard. Limps had obtained his

"All gettin' ready for tonight," Limps was saying. "I'm goin' to duck out of town, see?... Yeah after I look

over the lay... An' if it's all right, I'm just goin' to lose myself. But if it ain't all right, I'll give you the tip... I'll

tell you where I'll be... Yeah, out in Corona... When it comes ten o'clock, I'll be hangin' out at the Derry Cafe,

near the "L" station... Ring up there, when you're ready to go... You can tell me what you're plannin' then

which job you're goin' to grab tonight... O.K. here's the number" Limps paused to consult a crumpled

Limps shuffled away from the telephone. He came from the store, and headed for the corner after a glance in

At the corner, he glimpsed Limps beneath a street lamp, halfway down the block. The twisted man was

For a moment, Cardona was tempted to halt his quarry. His fist tightened on his pocket revolver. At that

moment, Limps slid into an alleyway. Cardona started forward at a quick pace. He reached the spot where the

Peering down the alleyway, Joe could see no sign of Limps. The narrow path ran between houses to another

street. There were lights above, in house windows. To his chagrin, Cardona realized that Limps had given

Standing on the sidewalk, Cardona considered what to do next. He thought of going back to Bing Claver's.

It would be a mistake to talk to Bing. If the gang leader planned an expedition tonight, particularly one in The

Jackdaw's service, a challenging visit from a detective would amount to nothing more than a warning.

It was obvious that mobsters planned a foray; their destination was not known, but it would be mentioned to

Limps Silvey over the telephone at the number in Corona. That was the place to be stationed. Cardona saw

Nevertheless, he was wise enough to figure on more than one trail. Nearly half an hour had elapsed since he

had left the alleyway by Bing's apartment. Cardona decided it would be worth while to take another look

SWINGING on his heel, the detective headed back the way that he had come. This time there was no sinister

presence bringing up the rear. The Shadow had disappeared with the same promptitude as Limps Silvey.

When Cardona reached Bing Claver's alley, he noted that the side of the rickety apartment building was

black. The upstairs lights Cardona had observed them previously had been extinguished.

A stool pigeon shuffled out of the darkness. The man whined a message in a low voice as he stood beside

"Seen Bing Claver," informed the stool. "He come out just after Limps scrammed. Don't know where he

"All right," growled Cardona. "Beat it. Call me up if you spot either one of them."

Joe Cardona, as he stalked away, still found himself wondering what had become of Limps Silvey. The

detective decided that no one, no matter how clever, could have trailed that quickmoving hobbler. In this

Limps Silvey was being trailed, by one who moved with silence as well as swiftness. At that moment, Limps,

heading for the darkness of a blind alley, did not realize that anyone was close at hand. Even Limps, clever

With noiseless cane, Limps slipped into the darkness. Keen eyes followed him; keen ears heard the soft

closing of a door. A whispered laugh followed. The Shadow was standing by the entrance to the culdesac

where he had trailed Limps before. This time he had spotted the door which Limps had used. The cripple had

Swiftly, The Shadow glided from the spot. His silent strides carried him on a roundabout course beyond the

alley where Bing Claver lived. Suddenly, The Shadow stopped; under the projecting top of a battered brick

Through the gloom loomed Joe Cardona. The detective was pounding his way back to headquarters. His

steady gait, his bent shoulders, both were tokens of his lack of success. The Shadow knew that Joe Cardona

Yet Joe Cardona was not defeated. Out of this evening's effort, he had gained one thing which might prove

vital to the plans that lay ahead. He had learned the number where Limps Silvey would be expecting a

That Cardona would stake much on that chance was certain. The Shadow knew Cardona's only possible plan.

As the detective's footsteps faded, a soft laugh began to rise; clipped abruptly during its crescendo, it

dwindled to a sobbing sigh of merriment that was suppressed beneath the overhanging wall.

There was a presagement in The Shadow's laugh; a foreknowledge of the events that were to come. The

He had made a study of The Jackdaw's minions. All were scheduled for work this night. The Shadow's

challenge, however, reached beyond the underlings. The Jackdaw himself was the game The Shadow sought.

IT was after nine o'clock when Bart Melken and Farrell Sarborn arrived by taxicab at Silas Winchendon's

Long Island home. Both men entered, dressed in faultless evening clothes. Mrs. Winchendon, a plump,

One of the servants had received a tall, cylindrical package at the door. Mrs. Winchendon indicated it with an

"Yes," smiled Melken. "The bird is in there. Mr. Sarborn will bring him out when you are ready."

The servant took the cage into a small room. Mrs. Winchendon led the two guests to the living room. She

"We have another treat tonight," she remarked. "Mr. Cranston Lamont Cranston, the famous globetrotter.

He has been telling us of his experiences in the Orient. It was so fortunate he just chanced to call up Mr.

Mrs. Winchendon ceased speaking. They were already at the door of the living room.

Bart Melken spied Yvonne Lydell among the guests who were listening to a quiet, convincingtoned speaker

Lamont Cranston was a man of whom Bart Melken had heard. Farrell Sarborn had known of him also, and

the two studied the speaker with interest. Tall, impressive in his welltailored evening clothes, Cranston had

His face seemed immobile in expression. His chiseled features were almost masklike. His aquiline nose gave

Cranston, as everyone knew, was a multimillionaire who traveled when and where he chose. He maintained a

large mansion in New Jersey. He had a habit of setting forth at most unexpected times on journeys that

From the vastnesses of Siberia, to the depths of darkest Africa, Lamont Cranston had traveled. His ways

carried him to bypaths that ordinary travelers dreaded. His present discourse on his journey to India

CRANSTON concluded speaking a few minutes after Melken and Sarborn entered. A murmur of admiration

came from the listeners who had heard his remarkable discourse. Mrs. Winchendon drew Farrell Sarborn and

"Mr. Sarborn is a traveler also," she said to Cranston. "He has just returned from a trip to South America."

"I am scarcely a traveler," put forth Sarborn, as he shook hands with Cranston. "My journeys have been

trivial compared with yours. I can merely claim some slight distinction as a student of certain districts where I

"That is much to your credit," observed Cranston. "I, myself, have often neglected interesting surroundings

due to my desire to arrive at another destination. It is a fault, I assure you a fault which I must commend

There was no flattery in the millionaire's tone; his words were given with the quite positiveness of a simple

statement. This was pleasing to Farrell Sarborn. It seemed to place the new guest at his ease.

Bart Melken was looking about him. He was studying the people in the living room. He had come to a

prompt realization that in this throng alone was sufficient pelf to arouse The Jackdaw's cupidity.

Mrs. Winchendon was adorned with large and expensive gems. So were other of the guests. Indeed, when

viewed from the standpoint of personal ornamentation, the living room was fairly glittering.

Melken noticed the French doors on the opposite side of the room. He also noted several curtained doorways.

It was possible that one of these might lead to a hidden spot where The Jackdaw intended to make a foray,

but Bart could not imagine any haul that would exceed that of the jewelry. The Jackdaw, Bart knew well, had

"I regret," Sarborn was saying to Cranston, "that I failed to hear your talk on India. I have often intended to

"I shall be pleased to discuss India at any time," returned Cranston. "In the meantime, I am anxious to hear

As the men parted, Cranston's keen eyes turned in the direction of Bart Melken. The palefaced young man

had crossed the living room to join Yvonne Lydell. Cranston saw his gaze go again to the French windows.

There was a contrast between the man and the girl. Melken now had no claim to handsomeness. His pallor,

his furtive expression, were damaging to his appearance. Yvonne Lydell, tall and slender, was a perfect

blonde, whose beautiful face showed a vivacity that made her fiancee's gloominess more noticeable.

Mrs. Winchendon was introducing Sarborn to the other guests. Melken's friend was well received. Silas

Winchendon, a big, heavy man, seemed pleased to meet another visitor who had a reputation as a traveler.

It was quite a while before the arrangements were finished for Sarborn to speak to the gathering. At last,

Sarborn beckoned to a servant. The covered cage was brought into the room. Sarborn smiled as he heard

"IT is my pleasure," announced Sarborn, "to discuss the avifauna of South America. I must admit that my

knowledge of the birds of that continent is somewhat restricted. I have been more interested in the birds

"In South America, I obtained one bird that is rarely brought to the United States. I refer to the great scarlet

macaw. I was fortunate enough to acquire an excellent specimen; and the bird has shown a remarkable

Removing the top of the cage, Sarborn dipped his arm within and brought out the threefoot macaw on his

Exclamations of admiration greeted the appearance of the macaw. The brilliant plumage was something that

The macaw, blinking in the light, kept moving its beak and ruffling its throat feathers so furiously that all the

observers laughed. Lamont Cranston, lighting a cigarette beside the nearer of the French windows, looked up

"I have trained the macaw to speak," explained Sarborn, "but he is as wise as an owl, and requires

He scratched the macaw's head. The bird kept up its beak motion. Suddenly, it spoke in high falsetto:

Everyone laughed at the shrill sound. Sarborn, his head bent close toward the bird, looked up and smiled. He

"This bird," he said, "has a remarkable proclivity for remembering words that it hears. For instance, suppose

"This is Mrs. Winchendon," said Sarborn, to the macaw. "Mrs. Winchendon. Would you remember her?"

He was scratching the bird's head and looking toward it as he spoke. The macaw's trembling beak became

Sarborn began some new experiments, much like those he had shown to Melken. To further demonstrate the

bird's intelligence, he stepped away and stood at arm's length, while he made a noise like a kitten mewing.

"It is odd," remarked Sarborn, when the macaw had become silent, "how this bird has managed to actually

associate sounds with words that it has heard concerning them. The reference to cats was a surprising

accomplishment. On the boat, coming up from South America, we had a joke of pointing out other ships and

saying, 'Pirates.' In the harbor of PortauPrince, the macaw fairly screamed 'Pirates! Pirates!' every time we

A clock was chiming ten. Bart Melken, who had been standing across the room, strolled near a French

window and began to fumble with his cigarette lighter. Only Lamont Cranston observed the action.

CRANSTON'S position was so taken that he could see from the other French window, although he did not

appear to glance in that direction. While Sarborn was still coaxing the macaw, Cranston's keen eye again

A tiny speck of light glimmered beyond. It went out. It reappeared. That was all. Cranston strolled toward the

"We'll try," replied Sarborn. He scratched the macaw's head, then shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm afraid you have stepped too close to it," he said. "Just step back a few paces, Mr. Cranston."

"It heard your name again, then," laughed Sarborn. "I did not realize that I was mentioning it."

Cranston had joined in the general laughter. He was retiring toward one of the curtained doorways. As

Sarborn again turned his attention to the macaw, all eyes were on the bird. Cranston's keen gaze observed that

With a slight sidewise motion, the millionaire eased through the curtained doorway, so unobtrusively that not

a single person witnessed his departure. In the darkness of a hallway he lifted folded garments from beneath a

Cloth rustled over shoulders. A black slouch hat settled upon the millionaire's head. With swift, silent motion,

Lamont Cranston gained a window at the end of the hallway. The sash rose noiselessly. A dark form passed

TEN o'clock had been the time that Bart Melken was awaiting. There was another man who was watchful for

that hour. Joe Cardona, huddled in a corner of the Derry Cafe, in Corona, was hoping that Limps Silvey

Outside, Joe had a squad of men in readiness. They were far enough away not to attract attention. They had

two cars; they were anxious for the word to go. Joe had told them that important work might be afoot tonight.

Where was Limps Silvey? Joe Cardona began to wonder if he was the victim of a stall. Had the crafty hobbler

seen him in the darkness, and made a fake call? Joe did not know. He had nothing to do but wait.

The telephone bell began to ring. The coin box was situated in an obscure corner of the restaurant, not far

from the spot where Cardona was located. Joe waited, then realized that it might be the call for Limps.

Under sudden impulse, Cardona arose and approached the telephone. He raised the receiver. He heard an

"Scram, then," came the voice over the wire. "We've picked our lay. It's O.K. We're on the ground now. Bing

"I didn't say which one," came the voice. "I said Winchendon. You know the place you looked over. Old

Silas Winchendon's house. We're busting in there. That's why you'd better scram. It's only a few miles from

Joe Cardona hung up the receiver. He had the dope he wanted. He had been studying society news in an

effort to pick places which might lure The Jackdaw. He had seen a mention of a party at Winchendon's; he

had paid little attention to it, because it had not appeared to be more than a mere formal gathering.

Cardona did know, however, that the Winchendons lived in Copperwood, near Long Island Sound. It was not

far there from Corona; but the speaker on the telephone had mentioned that the gang was already there.

Joe considered quickly. He realized that a rapid swoop would be more effective than a delayed telephone call.

"Stay here to grab Limps Silvey," ordered Joe. "We're hopping out to stop a job."

Rounding a corner close by, Joe leaped into the first of two parked cars. The automobiles were filled with

"Head for Copperwood," he barked. "The Winchendon house. I can locate it when we get there."

The motor thrummed. The first car shot away. The second followed. Joe Cardona gave instructions as they

rode along. It was a mad chase; a broad, good road lay ahead. It was not until they made a turn at Cardona's

JOE knew the way to Copperwood. He had picked a good short cut. Barring signs blocked it, half a mile from

the spot that they had left the main road. There was no passing. The signs marked a fallen bridge.

Joe Cardona fumed as he gave the order to turn around. The cars headed back to the main road. Five good

minutes had been lost through this misadventure. More would be gone because the longer route must be

taken. Joe Cardona regretted that he had not called Silas Winchendon by telephone.

It was too late to do so now. The only hope was to make all speed. Crime lay ahead. Word had been gained

through a fortunate break. Now, mischance seemed destined to ruin Cardona's opportunity to met The

Meanwhile, Silas Winchendon's mansion lay silent amid the grounds that surrounded it. Cars were parked in

the driveway; others were on the sloping street that ran by the side of the house more than fifty yards away.

IT was in one of these cars a coupe that a young man was seated. Harry Vincent, agent of The Shadow,

was peering into darkness. He had been here long, had Harry. He had been watching the lights in the French

He had noticed something else. Creeping figures had shown dimly beyond the low hedge that lined the

sidewalk. Mumbled voices had come to Harry's ears. In response, he had flicked the dashlight twice. That

Harry was sure that it had not been observed. The men in the darkness were under cover of the hedge. Now,

however, since they had advanced farther across the lawn, Harry had become worried. Had The Shadow seen

Yielding to an impulse, Harry Vincent repeated the signal. On went the light; off again. On; then off. Twice

in quick succession. Harry knew that The Shadow was alert; indeed, he tad seen tokens of miraculous ability

on the part of his mysterious chief. In the tenseness of the moment, however, Harry was overanxious to play

Harry had been ordered here by instructions received from Burbank. Harry knew, from his own report, that

The Shadow must have picked the Winchendon home as a danger spot tonight. It had been Harry's duty to

The mobsters, rather than attract attention, had not made a close inspection of these vehicles. Harry had

locked his doors from the inside; with windows up, he had been protected. At the first sign of figures beyond

the hedge, he had lowered the windows. Thus he had also heard the invaders, as they spoke in low whispers.

Harry felt more at ease after he had given the second pair of light signals. The men who were approaching the

house had evidently reached the flat, stone veranda by the French windows. Their forms were lost beyond

He had warned The Shadow. He awaited only a definite sign that would either send him on his way, or bring

him to some new duty. It was while Harry counted on such a result an expected ending to his night's work

A SLIGHT sound came from the left side of the car. As Harry turned in that direction, the jab of cold steel

came suddenly against the side of his neck. A flashlight glimmered, its glare lowered toward the floor of the

"Shut up and don't budge," came the command. "It'll be curtains for you, bimbo. Put up them dukes."

Harry raised his arms. It was too late to reach for his automatic, which was ready in a side pocket of the car.

"Blinking your light, eh?" questioned the mobster, as he extinguished his flashlight. "Well, I'm wise to you.

Don't think you can get away with something now you're in the dark. I'm watching. What are you a dick or

Harry made no reply. His situation was a serious one. Fear, however, was not the emotion that swept The

Shadow's agent. Harry was chagrined because he had shown stupidity; he was alarmed because he had caused

The mobster who now controlled him had evidently caught the glimmer of the second signal, and had

doubled back around the hedge. He had trapped Harry Vincent with neither sound nor trouble. Yet Harry still

possessed a temporary safety. He knew that this man would not dare to fire while his companions were still

A critical stage, however, might be approaching. If gun play burst loose around the Winchendon mansion, the

gangster's logical course would be to shoot his prisoner. In anticipation of this danger, Harry let his right hand

creep over toward the pocket in the door. It was a desperate chance; yet he wanted to have his automatic

Harry's left shoulder hunched unconsciously. The gangster growled; he flashed his light simultaneously. The

glare, confined entirely to the car, revealed Harry's hand; it also showed the butt of the automatic. The muzzle

of the gangster's revolver jabbed more firmly. Harry could imagine the finger trembling on the trigger.

"One inch, bimbo," came the snarl, "and it'll be curtains. Make a grab for that rod if you want I'm going to

The sentence ended abruptly. A gargling gasp coughed from the gangster's lips. His body slumped. The

revolver barrel flopped away from Harry's neck. The flashlight tumbled to the floor of the coupe. Harry

Staring through the window, Harry saw nothing but blackness where the mobster had been. Yet in the back of

his head, he held the impression of a dull, thudding sound that he had heard. Solid blackness seemed to move

before Harry's eyes. He realized then that a living presence was outside the window.

The Shadow had come to the coupe. He must have seen the second signal as well as the first that Harry

Vincent had given. Rising like a specter from the darkness, the blackgarbed master of the night had struck

THE tones of a whispered voice came to Harry Vincent's ears. From the darkness, The Shadow was issuing a

"Let the car roll," were the monotoned words, "as soon as trouble begins inside the house. Start the motor at

He saw The Shadow's purpose. It would be a mistake for Harry to slide away now. The other mobsters

What if they should investigate? Perhaps another gangster would come from the crew. Harry could visualize

The Shadow disposing of such investigators one by one. He realized, a moment later, that The Shadow could

not depend upon such a plan. Trouble was due within the house. The Shadow must return to prevent it.

Something was going on in the darkness. Straining his eyes, Harry could see a figure moving on the street. A

Harry suddenly knew what it meant. The Shadow was peeling a sweater from the stunned gangster's body.

The sweater seemed to move away. Harry caught a flash of what appeared to be a checkered cap. Staring

through the rear window, he saw cap and sweater settling into place. It dawned on him that The Shadow had

taken off his hat; that over his cloak he had drawn the mobster's sweater; that on his head he wore the stunned

Harry could see a crouching figure hurrying across the lawn. It disappeared beyond the shrubbery. The

That was the last that Harry Vincent saw. Up by the house, however, there were those who noted the arrival

of the sweatered figure. Bing Claver, crouched on the stones beside the veranda, hissed a warning.

"Knocked him cold." The growl was a perfect imitation of the stunned gangster. "But he may come to. I

"All right, Cady," agreed Bing. "Give him the works as soon as we pile into the place. Then come up with

THE sweatered form moved away. It took a circuitous path alongside the house. That was natural, for the

opening in the hedge was farther back. Thus did The Shadow come into the midst of Bing Claver and his

mobsters, to lull them into thinking that Cady, the stunned gangster, had fulfilled his mission.

Bing Claver and his mob were in readiness. Scattered, they would have been a difficult problem for The

Shadow at this moment. The master fighter preferred to met them in a massed attack. Behind a bush, he

Silently, The Shadow crept to the opened window of the little hallway. He glided over the ledge inward as

One minute after The Shadow's return, Lamont Cranston appeared just beyond the curtains. His form was still

unseen within the living room. His sharp eyes, however, could spy what was going on. The macaw was still

Over by the farther French window was Bart Melken. The young man who served The Jackdaw was still

fidgeting with his cigarette lighter. He flipped it; the flame appeared, and went out an instant later, as Melken

dropped the cap upon it. Then, with twitching lips, Melken suddenly moved away to the shelter of the wall.

There was a moment's pause. One of the French doors seemed to tremble. It hesitated. The macaw, its eyes

Some of Winchendon's guests began to laugh. They stopped short as they saw Farrell Sarborn's startled face.

The man who owned the macaw was staring in the same direction as the bird. His lips seemed to phrase a

People turned toward the outer side of the room. At that instant, the French doors crashed. In from the outer

darkness sprang Bing Claver, two mobsters at his heels. All wore caps and handkerchiefs over their eyes.

Guests obeyed spontaneously. The flash of revolvers dimmed the shine of jewels. This entire throng was at

the mercy of the invaders from the underworld. The Jackdaw's minions had arrived tonight. Unaccompanied

Bing Claver advanced. His gun arm lowered. The presence of two henchmen at his heels was sufficient. As

he gestured with his revolver, guests backed up against the wall. Women were too frightened to scream.

Bing Claver sneered. He had nearly reached the center of the clearing room. A straight path lay between the

curtained doorway and the French windows, where two mobsters stood in readiness. Bing was midway on

As his eyes swept around the room, Bing stopped and stared at the farther curtain. He saw it tremble. Up

The motion was too late. A terrific roar reechoed from the curtain. Bing Claver staggered and sprawled

THE SHADOW'S shot had been delivered with a purpose. The Shadow had foreseen the way that Bing

would work. He had waited until the room had cleared. He had fired at Bing in action. His deed had attracted

Up came their revolvers. While they were rising, The Shadow's automatics spoke again. Two massive

weapons, looming through the curtains, unloosed a burst of lead. One gangster tumbled into the living room.

The other pair of French windows burst inward. With the crash of glass came the roar of The Shadow's

weapons. The guests were dropping for cover as revolvers were firing back their answer to The Shadow's

message. Hasty mobsmen, behind their fellows, were shooting wildly at the only targets they could see

Bullets zimmed against the walls, all close by the doorway. One whistled through the upper section of the

curtain; The Shadow's guns were roaring from a point lower down. The Shadow was attracting fire as well as

Five mobsmen had fallen in the skirmish, Bing Claver in that number. The Shadow, his form vague behind

the curtain, had given the leaden hail to the ones in advance. Now, overwhelmed by the onslaught, the others

of the tribe were leaping away for safety. The French windows were cleared quickly of mobsmen.

While guests were trembling, Farrell Sarborn jumped into action. He dashed to the nearest window and

grabbed a gun that was lying on the floor. He fired a deluge of shots wildly in the air. Other emboldened

guests joined him. At the same time, shots barked from the little window of the hallway.

Then came volleys from the lawn. Shouts arose; the sounds of a fierce conflict were breaking loose. Guests

The sounds of police whistles gave the answer. Joe Cardona and his detectives had arrived.

Farrell Sarborn, striding back across the room, stopped short as he saw Bing Claver rising to his knees. The

gang leader, critically wounded, was uttering oaths as he reached for his revolver, which had fallen beneath

Sarborn held an empty gun one that he had plucked from a dead gangster. He flung it at Bing's head and

missed. Bing did not see the weapon. He was swinging his revolver, ready to shoot anyone. Sarborn leaped

for the chair where the macaw was perched. He sent the scarlet bird flapping wildly as he used the chair as a

A shot came from beyond the curtain. Bing's arm dropped. The gang leader wavered. That bullet marked his

finish. As Bing was on the verge of toppling, the chair came hurtling from Sarborn's hands. It crashed against

This was the dramatic finish to the wild invasion. It left Farrell Sarborn standing in the center of the room,

with Bing Claver's inert form stretched at his feet. It brought all attention there for a long instant of suspense.

Then came a shout from the French windows. Into the living room entered a swarthy man, his coat thrown

back to show his badge, his right hand gripping a smoking revolver. Detective Joe Cardona had arrived with

ORDER returned where chaos had held sway. Guests began to congratulate each other. Farrell Sarborn,

because of his timely actions, was surrounded by a handshaking throng. Among them was Lamont Cranston.

The millionaire, calmer even than Sarborn, was convincing in his congratulations.

The detectives had wiped out the fleeing mobsters. One dick was wounded; none of the others had been

touched. The remnants of Bing Claver's gang had rushed directly into the arms of the men who represented

Calming guests began to tell their stories. All, apparently, had been in the living room when the attack had

occurred. All recalled that shots had come from beyond the curtain. Recollections were vague; the sight of

falling mobsters had attracted most attention. No one seemed to have any idea of how the counterattack had

So far as Winchendon and his guests were concerned, the police could have the credit, along with the cool

But to Joe Cardona, as he viewed the dead and riddled body of Bing Claver, this affair was filled with

mystery. The detective was convinced that Bing was the chief of The Jackdaw's minions; that the supercrook

The Jackdaw himself was missing, and so was the mysterious fighter who had driven back the evil horde.

This, to Joe Cardona, was proof of a new and startling conflict that was in the making. He knew that another

He, Joe Cardona, was but an outsider in the clash. The Jackdaw whoever he might be was opposed by an

DAYS had passed since the affray at Silas Winchendon's. Newspapers and tabloids alike had told their tale of

gangland's invasion of the four hundred. Sensational incidents had seized the news. Among them, the scarlet

Yet to Joe Cardona, ace detective, all angles of the case were trivial excepting one. Cardona knew what

others did not know. Behind the frustrated assault at Winchendon's lay a menace that had not yet been

Heralded as the ace who had brought destruction to hordes of the underworld, Cardona basked in a glory of

publicity that offset his failure to uncover the murderer of Rutherford Casslin. Joe had met gangland's latest

Cardona knew, however, that the menace had not been ended. The most important enemy who had died at

Winchendon's was Bing Claver. To all appearances, the exgorilla had been inspired to higher efforts in the

field of crime and had failed. Joe Cardona appreciated, nevertheless, that Bing had been nothing more than

The ace detective realized that a new combat was afoot. The Jackdaw would surely know that the police had

not arrived in time to obstruct the mobsters whom he had launched on a drive of wholesale robbery. The

Jackdaw, if he intended to persist with his baffling ways of crime, must manage to evade The Shadow.

Oddly, the defeat of The Jackdaw's gangsters had broken the chain which Cardona had been following. Bing

Claver was dead. He, alone of the rowdies who had fallen, could have told Cardona facts that the ace

detective wanted. Those of Bing's outfit who still lived, persistently stated that they were working for Bing.

Had this defeat ended The Jackdaw's power? Had the unknown crook scampered for cover?

These were questions that Joe Cardona sought to answer; and he realized their importance. The hunch that

IN studying past crimes which he attributed to The Jackdaw, Cardona saw that the crook was rising to his

zenith. The theft of the Bishenpur diamond had been a master stroke of crime. The huge gem was still

missing. The Jackdaw had simply failed to add to the collection of valuables of which the diamond was

Previous robberies, from The Jackdaw's former activities, totaled a large amount, as Cardona summed them

up. Yet it was obvious that until now The Jackdaw had operated only in a small way. His murder of

Rutherford Casslin appeared to be the beginning of a new and greater era in his mad career.

Stealth at Casslin's a lone hand working startling crime. Violence at Winchendon's a mob attack launched

under a lieutenant's command. These events showed The Jackdaw's versatility. Gangless, he now had but two

choices. One was to retire; the other was to resort to craft once more. Cardona decided that The Jackdaw

It was imperative that Joe should flag The Jackdaw. The detective was determined to end the crook's mad

career; he wanted also to solve the murder of Rutherford Casslin and regain the Bishenpur diamond. But Joe

Limps Silvey had disappeared. Stools had thought that they had seen him once or twice. They had not

managed to follow him. This brought Cardona back to a consideration of Doctor Lysander Dubrong. He

Joe's first step was to visit the neighborhood of the East Side Clinic. He went there on a night when he had

made certain that Dubrong was at his Park Avenue residence. He found that the house directly in back of the

On the second floor, Joe made a discovery. The floor here so Joe figured was lower than the ceiling of

Dubrong's consulting room. The wall was crumbling. It offered opportunity. Joe put a competent man to

A perfect job, Joe was positive that the physician would not observe this wellmade peephole. To make

certain, the detective sent a stool pigeon into Dubrong's clinic. The stool got by with the visit. He reported to

It was then that Cardona decided to visit Doctor Dubrong and pave the way to the result he wanted. One

evening found the detective at the large apartment house on Park Avenue where the physician lived. Cardona

DUBRONG'S sumptuous abode proved a striking contrast to the plainness of his East Side Clinic. Joe

Cardona was impressed by the extravagance of the furnishings. He knew that Dubrong was a wealthy man;

but thick rugs, paneled walls, and magnificent furniture proved more than the detective had expected.

Dubrong received Cardona in his study. The suave physician seemed pleased to see the detective.

"Congratulations, Cardona!" he exclaimed. "Your handling of that affair at Winchendon's was excellent. How

"Indeed." Dubrong's tone seemed disappointed. "I thought that you might have gained some results. Ah, well

I am afraid that you have let the bird escape. I am still convinced that the Hindu dropped the stolen

"Of course. Cardona, I doubt that the Bishenpur diamond will ever be reclaimed."

"I'm not so sure of that." Cardona stared squarely at the physician. "I've learned something, Doctor Dubrong

something that may surprise you. There is a supercrook at work. These gangsters who were killed at

"Besides that, I have a hunch that the same crook was in back of Casslin's murder."

"Not as yet. I have stool pigeons in the underworld. They have brought me unusual reports. They are talking

"Yes. Wherever gangsters meet, this talk of The Jackdaw has begun to buzz. Whenever a mob is wiped out

as we cleaned up Bing Claver's outfit other gangsters begin to look into the matter. They want to know who

"This case seemed to have them buffaloed, until well, I received my first detailed report today somebody

wised up to a big boy in back of the jewelstealing game. The Jackdaw that's what they call him and I'm

"Yes," replied Cardona. "That is why I have come to see you. Did you ever have, among your patients at the

"Let me see," mused Dubrong. "The name sounds familiar. I should have to look him up in my records."

"Limps Silvey," declared Cardona, "had some minor connection with Bing Claver. In fact, by intercepting a

message for Limps, I learned of the trouble impending at Winchendon's. There was only one unfortunate

"Hardly," returned Cardona. "After all, I had nothing on the fellow. I did not intend to arrest him. I expect

"No. I shall leave him entirely alone. I want to watch him; but I don't intend to put stools on the job. I am

pretty sure, from what I have heard, that Limps Silvey was one of your patients. He is apt to show up at your

"I am not a police official," protested Dubrong. "I am willing to give you advice to tell you what I may

"Get me straight, doctor." Cardona's tone was earnest. "I don't want to arrest Limps Silvey. I give you my

word that he will be entirely immune. The Jackdaw is the man that I am after. I think Limps may know who

"Ah!" An idea came to Dubrong. "You want to use this Limps Silvey as a stool pigeon?"

"If I can get him. Fellows of his type are easily gained. Perhaps, through overtures on your part "

"Leave that to me." Dubrong smiled wisely as he interrupted. "If this man Silvey was one of my patients

and I believe he was he will come back. If he is afraid to show himself at the clinic, he may call up for

advice. I have had men do that on various pretexts. I can let him come to my clinic, then, with a guaranty of

"And if he appears to be worried, I can advise him to see you, promising him that he will be immune from

The detective smiled grimly as he left the physician's apartment. Cardona felt that he had scored a triumph.

CARDONA was positive that Limps Silvey was hiding out somewhere in Manhattan. He was also sure that

the cripple was connected with Dubrong. Cardona's subtle statement purely fictitious that the underworld

was buzzing with talk of The Jackdaw, was calculated to arouse Dubrong's interest in what was happening in

To cap this, Cardona had followed with talk of his policy concerning Limps Silvey. His statement that he

As matters now stood, Dubrong would consider it imperative for Limps to visit underworld hangouts, to

learn what was being said there. Moreover, it would be safe for Limps to visit Dubrong at any time.

Hunches were Joe Cardona's specialty. He had one now. He was positive that if he remained constantly at the

peephole which he had prepared above Doctor Dubrong's consulting room, he would eventually overhear an

interview between Limps Silvey and Dubrong. What was more, Cardona had another hunch that the meeting

Accordingly, the sleuth made his plans. After an hour's stay at headquarters, he wended his way to the

neighborhood of the East Side Clinic. Muffled, he entered the house in the culdesac. He went upstairs and

Two hours went by. Joe Cardona waited patiently. He was determined in his vigil. Then came a glimmer of

light. Joe quickly raised his head and peered into the room below. It was empty. Joe wondered how the light

A door opened. It was the door of the closet. The detective realized that the light switch must have been

Lysander Dubrong must be coming here. Joe Cardona stared, wondering when and how the physician would

arrive. The shades of the consulting room were lowered. Limps Silvey was staring about him, grinning.

Suddenly his expression seemed to change. He placed his cane beside the closed locker in the corner.

Standing upright, he rubbed his hands across his face, then seized a towel and began to mop his countenance.

Joe Cardona suppressed a gasp as the man chanced to turn so that the light fully revealed his face. No longer

a cripple, no longer a sordid denizen of the underworld. Out of that mopping was coming another face that

Limps Silvey had needed no hideout. Limps Silvey was a myth; a clever character created by a cunning

The man who had worn the disguise of Limps Silvey was Doctor Lysander Dubrong. The physician and his

Clothes, cane, and makeup were going in the locker. The transformation was completed. Suave and

debonair, a smile upon his thin lips, Doctor Dubrong strolled through the rear exit of his consulting room,

IN darkness, Joe Cardona smiled to himself. There was no need for action now. It was merely a case of

waiting and watching. The scene had shifted from the East Side to Park Avenue. The job was to trail Doctor

Bing Claver had served The Jackdaw. Limps Silvey had been connected with Bing Claver. Limps Silvey, Joe

had suspected, was working for Doctor Lysander Dubrong. The subtlety of it all now came to the detective.

The Jackdaw's mob was wiped out. The Jackdaw's next action, so Joe had believed, could be traced only

through Limps Silvey, for the detective had considered Doctor Dubrong was too wise to offer a trail of his

But now, as matters stood, Dubrong had become the single bet. Joe Cardona's task was simplified. Once

Traveling the underworld as Limps Silvey, Doctor Dubrong had tonight learned that The Jackdaw rumors

were lacking. That would give him confidence. Another thrust would soon be delivered by The Jackdaw.

The detective intended, from now on, to keep close tabs on Doctor Lysander Dubrong, the man who played

ON the evening following Joe Cardona's detection of the double part played by Lysander Dubrong, Farrell

Sarborn was seated in his apartment, reading the afternoon newspaper. It was early; Sarborn had just dined.

Someone rang the outside bell. Sarborn motioned his servant Jalon to answer it. The greasyfaced fellow

A few minutes later, Bart Melken arrived. He shook hands with his friend, then sprawled himself in a large

chair and stared unsteadily. Sarborn did not seem to notice Melken's uneasiness.

"I see," remarked Sarborn, tapping the newspaper, "that your prospective fatherinlaw has returned to New

"You don't appear to be pleased about it," decided Sarborn, looking at his friend. "What's the matter, Bart?

"Talk to the macaw," laughed Sarborn. He arose and opened the door of the next room. "Maybe he can cheer

He brought out the scarlet bird and perched it on the back of the chair. The macaw ruffled its throat, but made

"Don't be trivial, Farrell," pleaded Melken. "I've got to go up to Lydell's house. I promised Yvonne I'd be

"Why not? Has all this publicity about old Lydell's big banking deals given you stage fright?"

Melken's pleading tones ended as the bell rang. Sarborn, on his feet, answered the summons himself. He

spoke in a pleased manner, clicked the button to let the visitor enter, and turned to Melken.

"Lamont Cranston," said Sarborn. "He dropped up here twice. I thought he might be in tonight. A wonderful

"He was dumb enough out at Winchendon's," retorted Melken. "As near as I can figure it, no one ever found

"You weren't so brisk yourself," returned Sarborn. "I didn't do much, either, until somebody plugged a few of

those rowdies. Cranston is a retiring sort of a chap, but he's had plenty of adventures. Even at that, with all his

Sarborn opened the door. A few moments later, Cranston appeared within the room. He shook hands with

Sarborn nodded as he picked up the bird and took it into the other room. Cranston followed him. Sarborn put

the macaw on the window perch. Cranston had stopped beside the box which contained the little monkey.

Cranston brought the sapajou from its crate. He carried the monkey in his arms as he strolled toward the

window. The little creature was staring all about it. Cranston made a movement with his gold watch chain.

BEFORE Cranston could grab the sapajou, it leaped from his arms and tried to pull away the watch chain.

Cranston broke the beast's hold; the sapajou jumped up the side of the wall toward the macaw's perch.

"If those two get together," he exclaimed, "there'll be a battle. This little beast is a nuisance. Cute, but

He dropped the monkey back into its box. Cranston lighted a cigarette. His gaze fell admiringly upon the

glass case, with its collection of eggs. Chancing to look back toward the macaw, he observed that the bird

was fluttering furiously. Sarborn noted it also. He took the scarlet bird from its perch.

"You wouldn't think a macaw had nerves," he laughed, "but I believe this one has. It was scared when the

Cranston preceded Sarborn into the living room. Sarborn closed the door of the room where he kept his pets.

He perched the macaw on the back of a chair. He picked up the newspaper that he had been reading, and

Lamont Cranston's keen eyes observed a onecolumn portrait that adorned the page. It was a photograph of

Garforth Lydell, who had just returned to New York. Headlines spoke of large banking transactions which

Cranston chatted a while with Sarborn and Melken. He arranged a later appointment with Sarborn, on some

evening when they could study a series of remarkable photographs of India, which Cranston had brought

"If you intend to be about after midnight, Sarborn, perhaps we can get together then. I intend to call my home

from the club. I can instruct Stanley, my chauffeur, to bring in the photographs. It is possible that I might be

"Very well," agreed Sarborn. "I intend to be about. I shall expect to hear from you later tonight."

Sarborn walked to the elevator with his guest. He came back to his apartment while the automatic lift was

"I'm worrying about tonight," confessed Melken. "I'm going up to Lydell's and I'm afraid of the

"Suppose, Farrell," he said, "that I should tell you something startling almost incriminating "

"I don't know. Except that it concerns me. Would you preserve silence regarding the matter?"

"All right." Melken was pondering. He was trying to veil the truth, yet tell enough to convey the situation to

Sarborn. "I'll talk to you, Farrell. It's about a telephone call that I received this afternoon."

Sarborn smiled. He was scratching the macaw's head. He shrugged his shoulders in deprecatory fashion.

"But this one" Melken caught himself. He had been about to say that it was not the first "this one was

"Sit down," urged Sarborn. "Light a cigarette, calm yourself, and talk to me. Something is worrying you,

As though to insure privacy, Farrell Sarborn went to the hall door and opened it. He glanced along the

IT was then that a figure appeared in the hallway. From the gloom at the head of a flight of stairs, the form of

The Shadow appeared. Evidently the blackgarbed investigator had been expecting some action such as this.

He knew now that the door would not be reopened immediately. He glided along the hall.

Stopped by the door, The Shadow drew a disklike object from his pocket and placed it firmly against the

door. Two tubes projected from the plate, like the connections of a stethoscope. These passed beneath the

slouch hat which The Shadow wore. Equipped with this device that magnified sound, The Shadow could

Beyond the door, Bart Melken was starting the plea that he had promised. He was telling Farrell Sarborn the

"A phone call this afternoon," he declared. "It came from from someone who called himself The Jackdaw.

"With death, if necessary. Specifically, though, he threatened to load me with false accusations to name me

"The murder of Rutherford Casslin and the attempted raid at Silas Winchendon's home."

"They are serious, Farrell. Do you remember that mob leader who was killed at Winchendon's? Well, I knew

him I met him some time ago, when I was in what looked like a jam. Bing Claver helped me out of it.

"Since then well, crimes have hit at places where I have been. I have been afraid that I would be

As he made the hasty addition, Melken looked hastily at Sarborn to see if his friend had noted it. Sarborn's

"I had feared," he said, "that I might some day be called upon to commit crime. After Bing was killed, I

thought that I might be safe. I knew that Bing served a big shot whom he called The Jackdaw. I heard from

As he made this exclamation, Farrell Sarborn showed intense surprise. He ceased scratching the macaw's

"Plenty. Lydell arrived in town today. This is a Saturday; tomorrow is Sunday; Monday happens to be a

"Garforth Lydell's methods are well known. He works quickly and effectively. It is obvious to anyone who

understands his ways that Lydell must have hundreds of thousands of dollars in negotiable securities tucked

away in his vault at home. That is where he does business. He will probably talk with bankers between now

"The Jackdaw does know. That is where I figure. I am to open the door of Lydell's vault, so that The Jackdaw

Farrell Sarborn stared in astonishment. Bart Melken hastened with a specific explanation.

"THERE are two doors to the vault room," he said. "One opens into Lydell's library, the other, into a disused

hallway. The Jackdaw's orders are that I shall open the door from the library; in the vault room, I can unbar

"It should be simple for me to do this. Lydell keeps his keys in his desk. I may be able to obtain them. Once I

have opened the door from the library, I can unbar the other door, then go out the way I came, and lock the

library door behind me. That will leave the opening that The Jackdaw wants. He will have all the time in the

world to crack the vault. It is an old contrivance with steel doors guarding its room; Lydell considers it

"Suppose," said Sarborn reflectively, "that you should pretend inability to go through with this?"

Nervously, the young man glanced at his watch. He shook his head as he noted the hour.

"I'm due there now, Farrell!" he exclaimed. "Due there at once! I've got to go through with this job."

"I can't!" Melken's tone was excited. "I've told you this, Farrell, so you can help me later. When this job is

done, I'll be free of The Jackdaw. He told me so, today, when he talked to me over the telephone. I'm going

through with it, Farrell. I only want to know that I can count on you if trouble comes. I want to come back

"Impossible! Yvonne and her father expect me alone. I must manage to deceive them. I'll be away before the

Melken was turning toward the door. Sarborn threw out an arm to restrain him. The delay was only

momentary, but in that interval, The Shadow, beyond the barrier, glided away, the listening disk clutched in

When Bart Melken broke free from Farrell Sarborn in the hallway, The Shadow was no longer in sight. He

was watching, though, from the stairway. He saw Melken stride toward the elevator. Farrell Sarborn, shaking

THE elevator door opened; Melken entered, closed the door, and descended. The Shadow crept forward. At

Within the apartment, Farrell Sarborn had lighted a cigarette. He was pacing slowly back and forth. He

While the servant followed the command, Sarborn opened a table drawer. From it, he brought forth a loaded

revolver, which he dropped in his side pocket. Jalon returned with the outer garments. Sarborn donned hat

"If anyone calls," he said to Jalon; "tell them that I am busy. You understand? Do not let them come up here"

he paused "unless Mr. Cranston should call. I do not expect him, however, until nearly midnight. You can

Jalon grunted his understanding of the instructions. Farrell Sarborn strode to the door. Simultaneously, The

When Farrell Sarborn strode out into the hallway, The Shadow was already on the stairs. His tall form was

descending; he would arrive at the bottom by the time Sarborn had reached the first floor in the elevator.

The Shadow had divined Farrell Sarborn's destination. Sarborn, like Melken, had chosen one definite place:

the home of Garforth Lydell. Sarborn had realized, more fully than Melken had supposed, the power which

Sarborn had openly accompanied Melken to Winchendon's; that had been when Melken had volunteered no

specific facts. Now, with Melken's fullest fears asserted, Sarborn was secretly on his way to join the young

WHEN Farrell Sarborn strode from the elevator, the eyes of The Shadow were upon him. Sequestered in the

darkness of the stairway, the keenvisioned observer watched Bart Melken's friend make his departure.

The Shadow made no motion for a short while. Then, like a spectral shape, he glided forth from his spot of

hiding, and moved easily toward the door. His form seemed to shroud the light; it cast a long splotch through

The Shadow's gloved hand rested on the knob of the door. It paused there as the outer door swung open, and

a man entered the lobby. In the dim light, The Shadow recognized the new arrival. It was Doctor Lysander

The physician's face seemed sallow in the yellow light. Dubrong was wearing a serious, worried expression.

His suave smile was absent. The Shadow watched him run his finger along the line of push buttons to the one

Dubrong was holding the little receiver to his ear. His eyes were upon the mouthpiece by the name board.

The Shadow was not only observant, his keen ears could hear the conversation which Dubrong was

"Hello... Mr. Sarborn..." Dubrong paused. "I want to talk with Mr. Sarborn... What's that? Who am I?... Let

me talk to Mr. Sarborn... What? Am I Mr. Cranston?" The flicker of the suave smile returned to Dubrong's

The Shadow sidled into darkness as the door began to click. Dubrong with surprising agility, leaped from the

name board and pushed open the door. He strode directly past the spot where The Shadow was standing. The

While the door was closing, The Shadow spied a new entrant into the lobby. A squatly man had arrived there

The Shadow, peering from the edge of the door, again recognized a face. This man was a secondclass

detective from headquarters; he had evidently been detailed to watch the movements of Doctor Dubrong.

The dick looked at the name board. He saw the pressed button, with the name of Farrell Sarborn. He paused

for a few moments, then turned and hurried from the lobby. A soft laugh came from The Shadow. He knew

DUBRONG had gone above, using the elevator which was waiting when he entered. The Shadow followed

on his trail, using the stairway. As he neared the top, he heard the sound of excited voices. Doctor Dubrong

"Get out of my way!" ordered the physician. "I want to see your master not you."

"He came here from his hotel," was Dubrong's savage response. "I learned that when I called there. Where

Dubrong shot a vicious punch into the servant's body. As Jalon doubled up, The Shadow saw Dubrong stride

past his blocker. He could hear angry shouts as Jalon followed. The two men came staggering forth, locked in

It appeared an unequal struggle, the frail physician against the squatly, thickformed South American

servant. Dubrong, however, showed marked skill in combat. He twisted free, delivered another punch, and

sent the squatly man staggering. He headed for the elevator this time. He had evidently assured himself that

Jalon, however, was not satisfied. Like a tiger, the servant sprang after the departing physician. A knife blade

The Shadow sprang suddenly forth from his spot of obscurity. Dubrong did not see him; the physician was in

the elevator. Jalon did not see him; the servant was intent upon stopping Dubrong.

As The Shadow made his swift approach, a shot resounded. It came from the elevator. Jalon, already

pounding into the car to grapple with the man who appeared an enemy to his master, collapsed with

Dubrong must have pulled a revolver and delivered a quick but certain shot. The elevator door clanged shut.

Doctor Dubrong was making a get away. His shot had mortally wounded Farrell Sarborn's servant. There was

no need for The Shadow's presence here. Swiftly, the blackclad intervener swung toward the stairway.

The elevator stopped at the ground floor before The Shadow had sufficient time to make the descent. Its door

slid open, and Doctor Dubrong leaped forth with the wild fury of a madman. He dashed from the apartment

building, pocketing his revolver as he ran. He had used the weapon that he had shown Joe Cardona, that day

A MOTOR sounded as The Shadow arrived at the bottom of the stairs. When the tall pursuer had reached the

street, the tail light of Dubrong's car was rounding the corner. The Shadow paused just beyond the sphere of

light outside of the apartment. He turned quickly as he sidled back into darkness.

Whatever thought The Shadow might have held regarding a pursuit of Doctor Dubrong was ended at the sight

of the detective. As Cardona entered the lobby, The Shadow moved across the street to the side of a parked

coupe. There, he flung his cloak and hat into the car. Visible now, he returned, a figure in evening clothes.

His face came into light as he opened the outer door of the lobby. The Shadow bore the features of Lamont

Joe Cardona, studying the name plates on the board, swung around as Cranston entered. The detective

recognized the arrival. Not only did he remember Cranston, from the affray at Winchendon's, he knew also

"Dropping in to see a friend of mine," remarked Cranston quietly. "Farrell Sarborn perhaps you remember

"Say!" Cardona pointed to the name on the board. "That's the place I'm going, too. I want to find doc a

fellow who came here to Sarborn's place for no good reason. I don't want to ring Sarborn's bell. Do you know

Cranston shook his head. Cardona seemed perplexed. The millionaire made a slight smile.

Joe Cardona grunted. The plan was simple enough. The detective pulled a revolver from his pocket, and

delivered a stroke with the butt. He shattered the glass, reached through, and turned the knob.

WHEN the pair stepped from the elevator on the third floor, Cardona uttered a surprised exclamation. Bathed

in light from the doorway of Sarborn's apartment lay the dead form of Jalon, the servant. The man had

Joe gripped his revolver. He heard Lamont Cranston remark that the dead man was Sarborn's servant. Joe

nodded and motioned to Cranston to accompany him. They entered the apartment. They saw at once that the

"I know the man who got this fellow!" exclaimed Cardona. "I'll tell you who it was. Doctor Lysander

"Doctor Dubrong!" uttered Cranston, in a tone of incredulity. "That must be impossible! He is a man of high

"I know him for what he is," growled Cardona. "The question now is where he's gone. He's made a

Cardona stared at the macaw. The bird was perched as calmly as ever, the only challenge in its bearing being

"At Winchendon's," remarked Cranston, "the macaw had a remarkable ability to utter names that it had heard.

Perhaps Sarborn, before he left, stated where he was going. Perhaps Dubrong has followed him there."

Cranston was lighting a cigarette. Holding it between his lips, he approached and scratched the macaw's head.

The bird ruffed its throat feathers and wagged its beak. Suddenly, its shrill cry sounded.

Cranston had spied the newspaper on the table. He picked it up and pointed to the news paragraph beside the

"Garforth Lydell!" exclaimed Cardona. "Say" he was reading the paragraph "he lives less than a dozen

Cardona leaped to the telephone. He turned to Cranston before raising the receiver.

"I'm calling police headquarters before I start," he informed the millionaire. "I don't want to lose any time.

I've got a man outside, Mr. Cranston. Detective Sergeant Markham. You'll do me a favor if you'll go down

Cranston was nodding as Cardona spoke. With no further delay, the millionaire turned and strode from the

apartment. He took the elevator to the ground floor. At the outer door, he stood and made a beckoning gesture

with his arms. Detective Sergeant Markham came hurrying from a car parked down the street. Like Cardona,

"Cardona wants you up at Sarborn's apartment," informed Cranston. "Right away, Markham. Third floor. Tell

him I shall return here shortly. I have an appointment at the Cobalt Club which I must keep."

Markham nodded. There was no mention of murder up above. He went into the apartment building as

Cranston reached his coupe. There, he quickly donned his masking cloak and hat. It was The Shadow who

drove away from the front of the apartment house. His hands, as they were manipulating the wheel, were

Bart Melken had gone to Garforth Lydell's. Farrell Sarborn had followed him. Doctor Lysander Dubrong had

taken up the trail. Detective Joe Cardona was on his way. Besides these, there was another who would arrive

The Shadow, too, was traveling to the focal point where crime was due to strike. The Shadow's laugh was

Tonight, The Shadow would meet The Jackdaw. The elusive bird of crime would come face to face with the

GARFORTH LYDELL'S home was an oldfashioned brownstone mansion in the Nineties. The house had a

central hall; on the right, as one entered, was a living room. Connected to it was a smaller room, Garforth

On the left of the hallway lay the library. At the rear of this room was a steel door that led to the vault. An old

pantry had been transformed into the vault room, and its other side was blocked with another door of steel.

One was Bart Melken; the other was Garforth Lydell himself. The banker was a man of fifty years. His

irongray hair alone betrayed his age. Physically, he was in the pink of condition.

Bart Melken, nervous and palefaced, seemed a weakling compared to his intended fatherinlaw. Garforth

Lydell, although not a large man, showed action and power in every mood or gesture.

The two were talking about Lydell's trip. Melken was questioning Lydell about conditions in Florida. The

"Don't ask me about Florida," he said. "I was only there part of the time that I was away."

"Pleasure. I was incognito." Lydell smiled. "In fact, I came north well, let us say a few days ago in order

to attend to a few matters here. I didn't want to appear in New York as returned from Florida until I was ready

"Millions, Bart. Actual securities will be handled to the extent of half a million. They are in my vault here

"Perfectly. I would trust them there even if they were my own. It happens, however, that they belong to other

"Yes, in a sense. I should not like to have them stolen. Nevertheless, they were fairly thrust upon me. I am

"Not in the affairs of the large corporations involved. To them, securities to a certain amount of course

are merely certificates. It is surprising how lax some people are about handling them.

"Tonight, Bart" Lydell was chuckling as he spoke "I could rob my own vault with onehundredpercent

"Where is Yvonne?" asked Bart. "I expected to find her downstairs when I arrived."

"She had a slight headache," declared Garforth Lydell. "She told me to call her when you arrived. I forgot

The banker arose and clapped his prospective soninlaw on the shoulder. He seemed to have a fatherly

"You'll have to entertain yourself for fifteen or twenty minutes," said Lydell. "I'm going upstairs to unpack a

trunk. After that, I'll call Yvonne. I think it is best not to disturb her for a little while."

Garforth Lydell was smiling as he left the study. Bart Melken stared after him. This was one of the first real

talks he had ever had with Lydell. The banker had always been cordial, but rather formal in the past.

NOW, as Bart reviewed the year that he had been engaged to Yvonne, he could see that Lydell had been

watching him more closely than he had supposed. It was just after his engagement to Yvonne, Bart recalled,

Thus Bart's acquaintance with Garforth Lydell had begun almost simultaneously with his term of service to

The Jackdaw. The coincidence was something that Bart had never appreciated before tonight. Strained and

Bart's mind was in that hectic state where delusions come to prominence. Thoughts flashed through his brain

thoughts that were names. Garforth Lydell Bing Claver The Jackdaw the last name kept thrumming

That mysterious chieftain had imposed a special task for tonight. Bart was to pave the way for an impressive

theft the stealing of half a million dollars in securities. Valuables in the custody of Garforth Lydell; securities

Would it hurt Lydell if these were stolen? No the banker had stated that the loss would not be his own. The

thought was a salve to Bart Melken's conscience. Mechanically, he arose from the chair in which he was

seated, and took the one beyond Garforth Lydell's desk. He opened the central drawer, finding it unlocked.

Directly before his eyes, Bart Melken saw a key. He recognized it as the key that would unlock the door in

the library; the steel door to the vault. Either chance or design had favored Bart tonight. Hastily, the young

There were no servants in the house. Two had been on duty while Yvonne had been living here alone, during

her widowed father's absence. Garforth Lydell had had the key in his possession; he had left it in this drawer,

Alone, on the ground floor of the house, Bart Melken had the opportunity he wished. It was his chance to

clear the way for The Jackdaw's final haul, to relieve himself of servitude to the clever supercrook.

Key in hand, Bart Melken hurried from the study. He went across the hall, after passing through the living

room. He paused momentarily at the foot of the stairs. There was no sound from above. Garforth Lydell

Bart Melken entered the library. He stopped there for a moment. As he did, a pair of eyes were focused upon

him from the window. A face showed there, against the pane. Bart Melken did not see it. He would have

Bart reached the steel door. He unlocked it with a trembling hand. As he did, an action occurred far behind

him at the front door of the house. That portal opened; into the hallway stepped a slender, skulking figure

The physician advanced to the doorway of the library. Peering craftily, he saw Bart Melken unlocking the

steel door. A suave smile registered itself upon the doctor's lips. Dubrong moved back to the front door, and

Farrell Sarborn's face was no longer at the side window. It had disappeared when Melken had approached the

The steel door was open. Stepping down two paces, Bart Melken found himself beside the disused door that

was barred on the inside. The bar grated as Bart manipulated it. It came clear. The door was free upon its

BART backed toward the library. He stood there trembling, ready to depart. As he turned, the sound of a

footfall frightened him. He swung to face the last person whom he had expected to encounter: Yvonne

"What are you doing?" Yvonne's question was breathless. "What are you doing here in the vault?"

"It's all right, Yvonne!" Bart's words were husky. "You you must not say anything. You your father is "

"Bart!" gasped Yvonne. The girl's eyes were wide. "Bart! You have opened the other door "

The sentence ended. Yvonne was staring beyond her fiance. Instinctively, Bart Melken turned in that

The farther door had opened. Its grating hinges had attracted the girl's notice. Framed in the doorway stood a

Yvonne Lydell was speechless. She did not know the might of this arrival. Bart Melken, too, found his throat

For the first time, The Jackdaw's minion was face to face with his crimedealing chief.

THE JACKDAW swung his revolver toward the man and the girl at the library door. His gesture was a potent

threat. Bart Melken backed away. Yvonne Lydell, however, retained her ground. She did not fear the menace

The urgent words a recognition of The Jackdaw's coldblooded deeds worked opposite to Melken's

intention. The order for silence gave Yvonne the ray of hope that she desired. Wildly, the girl began to

Bart Melken saw The Jackdaw's finger on the trigger. With the first display of courage that he had ever

shown in his life, he flung himself into the path of fire. His hurtling body met The Jackdaw with full force.

A burst of flame. Bart Melken staggered. His body began to sag. Yvonne, gaining action as well as words,

was backing across the library. She realized that the shot had been meant for her.

As The Jackdaw's shot resounded, the unlatched front door burst open, and a stocky man dashed across the

hallway to the library. The detective had heard the shot. He saw the girl. He did not look toward the windows

at the side, where one was slightly open. He thought only of the menace that must lie ahead.

Drawing his revolver, Cardona flung the girl aside and stopped short at the door. His gun hand was but half

raised. Before him, he saw the glistening muzzle of the revolver that The Jackdaw held.

Joe Cardona was face to face with death. He half dropped to the floor, swinging his revolver upward in a

Then came the second shot in this strange conflict. It came from the spot where it might be least expected. A

terrific roar sounded from the partly opened window of the library. It was the cannonade of a huge automatic,

The Jackdaw saw that shot. He saw the eyes above the gun that fired it the burning eyes of The Shadow.

The blackclad warrior was framed within the window, his outline a shady shape, his blackgloved hand

The Shadow's bullet found its mark in The Jackdaw's shoulder. The crook's trigger finger made a clutch. The

revolver fired a futile, hopeless shot. The Jackdaw's arm was sagging as his hand tried to retain its aim.

IN quick staccato came the third shot of the fray. Joe Cardona's gun had reached the level. The detective, last

to fire, was the only one to repeat. Again and again he delivered bullets into The Jackdaw's crumpling frame.

The crook's body sprawled riddled on the floor. The Jackdaw's pouring blood mingled with that of his fellow

Cardona had killed The Jackdaw but he had gained the opportunity only through The Shadow's

intervention. Joe had not seen the mysterious fighter fire. He had merely followed the opportunity that had

It was The Shadow's shot, however, that had done the work. But for it, Joe Cardona would have been

The detective stood motionless. Before he could advance, Yvonne Lydell had sprung past him. The girl was

kneeling by the bodies on the floor, neglectful of the blood that spread upon the floor. It was not Bart

Melken's form that she sought. Her hands were upon the shoulders of The Jackdaw.

"Father!" she moaned. "I feared this! Oh, father, I should have known tonight when you told me told me

"Your father?" The question came from Joe Cardona. The detective was stepping forward.

"You're wrong, lady," he declared. "I'll tell you who this man is." He reached down and seized the mask that

As he spoke, Cardona plucked away the mask. His action turned The Jackdaw's head upon its side. Yvonne

Lydell, staring, saw that the face was not that of her father. Joe Cardona, openmouthed, saw that it was not

The face on the floor was the countenance of Farrell Sarborn. He Farrell Sarborn was The Jackdaw!

The echoes of a rising laugh crept through the library. A quick crescendo, those chilling tones ended in an

abrupt pause, while whispered reverberations came in lulling gasps. This was The Shadow's pronouncement.

He had not spoken the true name of The Jackdaw. But The Shadow knew the identity of the dead man on the

Before Cardona could stare back toward the living room, a noise interrupted him from the open door through

which The Jackdaw had come. A man was standing there, a man who had entered the hallway from an

A moment later, an excited voice sounded from the library. Turning in bewilderment, Joe Cardona found

himself staring at Garforth Lydell. At sight of the banker, Yvonne leaped to her feet, and threw herself into

Then, while she sobbed, the girl turned and pointed to Bart Melken's dead form. In a choking voice, she

"Do not say that," came a dryvoiced tone. All turned to face Doctor Dubrong. "Say rather that Bart Melken

at last deserves a word of praise. He has performed the only deed of courage in all his life."

As if in answer came a sighing whisper from the closing window of the library. The strange, vague sound was

a laugh. Yet it carried no tone of mirth or mockery. It was, rather, a knell; a weird note that carried unworded

It was the parting token of The Shadow, the hidden fighter, who had brought an end to The Jackdaw,

A GROUP of men were assembled in Farrell Sarborn's apartment. Joe Cardona was there. With him had

come Doctor Lysander Dubrong and Garforth Lydell. Lamont Cranston had just arrived; returning as he

Besides these, another man had come upon the scene. Police Commissioner Ralph Weston had hurried hither

"Amazing!" exclaimed the banker. "To think that Bart Melken was working for this crook, who called

"The Jackdaw," repeated Lydell. "It was odd that my daughter should take seriously my statement that I

could rob myself tonight. No wonder she thought that I lay dead and masked upon the floor of the vault!"

"No apology from you, Cardona," returned Dubrong dryly. "I am the one who must give an explanation. I

"I knew Bart Melken's father who died years ago. Naturally, I took an interest in the young man without his

knowledge. I saw, some months ago, that he was becoming restless. I also noticed that robberies had taken

"Through my East Side Clinic, I heard rumors of a highclass crook called The Jackdaw. To learn more, I

adopted the mythical character of Limps Silvey. I toadied in that disguise to different gang leaders, and

"Bing, like Bart, received his instructions by telephone. I had no direct foreknowledge that Rutherford

Casslin was to be murdered. The Jackdaw did that job alone. I thought that all was safe at the time I left

"When I returned to the castle, I realized that Bart Melken was implicated in murder. I put forth the Hindu

theory merely to protect him my friend's son while I could continue my efforts to track The Jackdaw.

"As Limps Silvey, I learned facts concerning Bing Claver's proposed attack at Winchendon's. I knew

Cardona's stools were trailing me. I deliberately drew you, Cardona, on my track so that I could make that

pretended telephone call. It was I who called you at the restaurant in Corona. I wanted you and your men to

"Your tipoff came in time," acknowledged Cardona, as the physician paused. "It wasn't your fault that the

"I again adopted the guise of Limps Silvey," resumed Dubrong with a smile, "when you told me that there

were rumors of The Jackdaw. I found out that your statement was incorrect. I began to watch Bart Melken.

"WHEN I read in the newspaper that Garforth Lydell had returned, I suddenly sensed where The Jackdaw

might be planning to make a final stroke. I went to Melken's hotel. I learned that he had come here, to

Sarborn's apartment. Both men were gone. Sarborn's servant tried to kill me. I killed him. I hurried to prevent

"I went around the house; but I picked the wrong way. I was late arriving at the door to the hallway too late

"While I was upstairs," interposed Garforth Lydell. "Upstairs, unpacking knowing nothing until I heard

muffled shots from far below. Had I known that Yvonne had risen to go downstairs and find Bart Melken "

"Bart did a good deed," broke in Dubrong. "I am not sorry that he died as he did. It was a worthwhile way to

Commissioner Weston was staring hard. These revelations were unquestionably correct. Yet he could not yet

All turned to the millionaire. His statement was unexpected. No one had figured Cranston as one with an

"I do not claim to be a detective." There was a tinge of calm irony in Cranston's steady voice. "Yet I noticed,

"Yes," replied Cranston, "a faker. Sometimes fakers prove to be crooks. This bird of his" the millionaire

pointed to the scarlet macaw, still perched upon a chair back "was an impossible performer.

"Macaws, first of all, have a penchant for screaming. They can never be cured of the habit. Secondly, they are

poor talkers. Yet here is a phenomenal macaw: one that never screams; one that speaks with almost human

intelligence. Both are impossible factors, especially in a scarlet macaw, one of the most difficult species to

"Most certainly," explained Cranston. "Look at it now, Watch its moving beak, its ruffling throat. It is trying

"Sarborn spoke for it," retorted Cranston. "He was always close beside it, scratching its head, looking toward

it. The simplest possible feat of ventriloquism is to imitate the falsetto cry of a parrot. The bird's constant

habit of trying to scream made Sarborn's ventriloquism even more effective. He kept the people just far

"Sarborn was a mimic," added Cranston. "He gave a perfect imitation of a kitten's mew at Winchendon's. I

realized then that he was a ventriloquist. I saw nothing in his game outside of trickery." Cranston's knowing

smile and slight sarcastic tone remained unnoticed. "Now, however, that you are seeking facts, I am able to

supply them. I was at Winchendon's. Bart Melken evidently failed to give a proper signal so Sarborn gave

"When I was playing the part of Limps," recalled Dubrong, "I remember hearing the end of a telephone call

"A wise guy," decided Joe Cardona. "Sarborn had no more use for Bing, once the game was up. He played

"But Casslin's death!" blurted Weston. "You spoke of that, Cranston. How does the macaw explain it?"

"Just an idea," returned Cranston. "Let us see if it is correct. One pet played well for Sarborn. Maybe another

was trained to do its work. I read about Casslin's odd, barred tower. I noticed something, here at Sarborn's,

HE led the way to the other room. He opened the crate in the corner, and brought out the little monkey. In the

corner, Cranston spied a coil of string. He gave an end of the twine to the monkey.

"This," said Cranston, "is a sapajou the most intelligent species of monkeys found in South America. Look

Cranston released the sapajou. The little creature clambered up the wall, carrying the end of the string. It took

the cord over the bar, and brought it down the wall to Cranston. The string formed a loop over the perch.

"I see it!" cried Cardona. "Sarborn was outside by Casslin's tower. When he got the signal that the diamond

was downstairs, he sent the monkey up with a rope. Then he climbed up the rope himself."

"How could he have gotten the diamond?" questioned Weston. "I see how he killed Casslin he thrust a

Cranston, holding the sapajou under one arm, placed his gold watch upon the seat of a chair. He drew the

monkey in back of the upright rods in the chair back. When he released his hold, the sapajou wriggled

"He sent the monkey in for it!" shouted Cardona. "In for the diamond! That explains it all. I'm going to look

Commissioner Weston was no longer skeptical. He thrust out his hand to Lamont Cranston.

"You'd make a good detective," he commended. "After you squander those millions of yours, come around

"The Bishenpur diamond?" queried Cranston. "Ah, yes. There must be a clew to it. Let us see perhaps The

His smile broadened. Everyone seemed breathless. This keenminded investigator had made another strike.

"The Jackdaw," repeated Cranston. "The thieving bird the bird that even steals eggs from other bird nests.

The Bishenpur diamond was The Jackdaw's egg. Farrell Sarborn, strangely enough, was a collector of birds'

He waved his hand as he spoke. All turned toward the glass case that contained Sarborn's collection of eggs.

Joe Cardona, suddenly impulsed, yanked out his revolver and shattered the glass.

"A condor's egg," remarked Cranston, picking out the largest ovoid in the group. "Very heavy now that I

am examining it for the first time. Look it has a seam. It is not an egg at all. It is a thin metal container."

With a twist of his hands, he wrenched the egg apart. In one half, he exhibited a gorgeous, glittering gem, that

CARDONA was breaking open another, smaller egg. He found some gems within it. He was exulting. Here

Lamont Cranston retained his smile as more and more gems put in their appearance when new eggs were

It was not until afterward that Joe Cardona suddenly gained a hunch. It was when the group had gone

downstairs, when Cranston, at the door of the apartment building, was about to enter his coupe.

Joe Cardona stepped forward to the millionaire. He put a question as Cranston took the wheel of the car. The

"The macaw," remarked Cardona. "You said that Sarborn talked for it. You proved it, right enough. But I just

remember that when I came up to Sarborn's, it was the macaw that told me where Farrell Sarborn had gone

Cranston had started the motor. He became solemn as he leaned to the window of the car.

"Remarkable, wasn't it?" he questioned. "The macaw did talk once when it had a right to talk."

The coupe rolled away. Joe Cardona stood bewildered on the curb. His hazy senses cleared. He began to

The mysterious fighter out at Winchendon's the macaw that spoke even when its master was not present

the timely bullet that had downed The Jackdaw in Garforth Lydell's vault. All went back to that significant

point, the time when the macaw had spoken for Joe Cardona when Lamont Cranston had stood beside the

He Cranston had provided the macaw's falsetto. He was in the open at that time; he had been under cover

Throughout this case, the might of a powerful fighter had manifested itself. Well did Cardona know the only

Joe realized now that while he, Cardona, had been following the wrong trail, doing no more than interfere

with Doctor Dubrong's desperate efforts to aid the law, The Shadow had been closing a net about the real

It was The Shadow who had trapped The Jackdaw. It was The Shadow who, had ended the crook's career of

As he stood on the curb, staring after the tiny taillight of the millionaire's coupe, Joe Cardona fancied that he

heard the faint echo of a weird, unearthly mirth. It was the laughter that had sounded at Garforth Lydell's. Its

Echoes of the past, the sinister mockery dispelled itself with the night breeze.