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

CHAPTER I. CRIME SERVES ITSELF................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. THE SECOND THRUST................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III. LINKS TO CRIME .........................................................................................................8

CHAPTER IV. DEATH BRINGS A TRAIL........................................................................................12

CHAPTER V. THE TRAP THAT TURNED ........................................................................................16

CHAPTER VI. DEATH DEFERRED ...................................................................................................20

CHAPTER VII. CROOKS TAKE COVER..........................................................................................23

CHAPTER VIII. CRIME'S PURPOSE.................................................................................................27

CHAPTER IX. THE SHADOW'S VISIT ..............................................................................................31

CHAPTER X. THE CROSSED TRAIL ................................................................................................35

CHAPTER XI. THRUSTS THROUGH THE DARK ...........................................................................38

CHAPTER XII. THE PAST LINK ........................................................................................................41

CHAPTER XIII. THE HOUSE IN THE HILLS ...................................................................................45

CHAPTER XIV. FACTS BEHIND CRIME .........................................................................................48

CHAPTER XV. BLAST OF DOOM....................................................................................................53

CHAPTER XVI. BOSCO'S MISTAKE................................................................................................56

CHAPTER XVII. IN THE HIDEOUT ................................................................................................60

CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW TALKS........................................................................................64

CHAPTER XIX. IN THE TEST ROOM ...............................................................................................68

CHAPTER XX. LIVING AND DEAD .................................................................................................72

CHAPTER XXI. THE DEAD RETURN..............................................................................................75

A FRAIL, droopyfaced man was seated near the window of his hotel room writing a letter. At moments he

paused, a sly smile on his small lips, a gleam in his birdlike eyes. During those intervals, he stroked his

He finished the letter, applying his signature with a selfimportant flourish. The name that he wrote was

George Thurnig; and from his manner, he seemed to think that many persons knew that name.

Thurnig was wrong. He was almost unknown, here in New York. Even in Cincinnati, where he hailed from,

he was regarded as important only by persons who purchased automobile accessories at his small chain of

By tomorrow, though, the name of George Thurnig would be heralded throughout the country in a manner

At present, Thurnig was complimenting himself upon the letter that he had written. It was to a friend in

Cincinnati, and though cordial in style, it concealed much more than it told. For one thing, it revealed nothing

That was a matter that Thurnig was keeping strictly to himself and a few other persons, who were also

The letter that Thurnig had written was limited to brief statements. It mentioned the fact that Thurnig had

been taken ill shortly after his arrival at the New York hotel. Just another case of indigestion, the sort that

frequently troubled him. The house physician had put him on a restricted diet for a few days.

That was ended. Tonight, the doctor had told Thurnig that he could go out, provided that he did not overeat or

overdrink. So Thurnig intended to visit the bright spots, but keep within conservative bounds.

Sealing the letter, Thurnig addressed it and applied an airmail stamp. He stepped toward the door and

Hurrying to an open suitcase, Thurnig pulled a wallet from a deep compartment. The wallet was stuffed with

crisp currency, all in bills of high denominations. Thousanddollar notes; next five hundreds; finally, a batch

of onehundreddollar bills. They totaled twenty thousand dollars, and the full sum was in the wallet.

The droopyfaced man carried the wallet in his hip pocket when he went out into the corridor to post his

letter. All the way to the mail chute, he kept up quick sideglances with his birdlike eyes. Carrying twenty

Even though his better judgment told him that he was safe, Thurnig almost expected to see silent doors pop

open, to find himself covered by dangerous New York mobsters. Nothing of the sort happened. Apparently,

anyone who was after big dough had not been informed that George Thurnig carried it.

THE telephone bell was jangling merrily when Thurnig returned along the corridor. He hurried into his room,

locked the door and bolted it. When he answered the call, Thurnig recognized the voice across the wire.

"Hello..." Thurnig's eyes showed pleasure, but his lips, closeset, told that he was too canny to mention

names. "I had hoped to hear from you... Yes, I am quite well again. I shall be able to keep the appointment

"My illness? Merely indigestion... What? You thought it might be my heart? No, no!" Proudly, Thurnig

thwacked his chest. "Hear that? It's the way the doctor tapped me... Yes, he said my heart was in excellent

"Yes, fit as a fiddle that describes me. So I am going out tonight... Yes, sir, as soon as my tuxedo comes up

from the valet... Of course, I shall be careful of myself. Thanks a lot, for giving me a call."

Thurnig hung up the receiver; he paced to the window. Propping his elbows there, he studied the glow of

Times Square, with its flicker of big electric signs. That distant glare meant life, excitement, the sort that

Thurnig's lips pursed to form a smile of anticipation, that was not to be realized.

He must have been staring from the window for a full ten minutes, when a short rap sounded outside his door.

For an instant, Thurnig was startled; he waited for the knock to be repeated. When silence persisted, he

He went to the door, opened it cautiously. He saw no one when he peered into the corridor. It was then that he

The Servidor was a simple and useful device that Thurnig had found in many hotels. The door, with its big

bulge, had two panels, with a space between. The outside panel could be unlocked by hotel employees, to

pick up or leave laundry or clothes. The inner panel was controlled by the guest within the room.

Thanks to these doors within doors, the employees stayed out of the rooms, and that pleased Thurnig. He was

a bit absentminded; apt to forget important matters, even the twenty thousand dollars that was so important

to him. Remembering the money at this moment, Thurnig pulled the wallet from his hip, to lay it in the

Returning to the door, he opened his side of the Servidor, expecting to find his pressed tuxedo.

Instead of the suit, Thurnig saw an upright box made of metal. It was wedged in the Servidor; from its top

came a wire that was hooked to the panel that Thurnig had just opened. The wire actuated a shutter device in

Thurnig saw the shutter slide open. He heard its click; heard the hiss that followed it. From the box came a

smoky, yellow vapor that licked lazily toward the man who viewed it. Before Thurnig recovered from his

The vapor's immediate effect was to stagger him. He wavered, rooted to the spot where he stood. Then came

the instinctive impulse to fight off the gaseous foe, to suppress it as a hideous monster. With a wild fling of

But the remedy came too late. The gas tank had delivered its full quota. Enveloped by the yellow cloud,

Thurnig was seized by a frantic desire for air. Clawing as if clutched by a living creature, the man stumbled

Behind him, the gas was dissolving into the air; but that offered no relief. The stuff had done its work; deep

in his lungs, Thurnig could feel its grip. He managed to pry the window upward, to stare downward into the

darkness of the hotel courtyard. Then, his elbows tightened on the sill; slowly, they relaxed. Thurnig rolled

Sounds told that the outer panel of the Servidor was being opened cautiously. There was a muffled scrape as

the gas box was removed; next, a slight thump from the closing outer panel. The evidence was gone.

SOME minutes later, a valet arrived outside Thurnig's door carrying the expected tuxedo. He inserted the suit

in the Servidor, and knocked. Thurnig did not answer; the valet remained, however, a trifle puzzled.

He expected to hear Thurnig take the tuxedo at once, for the guest had specified that he would be in his room

to receive it by half past eight. The valet knocked again; finally, he opened the outer panel, to note that the

suit was still there. Closing the Servidor, the valet went to the corridor telephone and called the desk.

He learned that Mr. Thurnig had not been seen in the lobby. He was told to wait where he was. Soon, two

"Better unlock the door," the doctor told the dick. "Acute indigestion is serious, and Thurnig may have had an

They found Thurnig by the open window, sprawled in the very position where he had fallen. The doctor

"He withstood the attack," declared the physician. "Help me place him on the bed. We should have no trouble

Thurnig did not revive. He lay motionless as ever, after his coat, vest and collar had been removed; no

restorative had the slightest effect upon him. His face was grayish; his breathing came slowly, painfully, in a

"It looks like sleeping sickness," returned the physician. "All the symptoms of trypanosomiasis. And yet"

the doctor looked around the room suspiciously "it is strange that it should have come so suddenly. This

The physician was still shaking his head when Thurnig was removed to be put in an ambulance. It was the

house detective, standing alone in the room, who had the next suspicion. He even sniffed the air as he

Then came the discovery that ended all suspicion. The dick found Thurnig's wallet, lying in plain view; he

gawked when he saw the bundle of currency. After he had counted the money he called a bellboy, watched

"From the way the doc was puzzled," said the detective, "I thought maybe something had been done to

Thurnig. But this shows nobody was in it. No crooks would have taken a whack at a guy and left all this

Crime had served itself, with George Thurnig as the victim. Crime that lay as deeply hidden as the purpose

that inspired it. For that crime had seemingly ignored the very end for which crooks strive: that of quick, easy

Thurnig's twenty thousand dollars, left untouched, was a smoke screen as effective as the mysterious yellow

There was an added element to the mystery of George Thurnig; one that concerned the victim's own

condition. It was summed up by the physician, who was driving alone to the hospital.

"For a moment," muttered the doctor, "I might have pronounced him dead. Yet he is alive a dead man who

THE name of George Thurnig was headlined the next morning. His case closely resembled that baffling

Though physicians refused to make definite statements, the newspapers played up the possibility of an

epidemic. Plenty of New Yorkers failed to enjoy their breakfasts; took cabs to their offices to avoid the

The news wasn't the sort to please the average reader, but there was one man upon whom it had a remarkable

He was a portly, heavyjowled individual, who was riding in a cab only because he detested subway crowds

and the exertion of climbing stairs. He was in a taxi when he saw Thurnig's name in the newspaper.

Instant interest registered on the portly man's flabby face. His eyes, ordinarily small, opened so wide that they

became large. When the cab stopped at an office building, he slapped a bill into the driver's hand without

waiting for change. Showing a surprising burst of speed, the portly man reached the elevator and wedged

The building was a small one; the elevator slow. The portly man chafed until he reached the fifth floor. Once

Brellick's suite of offices was not so elaborate as its title implied. The rooms were tiny, and consisted merely

of an outer office and an inner one marked "PRIVATE". Stacked on shelves in the outer office were sheaves

There was one stenographer in the outer office; she was staring, unconcerned, from the window when

Brellick entered. She looked about blankly, for sight of Brellick in a hurry was something unusual.

Brellick didn't stop to say good morning. He pounded into the private office, snatched up a telephone and

clicked at the receiver. When he finally slammed down the instrument in disgust, he saw the stenographer

standing in the doorway, fluffing her peroxidedyed hair, while her jaw worked at chewing gum.

"Out of order," replied the stenographer, in a weary tone. "I've sent for the repair men."

The girl shrugged her shoulders, went back to her desk to obtain a telegraph blank. The correspondence

Brellick paused, suddenly opened the telephone book, to look up other names. The stenographer looked at

"You got that loan, Mr. Brellick," she began. "Don't you remember? The bank said you could have it, last

"My finances are my business," he declared, testily. "But since you seem to think they are yours as well, I

might as well make it plain. I wanted twenty thousand dollars. I had ten thousand to begin with, so I arranged

"And now I want to borrow ten thousand more," continued Brellick. "What does that mean?"

"Bright girl!" rejoined Brellick. "Yes, I want thirty thousand dollars. The deal I'm going into may be larger

than I expected. A friend of mine" Brellick chuckled deeply "may be dropping out of it!"

THE telephone repair man arrived in the outer office. Brellick decided to let the telegram go, hoping that the

phone would soon be available. The repair man started testing the wire in the outer office. Brellick retired to

his inner office; he was there when the stenographer ushered in a dryfaced man who carried a doctor's

"Hello, doctor!" said the portly man. "You're the medical examiner from the Southeastern Mutual, aren't

"Some mistake," remarked Brellick. "I haven't applied for any more life insurance."

"This must be a special examination," he declared. "Possibly to learn if you are entitled to preferred class

"Go ahead with it, then," grumbled Brellick. "I'm handcuffed, anyway, until they get the telephone fixed."

The doctor completed the examination. Brellick walked out through the outer office, chatting with him.

In the hallway was a listener a man in overalls. Brellick took him to be the repair man's assistant. It was

after Brellick had returned to his inner office that the fellow entered, to speak to the stenographer.

"There's a phone call for Mr. Brellick," he said. "In the pay booth back of the drug store downstairs. Whoever

The man in overalls was gone when Brellick came pouncing out of the inner office, after the stenographer

had relayed the message. He hurried to the elevator and went to the street floor. He had to go into the next

building to reach the passage that led beyond the drug store. There, in a dingy corner, Brellick found the

The door of the booth was open; the telephone receiver was hanging loose. Brellick gathered it up, gave a

quick "Hello" into the mouthpiece. He heard a voice that he recognized, and promptly pulled the door shut.

"I know," Brellick spoke rapidly. "I saw the news only a short while ago... Yes, I figure I can take half of

Cloudiness was creeping down toward Brellick's head. He couldn't hear the hiss that caused it until he hung

the receiver on its hook. Even then, the sizzle sounded feeble, for Brellick was conscious of something far

A yellow cloud was all about him, choking, forcing him to gasps that he tried to resist. He was sickened by an

odor that he could not identify. He saw the door of the booth so hazily that all outside was dim.

Wildly, Brellick found the handle of the door; he tugged, with no result. It wasn't until the hissing ceased that

the door suddenly yielded to his yank. By that time, it was too late. Brellick reeled drunkenly from the

BEHIND the portly man, the yellow gas issued like a ghostly figure from the confines of the booth. It

wavered; its coils looked like fantastic clutching arms. That was only momentary. As Brellick staggered

away, the air of the passage absorbed the weird vapor. The cloudiness faded; the odor vanished with it.

Brellick was staggering for the open exit to the street. He was puffing clear air as he went, but it served only

to increase his stumbles. He was having the same after effect that Thurnig had experienced. Like the previous

He was on the sidewalk when he caved. Passers saw the long, hopeless sprawl that he took. A crowd

gathered; by the time an officer arrived, they were lugging Brellick into the drug store.

Firstaid measures didn't seem to help. Stretched on an improvised bench of soda fountain chairs, Brellick

lay in a fixed stupor, his breathing heavy, slow, as though each effort would be his last.

Those who stood near were riveted. Those long gasps were like the slow ticks of a clock, coming in endless

An ambulance arrived; Brellick was started for the hospital. Druggist and policeman scarcely heard the whine

They were still counting those long, deep sighs that had come from the throat of Martin Brellick.

Within another hour, the big presses of the evening newspapers were grinding out early editions of another

sensational story. The dread malady of sleeping sickness had struck again, as suddenly as before. The second

victim was not an outoftowner, like George Thurnig. He was a New Yorker, Martin Brellick, who had

It happened that photographs of both victims were available. Those pictures were rushed to press, and for a

caption, a quickwitted editor coined a phrase that aptly described the state of the men concerned. The

Both cases, however, were classed as the result of a growing epidemic. The possibility of crime was too

remote to be considered. The cases were outside the ordinary realm of police investigation, precisely as a

Perhaps that master mind had overlooked the fact that in New York, there dwelt a being who could scent

That personage was one whose power was feared throughout the underworld, though crooks had never

THAT afternoon, a visitor stood in the hotel room where George Thurnig had collapsed the night before. The

stranger was tall; leisurely of manner. His calm face was masklike, and the contours of his features gave him

As he smoked a thin cigar, the visitor strolled idly about the room. He paused at the window, to stare

indifferently toward the sky line of Manhattan. He stopped at a table to flick cigar ashes into a tray.

Choosing an easychair, he sat there smoking in the patient manner of a person who is bored; but too polite

All the while, however, that visitor had been busy. His eyes, seemingly idle, had taken in every feature of the

room. He had noted the writing desk where Thurnig had last been seated. He had checked on the position of

the telephone. He had even examined the window sill, near which the victim had been found.

A seriousfaced young man stepped into the room. He had a brisk, professional manner. Methodically, he

"I shall be ready very soon, Mr. Cranston. If you can wait a few minutes longer "

"Quite all right, Doctor Sayre," Cranston spoke from his chair. "I am in no hurry to leave."

Sayre left. Cranston arose; he stopped to relight his cigar close beside the door of a clothes closet. That door

was partly open. Cranston reached through, tugged a light cord. His eyes showed a keen glint as they studied

Thurnig's tuxedo was hanging there. Cranston's hand probed the pockets, then extinguished the light.

His survey of the room was complete. Nowhere had this visitor uncovered a clue that indicated crime.

Cranston's eyes, though, were fixed upon a final spot that could scarcely be called a portion of the room. That

The door was ajar. Stepping to it, Cranston was half visible from the hall, as his inside hand opened the

Servidor. He shifted the door slightly; light from the window disclosed the Servidor's interior.

The latch inside the inner door had a tiny plunger that could be pressed downward to set a signal, indicating

when clothes were in the Servidor. That plunger was circled by a small metal clamp; an object that had no

Cranston tried the plunger. Because of the girding clamp, the plunger did not push to its full depth.

Examining the clamp closely, Cranston noted the glisten of a broken wire. To ordinary observers, the tiny

He had found a clue, from which he reconstructed the past. That clue meant the possibility of a mechanism

once set inside the Servidor; a device which, prior to its removal, could have brought ill fortune to George

SOON, Cranston and Sayre were riding away from the hotel. Presumably, Lamont Cranston, wealthy New

York clubman and world adventurer and traveler, had merely accompanied Doctor Rupert Sayre on a visit

wherein the physician was investigating Thurnig's malady. Sayre was a specialist in the treatment of rare

"Thurnig's case," declared Sayre, "shows marked symptoms of encephalitis lethargica, an affliction to which

the term 'sleeping sickness' has been popularly applied. Quite different from trypanosomiasis, the African

"I prefer, however, to reserve a positive diagnosis until we learn if other cases occur. Encephalitis strikes as

Sayre was thinking deeply, and with good reason. He had met with other strange ailments in the past; cases in

which Cranston had shown interest. Invariably, they had turned out to be of human making: criminal thrusts

Those cases had been investigated by a mysterious being known as The Shadow. Through them, Sayre had

met Cranston. The physician was sometimes inclined to believe that Lamont Cranston and The Shadow were

Certainly, on this occasion, Sayre could visualize The Shadow as the governing force behind the

When the physician had left Cranston's limousine, the big car proceeded to the exclusive Cobalt Club. There,

as Cranston alighted, he heard the shrill cry of a newsboy. Purchasing an evening newspaper, Cranston read

Had Sayre known of that case, he would have probably pronounced Thurnig to be a sleeping sickness victim;

for here was apparent proof of an epidemic disease. Cranston, however, was armed with other facts, small

Behind the case of Martin Brellick, he saw the opposite sort of evidence. To Cranston, it still meant crime

more subtle, more deadly, than before. A master plotter had foreseen that medical men like Sayre would be

That scheming brain had clinched the matter, by spreading what appeared to be an epidemic. But in lulling

medical investigators, the master crook had provided a new trail for The Shadow.

JUST before five o'clock, Lamont Cranston strolled into the office of Martin Brellick. He placed a brief case

upon a chair, introduced himself as a friend of Brellick's. Soon, he was talking with the gumchewing

The girl remembered many facts, as she chatted. Somehow, Cranston's eventoned questions brought a

wealth of answers, even though the stenographer did not realize that she was being quizzed. Cranston merely

expressed sympathy for Brellick; expressed hopes that his business would not suffer by his absence. Those

"He needed a rest," insisted the stenographer. "He's tucked away ten thousand dollars, Mr. Brellick has. He

owns property, too; that's the security he used to borrow another ten thousand."

"I remember the loan" Cranston spoke idly, as he gazed from the window into a courtyard "because

"Maybe that was the new loan," said the stenographer. "The one he was going after today. Another ten

thousand. Then he was struck so sudden just after that doctor from the Southeastern Mutual had said he

"Racing downstairs to answer that telephone call. The phone here was out of order. It was the repair man's

helper who made Mr. Brellick rush there. I'd have told that helper plenty, afterward, but he was gone."

"No. You know what the repair man found? A cut wire. Looked like rats had gnawed it. Took him a long

Cranston decided to let the girl close the office. He went downstairs in the same elevator with her; but

outside, he turned back, as though he had forgotten something. Dusk was settling; the tiny offices were dark

A flashlight glimmered along the baseboard, settled on the spot where the repair man had fixed the broken

Then, in the gloom, Cranston made some telephone calls. His voice was a brisk, but guarded, tone, quite

unlike his own. He introduced himself under another name; stated that he was calling for Martin Brellick.

From the office of the Southeastern Mutual Company, Cranston learned that there must have been a mistake,

sending the physician to examine Brellick. The doctor was a regular company examiner; but someone in the

When Cranston located the repair man who worked for the telephone company, he learned that the fellow had

not brought a helper. The repair man remembered that a chap in overalls had been hanging around the

LEAVING Brellick's office, Cranston went to the street. He entered the passage of the adjacent building,

noted that it had a big door, to close it from the street. He had hardly reached the obscure telephone booth

That fellow looked like an actual janitor. Before he locked the door, he came through the passage to make

sure that no one was in it. He did not see Cranston, who had stepped to a corner past the booth.

The janitor extinguished the dim lights. He went out through the street door and locked it behind him. In the

thick darkness, Cranston entered the telephone booth and pulled its door almost shut.

The booth's automatic light did not glow. Using a flashlight, Cranston inspected the top of the booth. He

observed that there was no bulb in the socket; and his keen eyes made other discoveries.

There was a thin, greentaped wire that ran from the door to the top of the booth. Another strand, difficult to

see against the booth's green paint, extended to the side where the door closed. Fastened there, behind a

molding, was a small latch. When Cranston's fingers worked it, the latch slithered noiselessly toward the

Looking upward again, Cranston probed the light socket with the glow of his tiny torch. He saw a disk of

blackpainted metal studded with tiny holes. Gripping the socket, he drew it downward. The ceiling of the

The whole mechanism was as simple as it was effective. This false ceiling had been fitted into the booth, just

above the level of the door, with a foot of space above it. When set, the device worked automatically.

Cranston drew the door tight shut. The false ceiling moved upward, like a bellows; the hiss of air came

through the holes in the dummy light socket. Testing the door, Cranston found it tight shut, until the fake

ceiling had finished its bellows motion, to rest flush with the actual top of the booth. At that instant, the trick

Pulling the door open in his test, Cranston became suddenly motionless. A distant sound reached his ears: the

scrape of wood against metal. Some one was jimmying a way into this building, through a rear door!

In darkness, Cranston's hand opened the brief case that rested on the floor beside him. There was a swish of

cloth, a dull clink as heavy automatics were plucked from the brief case. The flashlight shone guardedly upon

That glow showed cloaked shoulders; above them, a slouch hat that hid the features of Lamont Cranston. A

low whisper pervaded the booth; it was a tone of sinister mockery, confined to the limits of that cramped

Men of crime were on their way here, not knowing that Cranston had come ahead of them. But they would

THE closed door of the telephone booth muffled the clink of a coin that The Shadow dropped into the pay

box. A hand, thingloved in black, was busy at the dial. The Shadow's finger produced the number that he

In reply to that word across the wire, The Shadow toned instructions in a sibilant whisper. He was ordering

Easing from the telephone booth, The Shadow moved to a remote corner that would serve as a strategic spot.

The muffled prying of the jimmy had ceased; evidently, crooks had finished with door bolts and were picking

The purpose of their forcible entry was quite obvious to The Shadow. While he waited, he reconstructed the

It was plain that both Thurnig and Brellick had been gassed, by a powerful vapor that had induced a state of

sleeping sickness resembling the littleknown encephalitis lethargica. The gas, whatever its composition,

Such death would make the police suspect murder. Therefore, a master crook had made certain that Thurnig

In Thurnig's case, everything had been made to order. Ill in a hotel room, he had been under the care of a

physician, who had pronounced him well. Thurnig, The Shadow had learned from Sayre, had been capable

Unquestionably, the man who phoned had learned that Thurnig was strong enough for the gas treatment. The

planting of the device in the Servidor, and its removal later, were prearranged tasks that some henchman had

He could only be reached in his office, necessitating a sequence of moves: a telephone wire cut in the office;

a device planted in the downstairs phone booth; a hoax, whereby an insurance medical examiner had been

Finally a crook, close at hand, had learned the result of the examination and had promptly lured Brellick to

the booth, where the line was open. Brellick had been gassed, but there had been no immediate chance to

The present invaders were here for that purpose. By cornering them, The Shadow might solve the riddle of

the Dead Who Lived; for these crooks, in all certainty, could yield a lead to the master mind who ruled them!

FOOTSTEPS were creeping through an inner hallway. The Shadow heard a clank at a barring gate. There

was a sharp sound: the shattering of a padlock. A flashlight cut a swath from a deep angle of the passage. The

Growled voices announced a cluster of approaching men. They reached the telephone booth. Against the

To The Shadow's right was the closed doorway of a barber shop. He edged into that space, boxing the men at

the booth so they could not retreat by their passage. Then came the blink of The Shadow's own torch; with it,

Intruders wheeled; from their grasp dropped the boxlike apparatus that they had taken from the booth. In the

The Shadow recognized only one of the trapped trio; a crook named "Cobber" Lokum. He was a smallfry

hoodlum, who belonged to no special mob. The others were either less important than Cobber, or they were

Any of the three could state who had sent them there. The Shadow intended to make all talk.

In fact, The Shadow had not only declared himself by that lowtoned mirth; he was holding his flashlight so

that it gave a view of his head and shoulders. The glow also showed the automatic that wagged slowly from

Except for Cobber, the trapped thugs were yellow. Cobber's two pals began to stammer their guilt, hoping to

"We ain't pulled nothin'!" began one, in whimpering tone. "We was sent here, that's all! Yeah, we was sent

"An' we ain't holdin' out," blabbed the other. "The guy that sent us we'll tell who he is!"

"Nobody's squawkin'!" put in Cobber. "Hear that, Shadow? That's what I'm here for to see that these mugs

The looming automatic centered itself upon Cobber. Ratty eyes lost their defiant squint; Cobber's thick lips

began a twitch. He recognized the threat; The Shadow's very silence made it more impressive.

Cobber could picture one bullet, straight for his own heart. When that slug found its mark, Cobber would no

longer be on hand to argue in favor of silence. His pals would squawk as fast as they knew how.

The Shadow, himself, knew that the shot would be unnecessary. Alone, Cobber would be a different problem.

Under present circumstances, the fellow was seeing what real consequences could develop. He was tough

enough to take death with his own lips sealed; but Cobber would see no use in it, with those yellow cronies

"We ain't well, we ain't squawkers!" Cobber's ratty eyes were blinking as he spoke. "Only, we gotta be sure

what's comin' next, see? If you're lettin' us off easy, that's got somethin' to do with it. We know it ain't no use

Cobber's voice had reached a high pitch, but his words were badly slurred. His raised arms were shaky, as he

saw The Shadow's gun hand thrust forward. Cobber quailed backward toward the booth, yelled excitedly:

COBBER'S screech had drowned a low sound behind The Shadow's back: the opening of the barbershop

door. The prodding muzzle of a revolver had followed. The mouth of the gun was planted in the middle of

Other invaders had come through from the barber shop. Their leader, the man with the gun, held The Shadow

helpless. Only the slender margin of a hair trigger separated The Shadow from death. Nevertheless, one factor

Had he guessed it, the fellow would not have restrained his trigger finger. "Death to The Shadow," was the

watchword of the underworld. In the darkness of the doorway, the crook knew only that he had thwarted

"Stick 'em up, mug!" The growl from the doorway was the sort that a marauder would use to threaten a night

The Shadow let his automatic thud the floor; as his arms came up, he released the flashlight. Its clatter

brought darkness so complete that the man with the gun could observe no further motion. He felt the slight

lift of The Shadow's shoulders; it indicated reaching arms. But he did not sense the bulge of The Shadow's

The threatening thug wanted quiet; he hadn't regarded gunfire as necessary. It was Cobber who changed the

state of things. He, like the others at the booth, knew what The Shadow could accomplish under cover of

The shout was too late to benefit the crooks. As Cobber howled the news, The Shadow wheeled full about.

His twist was to the left; his left shoulder blade hooked the gun muzzle, sped it away at a useless angle.

The crook's forefinger pulled the hair trigger at almost the same instant, but the merest fraction of a second

was all that The Shadow needed for safety. The spurt of flame that knifed the blackened air was proof that the

The Shadow's right fist drove toward the doorway. The gunner took the punch, lost his revolver as he

floundered. But there were others on the draw; they had flashlights, as well as guns. They were springing

through the doorway, to be greeted by a strident laugh that promised their defeat.

The Shadow, too, had hauled a gun into action. As he wheeled across the passage, his left hand opened fire

with that second automatic brought from the folds of his cloak. In the midst of wild revolver barks came the

Only the close quarters of the fray saved the invaders, despite their heavy odds. Cobber sprang in to grapple

with The Shadow. Locking with that overbold attacker, The Shadow hurled himself into the surge from the

doorway, slashing hard blows with his automatic. Crooks broke, taking two exits. The pair from the

telephone booth scurried with them, carrying the apparatus that they had previously detached.

A few stopped to fire from the side passage. They saw Cobber being propelled in their direction. They blasted

shots at the man who served The Shadow as a living shield, then fled as they heard an automatic thunder. The

flight was complete; with them, the invaders were dragging men who had been clipped by The Shadow's

ONLY Cobber was abandoned. Stumbling ahead, he unwittingly blocked the pursuit that The Shadow made.

Out through an alley, past the rear exit of a small store there, The Shadow raced ahead of the stumbler who

slowed him. Cars were wheeling around a corner when The Shadow reached the side street.

A taxi sped in from the opposite direction. Figures bobbed in sight; they were The Shadow's agents, arriving

on the scene. Further pursuit was useless; but The Shadow's trail was not ended. He signaled the cab to wait.

Half a minute later Cobber, sagging, came from the alley. His rattish eyes were glazed, but they saw the

waiting cab with open door. Thinking it manned by his pals, Cobber stumbled aboard, muttered for the cab to

The door slammed, the taxi rolled away. Slumped to the floor, Cobber was chilled by a whispered laugh that

sounded close beside his ear. The crook looked up; his dying eyes met the burning gaze of The Shadow.

"They doublecrossed you, Cobber!" The Shadow's tone was a harsh, emphatic rasp. "They made you the fall

Through the film of Cobber's eyes, there showed a glisten. This was the sort of speech that the fellow

understood, and believed. He knew where those last shots had come from. Close to death, he was willing to

"Get him!" coughed Cobber. "The guy that fixed the double cross! He's at at Mandor's "

A spasm racked Cobber. He twisted into a huddling mass on the taxi floor. His head tilted back, jounced the

Came a dying gurgle; then silence. As the cab rolled onward, The Shadow spoke; his tone was a solemn

whisper: an order to the driver. The cab wheeled around the next corner. A block farther on, it reversed

He needed no address. The name of James Mandor was a prominent one; the man's residence was one that

The Shadow had visited as Cranston. No need of wasting precious minutes to make a telephone call there; nor

The Shadow, himself, was closer to the goal than any of his agents; and, in this emergency, the chances were

that he could accomplish most by making the trip alone. The mission, itself, was one of utmost consequence.

Search for a master crook could be postponed. The Shadow's immediate urge was to prevent a new addition

AT the very moment when The Shadow changed the direction of his taxi journey, a dignified grayhaired

man entered the lobby of an oldfashioned apartment house. He stopped at the desk, received a stack of

"Monotonous!" returned Mandor. "Like all crosscountry flights. By the way" he glanced at the clock

above the desk "I am expecting some visitors at eightthirty. Send them up without delay."

Mandor was on the elevator when he remembered that he wanted a New York newspaper. The operator

"Never mind," he said. "I want both morning and evening editions. There may be some trouble obtaining

The elevator reached the top floor. Mandor unlocked the door of an apartment. He entered, went through a

living room and came to a square room that served him as a study. That room formed a curious medley of

There was a desk in one corner; in the wall beside it, a large shiny safe of latest pattern. Few persons in New

York owned such a finely fitted strongbox. There was a filing cabinet in another corner and it was the last

All around the room were sporting trophies; with them, the implements that Mandor had used to acquire

them. Golf bags were racked along the wall; tennis racquets occupied a special corner. There were fencing

foils, shotguns, polo sticks. As athlete and sportsman, James Mandor was remarkably versatile.

In business, too, he had a varied career. Mandor was a promoter who acquired small fortunes through his

ventures. A huge spender, with his time heavily occupied by sports, he concentrated upon business only when

Mandor was chuckling to himself when he took a niblick from its bag and began to practice swings that

"Back to business, Jim," he said, half aloud. "Don't worry about that Frisco deal. It can wait. This other

"Not a chance!" he muttered. "They wouldn't think of selling out their shares. They know how good it is."

A few more swings of the golf club, and Mandor thrust it back into the bag. He looked toward the doorway of

There was no reply. Mandor fancied that he heard a stir in the gloomy living room. He stepped through the

doorway, looked toward a window where an outside balcony extended along to the next apartment. The

window was closed, but Mandor thought the sound had come from its direction. He eyed a big chair

His attention was suddenly diverted by a grating sound behind him. He swung toward the closet door just as

it opened. Before he could recover from his startlement, he was staring into the muzzle of a gun held by a

Mandor's hands came up. The masked man motioned him into the study. As Mandor turned, he saw other

figures rise. There were three others in the room one behind the big chair that he had first observed.

THE grayhaired sportsman took the invasion almost with contempt. The leader of the masked group

observed it; pulled his handkerchief mask down around his neck. Mandor saw a face that was hardeyed,

bluntnosed, longjawed. But the fellow had a wise look that showed him intelligent as well as tough.

"Maybe we'll get places quicker," rasped the invader, "if I introduce myself. My name is Quill Baxton. Ever

"I have," replied Mandor, dryly. "You were mixed pretty deep in that Florida racetrack scandal."

"Mixed in it?" scoffed Quill. "I was the guy who made the wheels go around, until they queered the racket!"

"So you went into this one," returned Mandor. "Well, burglary has its merits, I suppose. A quick way of

"Yeah. Easy, too when the guy that owns a safe opens it for you. Like you're going to do with that one,

"Then you'll hear this gat talk!" retorted Quill, shoving his revolver against Mandor's ribs. Then, his rasp

"No," he decided, "I wouldn't. They'd have a hard time bagging you, Baxton, because this type of crime is

unusual for you. So I'll open the safe. You're welcome to the few thousand dollars that I have there."

Calmly, Mandor went to the safe and worked the combination. The door came open, disclosing another inside

"I'll make a deal with you, Baxton," he proposed. "I'll forget that you and your crowd were here, if you'll

leave my personal papers alone. There's nothing among them of any value to you. I don't care about the

As he talked, Mandor delayed his turning of the dial. At his shoulder, Quill rasped agreement:

The inner door swung open. Quill motioned Mandor away from in front of the safe.

"This couple of grand you talked about," reminded Quill. "That sounds like hokum, Mandor."

"I thought you were in on a deal, where you had to put up twenty grand, tonight."

Mandor paused suddenly, then looked sharply at Quill. The sportsman's expression changed as he demanded:

"Never mind," grunted Quill. "Forget it! Only, I'm going to look through these papers of yours, just so's to

IGNORING bundles of currency, Quill searched through other packets while Mandor watched. Suddenly,

Quill pulled out a small packet with a rubber band around it. His tone took a sudden change.

"This is what I want," he snarled. He twisted his face past his shoulder. "All right, boys. Give it!"

There was a frenzied gasp from Mandor. Wildeyed, the sportsman grabbed for the packet in Quill's hand.

Two huskies were springing forward. They grabbed Mandor, clamped hands over his mouth. As they twisted

The fellow was shoving forward a device that looked like an oxygen tank. It had a hose attached to it that

resembled an ether inhalator. Before Mandor could break free, the last man was shoving the inhalator over his

There was a hand spread before Mandor's eyes; oddly, he observed its details. That hand lacked a second

finger. Across the back of the hand, zigzagging toward the wrist, was a long, livid scar.

Lack of one finger didn't cramp the man who applied the inhalator. He held it tightly above Mandor's nose

and mouth. There was a hiss of gas, as Quill stepped over and turned the nozzle of the tank. With it came

"We don't have to worry about you, Mandor," chuckled Quill. "You're in good physical shape. We read about

that polo match you entered, out in Frisco. Too bad you don't read the newspapers yourself.

"I mean the New York papers. The ones that came out today. And maybe you ought to have asked about

Adolph, before you came up here. You'd have found out he didn't get the telegram you sent him. That's why

Mandor heard only part of what Quill said. The gas had done its work. When the hissing ceased, Mandor was

curled on the floor. His breath came heavily when the inhalator was removed. It had the steady, monotonous

Carefully, Quill closed the doors of the safe, using a handkerchief to avoid leaving fingerprints. All that he

had removed was that one packet with the rubber band. He now made a search of Mandor's desk.

There were a few papers there that interested Quill. He took them, then went through the filing cabinet. His

last search, though, was swift enough to show he had hunted there before. Quill gave a nod. His masked

WHETHER it was through foresight, or merely habit, Quill drew his mask upward so that it covered his eyes.

He stepped into the living room. There, he noted that the threefingered man was crouched at the outer door

Another crook had opened a front window, to let in fresh air. Quill nodded approval, although the precaution

was scarcely necessary, for Mandor had absorbed most of the gas that had come through the hose. The final

The window slid upward. Quill scarcely heard it, for he was looking into the study, to note Mandor's

sprawled form. Quill gave a grin, beneath his mask, at sight of the helpless sportsman. This job was the sort

He heard a gurgle from the window of the living room. He swung in that direction, in time to see his own

man coil upon the floor. Blackness blocked the side window, cutting off the view of the outer balcony. From

Quill's eyes bulged through the slits of the mask that covered them. His gaze made out the shoulders of a

cloaked form. The dim lights of the living room caught the glint of burning eyes. Those same lights revealed

What Quill saw, others saw. Those others were his two followers: the man who crouched at the outer door;

the one who had just closed the front window. Like Quill, they were goggleeyed. Their guns were pocketed.

The trap had turned. These mobsters who had so neatly disposed of James Mandor, were themselves at the

Strange and sinister was The Shadow's laugh; a prophecy of disaster. Once again, The Shadow had swung the

There were occasions, though, when the pendulum could take a double swing. Such an event was due, but

That foreboding mirth was the forerunner of trouble; not for those The Shadow held at bay, but for himself!

THE ways of The Shadow bewildered men of crime. In their bewilderment, they could find no answer to his

They grasped the answer to The Shadow's arrival. The outside balcony extended to the next apartment an

empty one. That was the route that The Shadow had chosen to reach Mandor's premises. But with his arrival,

With strangling grip, The Shadow had stifled one of the crew, reducing the number to three, Quill included.

Hard upon that first conquest, The Shadow had covered the rest. Though scattered, none dared make a break.

By the time their minds were gathering the possibility of separate moves, The Shadow had a new surprise.

His cloaked form moved outward to the balcony. Blended with darkness, The Shadow held a new advantage.

Each of the three crooks knew where he was; all realized that they were within The Shadow's range of fire.

But none knew which was covered. Each thought himself to be the first man that The Shadow would choose

"Step forward!" toned The Shadow. "All of you! Remember one false step" the utterance was a sibilant

They were moving forward, clustering together but not closely. Like prisoners approaching a judgment

throne, Quill and his two pals showed quivers. Nervy enough when they held the upper hand, they were

yellow in the pinch. The nerve that Mandor had shown was far superior to theirs.

A taunting laugh came from the darkness. Chills crept along the spines of the three offenders. So far, their

masks had preserved their identities; but that couldn't last long. They could picture what might happen when

They didn't plead, like Cobber had. It was useless. Their crime lay where The Shadow could find it, once he

investigated. Knowing the power of The Shadow, Quill Baxton felt that he had signed his own death warrant,

Neither Quill nor either of his pals knew what would happen when they reached the window.

The moment came. The mobsters lined up, helpless and shaky, their only hope the fact that they were still

Something swashed downward from above the balcony. The Shadow's lowthrobbed laugh took a sudden

finish. In through the window tumbled a blackcloaked figure that sprawled senseless upon the floor beside

WHILE Quill and the men beside him still stared, a man dropped to the balcony and thrust his masked face

"It's Ludy!" he gulped. Then, regaining his hard tone: "Good work, Ludy! You konked The Shadow!"

Ludy was more astounded than the trio who had stood before The Shadow's gun. There was an ugly grunt as

the threefingered man from the doorway shoved past Quill. Handling a gun with ease, despite his missing

"Hold it!" snapped Quill. "Not yet, Bosco!" Then, to Ludy: "What did you crown him with?"

"This t'ing," he declared proudly. "Wot we used to fix th' clamps for th' rope ladder."

"It fixed The Shadow, too," stated Quill. He was stooping forward, looking at the face beneath the slouch hat.

He drew his pals aside. The man on the floor had come to his senses, was rising groggily to join the others.

"If I'm doping it right," declared Quill, "The Shadow must have made trouble for that outfit that went along

with Cobber. That won't matter much, if the bulls don't hook it up with other things that have happened.

"I mean, what's happened to Thurnig and to Brellick. The same thing that we just handed to Mandor. They

ain't croaked; they're sick get it? It makes it sweet for us. What's more, if the same thing happens to other

"So we'll give The Shadow the same dose. Then we'll park him somewhere. Nobody knows who The Shadow

is, and they won't guess, because we'll take that black crepe he's got hanging on him. When they find him,

he'll be just another boob that's asleep." Quill chuckled. "And just another that'll never snap out of it."

Quill's plan found ready approval from his mates. Bosco was the only one who offered a temporary objection.

"Knocked cold like he is? Not a chance! Anyway, we'll have a couple of gats poked against his slats. Listen:

if we're going to hand it to him the hard way, we ain't croaking him here. That would queer the setup we fixed

QUILL'S decision stood; not only because of its logic, but through the fact that he was leader of the crew. If

it had come to a vote, Bosco would have been the only dissenter; so the threefingered man offered no

They rolled The Shadow out through the window. While Bosco was closing it, Ludy pointed proudly to a

rope ladder that dangled from the cornice, only one story above. He had done more than slug The Shadow

with a monkey wrench; he had been smart enough to fling down the rope ladder before he dropped to the

Five in all the thug The Shadow had put away had come to the crooks had comparatively little difficulty

in hoisting The Shadow's inert form up to the roof above. There were precarious moments, when they grunted

that it would be easier to let him take a drop into the courtyard, a dozen stories below. That, however, was not

The crew carried The Shadow across the roof. Again, the rope ladder came into use, to provide a twostory

descent to an adjoining building. The Shadow came downward, handled by bearers who were none too

"Why queer it, you saps?" rasped Quill, in an undertone. "You don't want 'em to find this bird asleep with a

"What about the sock I handed him?" asked Ludy. "That's goin' to show, ain't it?"

"Not bad," returned Quill. "He ain't gashed, on account of the hat. A bump on the konk won't much matter."

Crossing the next roof, the crooks reached a warehouse. They went through a trapdoor, barred it neatly

behind them. They carried their blackclad burden down long flights of narrow steps, finally arriving at an

Other mobsters were on watch, with a second car. They were eight in all, four to a car, when they pulled

In the rear seat, The Shadow was hunched low, his head tilted forward toward his knees. He was squeezed

between Ludy and another thug. Bosco, still the only objector to Quill's present process, had been assigned to

THE two cars zigzagged along crossstreets and avenues, working their way eastward until they reached an

avenue that ran beneath an elevated. When they stopped at a traffic light, Quill turned to the rear seat.

"Keep those gats tight on him," advised Quill, "but hold 'em out of sight. Remember we ain't still up in

"We're turning off at that next light," he told his pals. "After that, no trouble. If we have to hand him the

Then, as he yanked the gear into high, Quill added: "What about the other buggy? See it in back of us?"

"That's jake," decided Quill. "It means nobody's tagging us. No patrol cars either, or the bunch would put us

Quill's comment ended with a chuckle that pleased the accompanying thugs. Quill could foresee the prompt

completion of his present plan. Though he had deferred The Shadow's death, the time for doom was very

close. The gas treatment was to be the method and a dose of that vapor meant death, although its victims

"We got Mandor," gloated Quill, "and next it'll be The Shadow. We'll read about it tomorrow two more

The others chortled their agreement. This was the beginning of The Shadow's finish, in the opinion of his

captors. They could foresee nothing that might bring him aid. Quill had sized it to perfection.

THE next traffic light turned red as the sedan approached it, but it wasn't the full cause of Quill's jolting stop.

A taxicab happened to swing out to the center of the avenue, coming from beyond an "el" pillar. That chance

There were growls from the rear seat, oaths directed at the taxi driver. Quill silenced them with a sharp word.

There was a traffic cop on duty at the corner. Quill didn't want an argument with him.

The jolt had pitched The Shadow forward against the front seat. Ludy and the other rearseat thug were

prompt to haul their blackclad prisoner back into position. They felt The Shadow stir; but when his arms

dropped limply, they decided that it was merely the motion of the car that had caused his movement.

A few blocks back, The Shadow had come to a state of semiconsciousness. The shakeup that he had just

Those motions had been The Shadow's own. Then, sensing voices close beside him, he went limp again. The

Shadow could feel the gun muzzles that pressed his ribs. His head ached badly. Thoughts thrummed through

his brain mechanically. They were quick flashes, those thoughts, even though they came monotonously, over

Mandor's apartment the balcony to it masked men, trapped before The Shadow's gun then blackness.

Not the sort of blackness that The Shadow chose to cover his shifts, but an engulfing surge that had swept

Something had happened along the balcony. This was the result. How he had arrived in this car was no

puzzle; obviously, mobsters had brought him here. The mystery was why he still remained alive.

A roar filled The Shadow's ears; for a moment, he could not identify it. Then it became the rumble of an

elevated train, passing above. The Shadow had some idea of his whereabouts. A voice told him more. It was

"No chance of anybody tailin' us after we swing off here," spoke Ludy. "An' this is goin' to be th' last of them

Ludy nudged The Shadow. The thug on the other side felt the shift of the cloaked shoulders and gave an

approving grunt. A shrill whistle cleaved from the corner; somewhere ahead and to the left. It was the cop's

The sedan started forward; its wheels veered slightly to the left. Ludy was on The Shadow's right; as the car

NEW thoughts were flashing through The Shadow's brain. The car was cutting across in front of the traffic

cop. Once away, it would reach a region where gunfire would not matter. From the ease with which he

swayed, The Shadow knew that he was no longer weighted with automatics. His weapons had been taken

If there would be any chance for a break, this was it. Ludy was shoving The Shadow downward in the seat;

that gun on the right side had drifted. The muzzle was just clear of The Shadow's ribs; but it would be

With the car still wheeling left, he let himself roll toward Ludy; then, with both hands, The Shadow made a

blind grab for the thug's gun hand. His clutch landed, just as the revolver again poked toward his chest.

Ludy wasn't quick enough with the trigger. Chucking monkey wrenches was about the limit of his real

ability. The Shadow had shoved the gun muzzle away before Ludy could fire; without relinquishing his grip,

the cloaked fighter made another move. Bracing both feet on the floor, he hauled Ludy upward and sideways

Before the sedan had completed its left turn, Ludy was floundering across The Shadow, to sprawl heavily on

Quill heard the commotion; with it, Ludy's snarl and a rasp from the thug on the left. Quill jammed the

brakes; at the same instant, The Shadow grabbed the handle of the rear right door.

The Shadow had wriggled from the muzzle of the second gun, and he didn't wait an instant. The door flapped

open, The Shadow's weight behind it. In a long, reckless dive, The Shadow hit the street, close beside an "el"

A gun blasted while The Shadow plunged; it was a shot from the thug on the left. But Ludy's flop ruined the

The Shadow took a bad jolt when he hit the cobbles. Half groggy, he had made a blundering dive. He rolled

over, trying dizzily to reach the shelter of the steel pillar only a few yards distant. Out of that whirl, he

Ludy had recovered. Turning about, the fellow was on the running board, aiming for The Shadow. Ludy had

the target that he wanted; he was ready to riddle The Shadow's outsprawled form. Defenseless, The Shadow

There was intervention, though, upon which The Shadow had depended. It came at that needed instant.

NOT only had the traffic cop seen the sedan's sudden stop; he had also heard the shot from its interior. He

had pulled a revolver of his own, by the time that Ludy poked from the car door.

The officer didn't see The Shadow; he hadn't looked soon enough to spot the whirl of black that had dived

from the open door. But he saw Ludy, and caught the gleam of the gun that the savage thug aimed.

The policeman fired. Framed in the car door, Ludy was a perfect target. The slug found its mark; Ludy

pitched to the street. His own gun sailed from his fingers, clattering ahead of him.

From hands and knees, The Shadow scooped the weapon on the bounce, then managed a turnabout toward

Other guns began to talk; their bullets were useless. Crooks had a fleeting target, gone before they could take

accurate aim. After that, their shots pinged the steel pillar. The Shadow was beyond it.

The traffic cop joined fire, but he couldn't clip the lowcrouched crooks. Profiting by Ludy's fate, they were

Quill gave the car a sudden start, intending to round the pillar and get a new shot at The Shadow. He couldn't

make the turn he wanted, for it would bring him broadside to the traffic officer's fire. Instead, he wheeled the

As the mobsters looked back from their car, they saw a new crisis strike. Roaring down the avenue, the

second sedan was bearing squarely for the traffic cop. He heard the advance fire of guns, swung about too

In the very middle of the crossing, the officer was flatfooted in the new car's path. He was due to take a

A gun stabbed from an angle; its quickfire reports were as timely as the shot that the policeman had given to

save The Shadow. This time, The Shadow was returning the favor that the cop had unwittingly bestowed.

From beside the big pillar, The Shadow had the very bead he wanted. The angle gave him a human target: the

driver of that oncoming car. He handled Ludy's .38 with a precision that would have amazed the gun's former

Literally, The Shadow's bullets picked the driver from the wheel, tilted him askew. The fellow caved

sideways through the window, his arms flopping with him. His hands lost the grip with which he had started

Even then, the cop had no time to shift; but he didn't need it. The sedan swerved, uncontrolled; missed the

officer by a onefoot margin. Its far wheels crunched across Ludy's body, crushing the life from the wounded

Then, jounced by the human obstruction, the sedan made another veer. Sideswiping the pillar where The

Shadow stood, the roaring car ricocheted to another post, to halt there with a headon crash.

THE driver was dead; but the other three were lucky. With the accelerator no longer pressed, the car had lost

some of its momentum when it hit the final pillar. Three men leaped from the wreck; headed by Bosco, they

When the sedan glanced the pillar beside him, The Shadow had flung himself clear. He was coming to his

feet, but he had no time to harry Bosco and the fleeing men. Quill and his pals in the first car were opening

This time, to use the pillar as shelter, The Shadow had to leap to the middle of the avenue. As he took that

spring, crooks gave a gleeful shout. They saw The Shadow's figure suddenly outlined in the glow of big

A truck was pounding along the avenue; its driver had heard the shooting and wanted to get past the corner.

He gave the air brakes when he saw The Shadow in his path. It was too late for a shortnotice stop.

Crooks saw The Shadow flatten, as though pitched forward by the truck's bumper. The huge vehicle

lumbered a dozen feet farther obscuring the blackcloaked figure from view. It was Quill who spoke the

"The Shadow got it!" rasped Quill. "Just like Ludy did. This is where we scram!"

Bosco and the others were now in the car. Quill gave the sedan the gas. The traffic cop, rounding the front of

"You gummed it swell!" the officer told the shaky truck driver. "What'd you stop here for? I'd just gotten

"There was a guy in front of me," gulped the truck driver. "I didn't want to run him down."

"No, it wasn't him." The trucker shook his head. "It was a guy that just looked like something black. He took

The officer didn't dispute the story. He remembered that someone had been shooting in his behalf. But when

"You were seeing things," he told the truck driver. "Nobody's under the wheels."

"If he dropped quick enough," expressed the truck driver, hopefully, "he could've flattened in the center.

"There's nobody in back. Nor anywhere around here, either. Except those guys that got what was coming to

The truck rumbled along the avenue. The puzzled driver heard nothing further, for the roar of the truck's

motor drowned other sounds. It was the traffic officer, still at the corner, who caught the strange tone that

It was the strain of a weird laugh; a trailing mockery that carried triumph as it dwindled into uncanny echoes.

It was unreal, ghostly. The cop couldn't understand it. He stared about, but saw no one. He was puzzled by

There was a simple explanation, but the officer didn't guess it. The departing laugh had come from the

interior of the truck. Entering through the open back, The Shadow had chosen that vehicle to carry him from

Mobsters had taken cover; The Shadow had found no reason to remain. He was traveling elsewhere, in the

LATER that same evening, a group of men were gathered in the apartment recently tenanted by James

Mandor. One man, brusque of manner, with shortclipped mustache, was seated at Mandor's desk. He was

Another man, stocky of build, swarthy of complexion, was making a careful survey of the premises. He, too,

had a reputation as an active worker against crime. He was Joe Cardona, ace of police inspectors.

A detective entered to announce that Mr. Lamont Cranston had arrived. Soon, Commissioner Weston was

shaking hands with the tall, hawkfaced personage who had so recently been garbed in black. Weston,

however, had no inkling that this being who posed as Cranston was actually The Shadow.

There was a real Cranston, but he was seldom in New York. When Cranston was away, The Shadow

frequently adopted his personality. It served him well, especially in meeting with the police commissioner.

"Hello, Cranston!" greeted Weston. "Glad you received my message at the Cobalt Club. I wanted to see you,

"I have met him a few times," returned Cranston, casually, "but I know very little concerning him. What has

"Another case of this sleeping sickness. A servant of Mandor's found him here, a short while ago. The third

"How does that come under your jurisdiction, commissioner? I should consider it a matter that concerned the

Weston grumbled that it did. He said that Mandor had already been removed to a hospital. After that, he

"There was some shooting early this evening," the inspector told Cranston. "It took place near a building

"Yes. Martin Brellick," returned Cardona. "One of the sleeping sickness victims. I figured there might be a

link. So when I learned that Mandor had succumbed to the same ailment, I suggested that we come here."

"We want to see the inside of that box," he declared. "If it's been rifled, we'll know that crooks are in back of

it. We're getting the combination, through Mandor's lawyer. We just learned that he has it tucked in a

WHILE they waited, Cardona went through papers that he had taken from the desk and the filing cabinet. He

Mandor's attorney arrived. He had the combination of the safe. He opened it and Cardona took a look inside.

Disappointment registered on the inspector's face when he saw that the interior was shipshape. Sight of big

"I guess that settles it, commissioner," Cardona told Weston. "I'll forget this sleeping sickness business. Only

"You have too many hunches!" snapped Weston. "I've told you that often, Cardona. Put things back where

While Weston was apologizing to the lawyer, Cardona closed the safe and locked it. He came to the desk,

found Cranston there. The commissioner's friend seemed sympathetic. He handed Cardona items that the

At one corner of the desk lay a pile of objects: paperweights, match boxes, pencils, tubes of paste. Cardona

had rummaged them from a top drawer on the left. As Cranston passed them to the inspector, he came upon a

There was something in the feel of that substance that caused Cranston to hold it. Handing Cardona other

items, Cranston reached into his pocket, brought out a pack of cigarettes. With that action, he left the rubbery

From then on, there was a meditative glint in Cranston's usually complacent eyes. At times, his hand slipped

When they left Mandor's, Cranston made a telephone call from a booth in the lobby. After that, he rode to the

Cobalt Club in the commissioner's official car. They had a light supper in the grillroom.

Weston was the first to leave; Lamont Cranston sat alone. Three names linked themselves in The Shadow's

In tracing them, The Shadow had cut closer to the center of crime. In Thurnig's case, he had gained a mere

clue. Checking on Brellick, The Shadow had found more, and with it, had battled crooks who had come to

As regards to Mandor, brief minutes were all that had prevented The Shadow from effecting a rescue; he had

Unfortunately, The Shadow had lost the trail of the crooks concerned. He had recognized Cobber; but the

Ludy, at least, had provided The Shadow with some information. The Shadow had not forgotten that speech

at the traffic light. Ludy had stated that finishing The Shadow was to be the last of the gas jobs, and it fitted

Thurnig, Brellick and Mandor all had something in common that had made it necessary to dispose of them.

But Mandor, the final victim, must have possessed some document that pertained to their common interest.

THERE had been burglary at Mandor's; that was why crooks found it necessary to be there when he returned.

The Shadow could picture them forcing Mandor to open the safe. There, they had ignored money, to acquire

Whatever it was, Thurnig and Brellick could answer; but they, along with Mandor, were the Dead Who

Lived. If crooks had their way, none of the three would ever arouse, for they would talk if they did.

Proof that those three were slated for final death was obvious to The Shadow, because mobsters had intended

to give him the same dose. They wouldn't risk any doubtful method on The Shadow.

The one chance was to find out who had caused their present plight, and why. That much gotten, there might

be a solution to the riddle of their malady. Other forms of sleeping sickness had been cured; this strange

stupor, deathlike though it was, might be banished once it was fully understood. Perhaps its creator knew the

Considering all that, The Shadow began to list the names of bigshots who might be managing the game.

Quill Baxton, however, did not appear on the list. James Mandor had spoken correctly, in stating that Quill

The Shadow put the list away. His fingers felt the rubber block. It was an item that crooks had overlooked,

but it might prove a crossclue more important than the shreds of evidence that they had carried away.

A chubbyfaced man entered the grillroom. He saw Cranston and approached the table. The arrival was

Rutledge Mann, an insurance broker; also an agent of The Shadow. Mann also had a good knowledge of

Mann knew Cranston. He had received a telephone call from the millionaire, asking him to come here. But

Mann, himself, was not sure that Cranston was The Shadow. There were times when Mann considered

Briefly, Cranston spoke of the Dead Who Lived, as though repeating news that had been given to him. Mann

"Thurnig had twenty thousand dollars," remarked Cranston. "The money was in cash. It will interest you,

Mann, to learn that Brellick also had twenty thousand available. He had negotiated a loan to complete that

"After learning of Thurnig's illness," resumed Cranston, "Brellick proceeded to raise ten thousand more. At

least, that was his intention when he was stricken. What is your opinion, Mann?"

Mann considered. He was sure that Cranston already had an answer, but merely wanted to see if another

"Each intended to put twenty thousand into some enterprise," decided Mann. "When Brellick learned that

Thurnig was out of it, he was greedy enough to guess that he could take over Thurnig's share."

"Only half," repeated Mann. "Which means that there must have been three partners concerned. Three men

putting up twenty thousand each. Reduced to two, would mean thirty thousand each.

"And from the facts that you have related" Mann's eyes were owlish as he spoke "I would say that the

third man was Mandor. Moreover, from Mandor's reputation as a promoter, he would be the one who was

CRANSTON'S nod showed that Mann's opinion fitted with his own. He asked Mann if there had been recent

talk of transactions in which James Mandor was involved. Mann knew of none, and explained his ignorance.

Mandor, it seemed, kept all his schemes under cover until they were ripe. When he took in partners, he held

them to the same secrecy. Sometimes he made money, other times he lost. Always, though, he shared with

Mandor liked quick cleanups; things that offered rapid return. He never cared to acquire controlling interests

in new companies, because he always sold out his own share after the first big profit.

Unquestionably, Mandor could raise twenty or thirty thousand dollars, although it was known that he was

getting short on funds. Those facts made a deal with Thurnig and Brellick seem quite plausible; but Mann

Cranston's hand came from his pocket. It dropped the chunky square of blackish substance. Picking the block

"Rubber!" exclaimed Mann. "But Mandor isn't big enough to crash the rubber market!"

Mann did. He noted that the substance had a peculiar sponginess. It was made of a zigzagged meshwork that

"You never saw rubber like that," remarked Cranston. "This substance is synthetic."

"Synthetic rubber," he mused. "I remember a stock that was offered on the market, then withdrawn "

"There was one. His name was mentioned in the prospectus. Professor Uriah Lawsham; he lives here in New

"Locate Lawsham," he ordered. "Make an appointment. Say that you will bring an investor who is interested

Mann was still nodding when he realized that Cranston's hand had left his shoulder. Looking about, Mann

blinked. His friend had gone from the grillroom. That was not all that kept Mann agape.

From somewhere, he fancied that he heard the quiver of a whispered tone; the echo of a mysterious mirth. It

IT wasn't Cranston who met Mann early the next evening, to keep an appointment that the insurance broker

had made with Professor Lawsham. Instead, Mann was joined by a person that he had met only a few times in

Tall, with long, thin features, Allard's face had a hawkish appearance; but it differed from Cranston's

countenance. Mann could never have guessed that the two persons were the same. He felt that though

Kent Allard was an aviator who had been stranded in Guatemala during many of the years when The Shadow

had been active in New York. But Mann like everyone else was totally deceived by that story. Kent

Allard had actually spent very little time in Central America. He had created the story to cover the

For once, Mann was traveling with The Shadow when his chief was undisguised. But Mann had no idea that

On the way to Lawsham's, Mann thought he had learned the reason why Allard had been selected for this

duty. Allard talked methodically of the Castilla tree of Central America a species of rubber tree less

valuable than the Hevea of South America, but one with which Allard was specially familiar.

Allard, it seemed, was wellversed on the subject of rubber; hence a good man for The Shadow to appoint for

Riding by taxi, they reached an old house on a side street, a brownstonefronted building that looked in better

repair than others in that block. As they alighted, Mann observed that the front windows of the basement and

first floor were barred. Allard observed the same; and he saw that the side windows were similarly equipped.

There was another fact that Allard discerned. There was a bay window at the side of the house; just past it,

deeper in a narrow passage, a onestory wall joined this house with the next. Allard saw a door in the

A stockybuilt servant ushered the visitors into a firstfloor parlor. Soon, they heard the sound of slow, jerky

footsteps. A stoopshouldered, whitehaired man entered; he kept his hands folded in front of him, as he

Professor Lawsham had wrinkled features, with lips that were thin and tightpressed. His narrow nose gave

him a pinched expression, but his clear eyes showed keen intellect. Those eyes, gray in color, were suspicious

LAWSHAM liked the looks of these visitors: Mann, chubbyfaced and serious; Allard, his tanned face

almost gaunt, with its immobile expression. Seating himself, the professor gave a shrewd smile, then shook

"You are too late, gentlemen," he said. "I have decided not to sell the rights to my invention."

Allard looked inquiringly at Mann; in turn, the insurance broker asked Lawsham to explain his decision.

"Only a few months ago," reminded Mann, "a company was started to put your synthetic rubber on the

"That was halted," declared Lawsham. "People argued that synthetic rubber had already been produced."

"Correct, professor," he remarked. "Synthetic rubber is a fact, but not at a price to compete with the crude

product. At present, it stands as a barrier that prevents raw rubber from selling for more than thirtyfive cents

"Because synthetic rubber could be produced for less than fifty," agreed Lawsham. "But the rubber market

"Suppose I told you that I can manufacture a synthetic product for twentyfive cents a pound. Where" the

professor leaned forward to ask a confidential question "where would the rubber market be then?"

"I shall tell you!" chuckled Lawsham, rubbing his thin hands. "When the rubber market tries to climb, I can

undercut it. When it drops, I can dominate the synthetic field. As you may know, there are purposes for

The argument was a sound one. Lawsham stressed it. He showed a copy of the prospectus that Mann had

"When this was issued," explained Lawsham, "we could only hope that my process would mean cheap

synthetic rubber. Since then, I have found that I can produce it cheaply. The constituent needed in the

manufacture of synthetic rubber is acetylene. That gas is wrested from coal or limestone. But there are

Lawsham smiled shrewdly, as though he knew a better source of supply. Then, abruptly, he asked:

He led the visitors downstairs, passing through a door that a servant locked behind them. The basement was

divided into several rooms; two of them were wellfitted as laboratories. Judging by the array of bottles and

beakers, with benches of elaborate apparatus, Lawsham had experimented far in his quest for acetylene

They entered a small room that was boxed off like a special laboratory, although it had little equipment.

"The test room," explained Lawsham. "Most of my final experiments are conducted here."

"Partly," acknowledged Lawsham. "I see that you know the hazards that accompany this work. Certain

AS Allard made that comment, he was looking toward Lawsham. The professor responded with a solemn

"I have allowed for that," he declared. "This apparatus can clear the air quite rapidly. Fortunately, we know

enough about acetylene reactions to be prepared for any such trouble. Only bunglers would come to grief

He led the visitors through to another room, where stacks of synthetic rubber were piled on a table.

Examining them, Allard noted that the substances varied in quality and composition, although some

"Seldom do I show visitors through the laboratories," confided Lawsham. "However, a brief trip gives no one

any real idea as to my processes. I had trouble, in the past, when I allowed persons to visit too long.

"I was badly disappointed when the stock company failed to develop. So I allowed persons to come here, in

hope that I could interest them. Soon afterward, some of my assistants left me, one by one."

"Not because I could not pay them!" expressed Lawsham, emphatically. "I still have funds of my own. They

There was a hunted look in Lawsham's eyes, as he leaned forward to clutch Allard's coat lapel.

"Fake investors wanted my process," croaked Lawsham. "They believed that my assistants could reveal it. So

they could" Lawsham chuckled, as he leaned back "but only in part. By this time, perhaps, they have

"That is why I have this place well guarded. Enemies thieves may try to come here, to learn facts that

The professor's statement seemed well grounded. When the visitors went upstairs, they observed that there

were half a dozen men at work, in one place or another. All looked husky, like the servant who had first

Allard also noted the interiors of the barred windows. They were heavily constructed, as was a big door at the

Up in the parlor, Lawsham reverted to his first subject. When he spoke, his smile was canny.

"You wonder why I invited you here," he said, "since I have constantly refused to let persons take over my

process. The reason is simple enough. No one can predict the future. I may be forced, eventually, to ask

"Should that occur, I hope to have available persons upon whom I can depend. Let me assure you, gentlemen,

that if I change my decision, I shall call upon you first of all. Or, in case a new company should develop, I

WHEN they left the house, Allard and Mann walked to the nearest corner. On the way, Mann asked:

"I am not quite sure," was Allard's reply. "It is all reasonable. Particularly what Lawsham said about his

"Yes. None of his present staff appear to be competent chemists. Yet Lawsham would not have started his

While Mann walked along pondering over that remark, Allard's eyes were directed toward the darkness on

"I wonder if the synthetic rubber in Mandor's desk could have come from Lawsham's laboratory."

The Shadow had already considered that possibility. Unquestionably Mandor, Thurnig and Brellick together

had intended to stake sixty thousand dollars on the success of Lawsham's synthetic rubber. As a result, those

Lawsham had mentioned intended investors, but intimated that he had made no deal with them. That could all

be shrewd pretense, to cover the fact that the professor knew everything about those Dead Who Lived.

On the contrary, it was possible that Mandor and his associates had negotiated with someone in Lawsham's

employ, hoping to buy the process secretly. Such moves were the sort that could bring crooks into the picture,

while Lawsham, ignorant of outside intrigue, concerned himself only with his own protection.

The solution to the problem depended upon the very factor that The Shadow had mentioned to Mann. Some

person must be found who had once been in the employ of Professor Lawsham, but who, for some reason as

yet unlearned, had left the protecting walls of the house that served as Lawsham's fortress.

The search for such a person could best begin at Lawsham's, since as The Shadow reasoned the man in

question must once have lived there. There was another reason why Lawsham's house could be considered a

focal spot; a reason highly important at this moment, for it depended upon observations that The Shadow had

As Allard, The Shadow shook hands with Mann, when they reached the corner. They were going in different

directions, so they took separate cabs. Mann left first; had he remained, he would have become singularly

Ignoring a taxi at the corner, Allard walked to the next street. He slipped aboard a cab that was parked there,

gave a lowtoned order in The Shadow's whisper. The cab started instantly. While it wheeled around the

As they turned into Lawsham's street, The Shadow's hidden lips gave a whispered laugh.

Another cab was pulling away. It was a cab that The Shadow had seen, parked in darkness across the way,

while he walked with Mann. As The Shadow suspected, his visit to Lawsham's had been observed. No spy,

however, could have known that Kent Allard was The Shadow. But those spying tactics promised an unusual

Professor Lawsham, it seemed, was receiving another visitor one whose arrival might carry a clue to the

very matter that so deeply concerned The Shadow: that of some person who had once been closely associated

The Shadow's cab stopped in darkness. A cloaked form emerged, blending with the blackness of the

sidewalk. The Shadow, in his turn, was paying another visit to the old professor's home.

THE SHADOW'S route of entry was one that he had picked when he first came to Lawsham's house. Moving

through the passage beside the bay window, The Shadow reached the wall that connected with the adjoining

Opening the old door, he reached to the top of it. Using the knob as a step, he easily scaled the wall. Once he

had swung the door shut, The Shadow stretched for the bay window. The reach was a short one; a ledge

The window was shuttered; its barrier was iron. This upstairs blockade, however, had none of the strength

that went with the barred windows below. Prying with a portable jimmy, The Shadow wedged a narrow space

between the halves of the metal shutter. With an upward prod, he loosened an inner clamp.

Once inside the room, he made a quick examination of the shutter. It hadn't been inspected for months, as

corner cobwebs testified. Using his tiny flashlight, The Shadow fixed the shutter to his satisfaction.

To all appearances, it looked untampered with; but the loosened clamp had weakened. It could be set to drop

in place at the mere closing of the shutter. That fact meant that this window would be a good way for quick

The room, itself, was an old sitting room, filled with furniture that had been draped with sheets. Edging his

way through, The Shadow discerned light that trickled from the cracks of a closed door. Reaching the door,

Like a materialized ghost, The Shadow glided toward the front stairs. All was silent, empty, in the hall below.

Only the lights of the parlor were visible, indicating that a visitor was there. The absence of the servant meant

The stairs were old, but they gave no creaks as The Shadow descended, for his weight was half against the

banister. At the bottom, The Shadow paused, then made a quick shift to a curtain that hung beside the wide

Professor Lawsham came from the basement stairway. His pace was spry, his eyes eager. His face wore an

expression that he had carefully veiled from Allard and Mann: one of inherent craftiness, accentuated by the

sly way in which he rubbed his hands together. As Allard, The Shadow had noted traces of that underlying

When Lawsham neared the parlor, his manner changed. His face became sympathetic; he slowed his steps to

a halflabored gait. He was too intent upon his coming interview to note the blackclad figure so close to the

dark curtain. It was through that very curtain that The Shadow peered, when Lawsham entered the parlor.

THE caller was a girl, no more than twenty years of age. Though plainly dressed, she made a charming

appearance. She was a slim brunette; she had large brown eyes that were as lovely as the face that formed

their setting. Perhaps it was their misty look that gave them a sparkle, for, obviously, the girl was troubled.

She had risen from a chair to meet Lawsham. The old professor spoke words of kindly recognition.

"Miss Delton!" he exclaimed, mildly. He reached out to receive the girl's gloved hand. "What brings you

"It's it's about Dick." There was a quaver to the girl's tone. "I had to see you, professor. If if Dick "

For a moment she choked; bowed her head to repress a sob. Lawsham's touch was fatherly, as he laid his

"Have no worry, Arlene," he soothed. "Whatever has happened, I shall try to help you. Tell me what have

Arlene's choke ended. She looked up, her eyes brilliant from the teardrops that her gloved fingers were

"I haven't heard from him," she said. "That's just the trouble, professor. We must find out what has become of

There was a certain grimness to the professor's tone. Arlene sensed it. Her eyes showed alarm.

"What is it, professor?" she asked, anxiously. "Do you mean that Dick had some hidden purpose in leaving so

"But you wouldn't tell me before," insisted Arlene. "Was it because you didn't want to frighten me?"

Gently, Lawsham urged the girl to a chair. He stood with folded arms; solemn, yet mild of expression.

"Richard Remingwood was my most trusted assistant," affirmed Lawsham, soberly. "You knew, Arlene, how

much I trusted him. When he came to me, one day, and asked for a vacation, he told me that you and he were

"We were to be." Arlene tried to smile. "Dick had postponed it because of his work here. But he had

promised, so often, that some day he would surprise me. We'd be married that very day, he said, then start on

"I know," acknowledged Lawsham. "I thought the day had come. I told Dick he could leave; and for the next

two weeks, I often wondered where you and he had gone. I smiled to myself, because both of you had

"That was when I came here," declared the girl, "to find Dick only to learn that he had gone, without a

word to me. I've hoped, so often, that I would hear from him. I know that you have received no word, but I

"Tell me, professor, what you suspect? You said that you were sure no harm had come to Dick. Is it is it

because you have proof that he that Dick became dishonest? It would be hard for me to believe it!"

"Hard for me to believe, as well," assured Lawsham. "If Dick had simply disappeared, I would not believe it.

"I know." Arlene arose, to grasp the professor's hand. "Perhaps the temptation was too great. Dick often said

that people would pay large sums for your formulas. But I hate to believe that he sold them. Why" the girl

had suddenly remembered something "he even said that you were depending upon him to develop new

"That is all true," interposed Lawsham. "That is why we must give Dick the benefit of the doubt. We must

find him, wherever he is. If he betrayed my trust" Lawsham was shaking his head "he may have done so

A new expression came over Arlene's face. It was hope mingled with alarm. Her tone was as anxious as it

"By hiring a competent investigator," decided Lawsham. "You loved Richard Remingwood, I trusted him.

We have no proof that he has done wrong. Come here again tomorrow, Arlene. Meanwhile, I shall inquire

MOVING from the curtain, The Shadow reached the stairs by the time Arlene and Lawsham appeared in the

hallway. He saw the girl turning toward the front door; behind her, Lawsham was showing another of those

Some scheme was hatching in the professor's giant brain. What it promised; how it linked with the past The

Shadow had no time to analyze. He sped silently for the room with the covered furniture. Once outside the

The Shadow was dropping from the connecting wall when he saw Arlene signal a cab that did not stop. She

started for the corner. When The Shadow reached the sidewalk, he saw the same cab arrive again. It was his

own private taxi, driven by one of his secret agents; it had gone around the block. The Shadow's low hiss

They picked up Arlene's trail at the corner, followed in the wake of another cab. For once, The Shadow

indulged in a whispered laugh at his own expense. That lurking cab that he had thought contained a spying

crook, had held no one but Arlene Delton. The girl had merely been waiting until Lawsham's callers had left.

Arlene's cab reached a street of modest, neatappearing houses. From his stopped cab, The Shadow saw her

enter an old residence that had been changed to a tiny apartment house. Stepping from the cab, he reached the

Pressing another button, The Shadow waited until the door latch began to buzz. He opened the door, entered

the apartment house. He could hear footsteps on the third floor, where some apartment dweller thought he

was about to receive a late caller. Stealthily, The Shadow ascended the stairs, stopping at the second floor.

A door slammed from the floor above. The Shadow stopped at 2B. From within the apartment, he could hear

Arlene's sobs. Placing his hand upon the doorknob, The Shadow felt it give. Arlene hadn't waited to lock the

door after she had entered. Long weeks of worry had been too much, even for her bravery.

The Shadow entered a darkened living room. To his right lay a doorway that led to a little kitchenette; to his

left a light revealed Arlene's bedroom. He couldn't see the girl, for she was past the corner. Her sobs had

ended with surprising suddenness. All that The Shadow could hear was the sound of a bureau drawer sliding

The Shadow decided to meet Arlene; to talk with her. He, too, was interested in matters that concerned Dick

Remingwood. Arlene might be startled when she met The Shadow, but her surprise would soon turn to

Silently, The Shadow moved toward the open doorway, to stop just short of it. The door was partly closed;

The Shadow heard Arlene approach, so he remained where darkness sheltered him. An instant afterward, the

No longer were Arlene's eyes moist. They were firm; cold in their stare. Her chin was thrust out in hard

determination. Below that chin was an upraised fist that gripped a .22 automatic.

The muzzle of that weapon was pointed into the living room, trained straight toward the darkness where The

THE same sheer instinct that spurred The Shadow to amazing action could serve him otherwise. It did on this

occasion. Despite the surprise that Arlene had provided, The Shadow remained motionless, still covered by

The Shadow was in darkness, so he clung to it. He had a chameleon ability at concealing himself in gloom.

That blackened living room was a veritable shroud that blanketed the cloaked figure who had entered.

Arlene did not budge. Her face kept its determination. One telltale sound, the girl would fire. Recognizing

that fact, The Shadow avoided any clue to his whereabouts. Then, as reason replaced instinct, he coolly

Certainly, Arlene could not have heard him enter. There hadn't been the slightest click from the doorknob

when he opened it. She could not have spied light from the hallway. The Shadow had not only blocked it

when he edged through the door; Arlene, at that moment, had been in the lighted bedroom.

Those questions produced a negative answer. Had Arlene been keyed to action, she would not have indulged

in those sobs. They had been genuine. Though Arlene showed complete determination, her face was streaked

Then, as he nullified those possibilities, The Shadow caught the true answer in one quick flash.

Arlene had heard something, just as The Shadow had begun to open the door. But it had not been a sound

from his direction. He was covered, at present, by the girl's gun; but his own position explained it.

Behind The Shadow lay the kitchenette. Arlene had caught some warning from that quarter.

TENSELY, The Shadow listened. He heard a stir, so slight that Arlene failed to sense it. It was a creeping

motion behind The Shadow's back. He knew that sort of sound as deadly as the rattle of a snake.

Whoever was there did not see The Shadow. The lurker was slightly away from the angle of Arlene's aim.

Close to the wall of the kitchenette, the hidden man could certainly observe the girl. Framed in the lighted

The Shadow could sense a gunner aiming from darkness. He could pick the fellow's exact position, for there

was only one angle from which the wouldbe killer could see Arlene, without spotting The Shadow. That

Quickly, The Shadow's tactics changed. From immobility, he switched to speed. His action came as silent as

it was swift. Thrusting one hand beneath his cloak, he whipped out an automatic; with the swing of his arm,

Three guns spoke; their shots formed a quick procession, spaced halfseconds apart. The Shadow's .45 knifed

first, straight toward the corner of the kitchenette. A revolver tongued from that very spot, but its spurt went

upward, halftoward the ceiling. The third burst, puny in comparison, was from Arlene's .22, as the girl

There was a thud from the kitchenette. Jolted by the impact of The Shadow's bullet, the hidden gunner had

missed Arlene. That enemy was finished; The Shadow's next problem was to halt Arlene before she fired

Arlene, herself, solved that problem, and with it, produced another. Realizing that the lighted doorway was a

bad place to be, she sprang into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Almost instantly, there was a

The Shadow reached the door, swung it inward. Arlene had turned, to meet a masked thug who was springing

in to grab her. She was belated in her aim; so was the man who sought to slay her, for he had landed on hands

Coming up, the new foeman made a grab for Arlene's gun hand and caught it. As he wrested her .22 away, he

started a slugging blow for the girl's head. The long arm of The Shadow thrust in between, halted the

murderous slash. As Arlene broke away, she stared in amazement at the quick grapple that followed.

She saw a cloaked being in black who had come seemingly from nowhere, to pick that quarrel with a

sweatered thug. Cloaked arms were locked with those of the thwarted killer. The thug's face was venomous

Arlene shrieked an unneeded warning. Before the slugging fist could descend, a muffled gunshot sounded.

Arlene saw the thug sag from The Shadow's grasp. She spied a gloved fist that gripped a smoking automatic.

Then, as Arlene sprang to join her rescuer, The Shadow met her with an arm sweep that sent her staggering

through the doorway to the living room. With a twist, he dropped to the floor inside the bedroom window,

RAKING bullets whined above The Shadow's head, to spatter the wall of the bedroom. Those slugs ripped

away the single floor lamp that illuminated the room. Darkness came; the machine gunners no longer had

They were to regret their move. A gibing laugh came from the window; with it, the quick flashes of an

automatic. Uncannily, The Shadow was picking out human targets against the dim background of the garage

Huddled figures sprawled; others dragged them away, beneath the shelter of a low parapet. That gun crew

was clearing out; the luckier crooks were hauling the machine gun along with their wounded pals.

Arlene hadn't realized how the fight had gone. It was the first time that she had witnessed The Shadow in

battle. Fearing for her rescuer, Arlene dashed to the apartment door, yanked it open, to call for aid. A man

Springing into the room, the fellow grabbed her, pulled her out into the hallway, toward a flight of stairs at

Before the crook could do murder, he heard the laugh of The Shadow. It came from the door of the

apartment. Looking across Arlene's shoulder, that last invading thug spied the cloaked avenger.

The Shadow could not see the glowering face beyond Arlene, but he spied the hand that clutched the girl's

neck. It was a hand he recognized, for it lacked a second finger. Moreover, it had a jagged scar that ran

That hand belonged to a crook named Bosco Treff. Oddly, it was to save its owner's life.

The Shadow wanted a living thug, who could tell the name of the leader who controlled the illassorted band

that showed up everywhere. Cobber Lokum had died too soon. Bosco Treff was going to live a while.

Bosco did what The Shadow expected. He responded to The Shadow's challenge by flinging Arlene aside.

With the same move, Bosco whipped back into the darkness of the stairway, to take aim. The Shadow saw

Already aiming, The Shadow squeezed the trigger of his automatic. The bullet clanged Bosco's gun; it should

have ricocheted to crack the thug's wrist. Bosco's hand chanced to be twisting when the slug arrived. His gun

Madly, Bosco dived for the stairway. Again, he was fortunate. The Shadow aimed for his shoulder, not his

head. Stumbling, Bosco pitched far enough ahead. The bullet barely grazed his coat. The Shadow followed,

There was safety in that closed stairway; much more than in the lighted hall, where some forgotten hoodlum

THE stairs turned too sharply for The Shadow to get another shot at Bosco. Outside the house, the lucky thug

made a corner of the building before The Shadow could spot him in the darkness. A clatter of footsteps

From all about, Arlene could hear the shriek of sirens. She knew that police were on the way here. She feared

for The Shadow, wondering if his part would be understood. Arlene wanted her rescuer to be away; and she

She had feared the attack that had come tonight. It fitted with her qualms concerning Dick. Though she hadn't

expressed the thought to Lawsham, she had felt that she would find trouble if she made efforts to locate Dick

At the present moment, Arlene's chief worry was The Shadow's dilemma. She gasped for him to go ahead,

saying that she would try to follow. If she failed to get clear she could talk to the police. She would tell them

Arlene's protests were ignored. The Shadow drew her along as he picked a course through passageways and

courtyards. They reached a rear street and crossed it, to enter another maze. It was bewildering, the way The

Then they were in a taxicab that arrived from a darkened parking spot, the instant that The Shadow wanted it.

A speedy driver was wheeling them from one street to another, carrying them from the zone where the police

Arlene was listening to a whispered voice a tone that carried a weird chill, yet to her ears was inspiring with

the confidence it gave. The Shadow was telling her of a place where she could stay in safety; there to await

The girl spoke her agreement. In faltering but expressive words, she thanked her rescuer. The cab had slowed

as it approached a traffic light; Arlene's eyes were lowered, as she spoke to the unseen personage in the thick

When the cab jerked forward into the lights of the avenue, Arlene raised her head, hoping to meet The

Shadow's gaze. Her eyes showed their beauty as they widened; but no one was present to admire them.

Arlene was alone, in the back seat of the cab. In the same mysterious way that he had come from blackness,

LATE the next afternoon, Professor Lawsham had another caller a young man who alighted from a cab and

promptly ascended the steps of the old house. As he stood there in the dusk, the young chap took a sidelong

No prowlers were visible; nor did parked cars look suspicious. Nevertheless, the street was a gloomy one; the

sort that could hold lurkers. Despite that, the young man showed no tenseness. He was quite calm when a

The visitor tendered a card. He was ushered into a parlor. Soon, Lawsham arrived from the laboratory; the

That card bore the name: "Star Detective Agency", with street address and telephone number. In a lower

Looking up from the card, the professor eyed Vincent. He saw a cleancut young man, welldressed and

earnest of countenance. Lawsham was a trifle surprised. He had expected to meet a hardboiled visitor. Harry

Vincent was much more presentable than Lawsham expected a private detective to be.

"Certainly," replied Harry. "That is why I came here to tell you the details. It concerns Miss Delton."

"How stupid of me!" he exclaimed. "I promised Arlene that I would arrange for an investigator. I entirely

"Haven't you heard about Miss Delton?" inquired the visitor. "It was on the front page of the newspapers."

"I never read the newspapers. I am too busy. But, tell me" his tone showed a tremor "has something

"She disappeared last night," replied Harry, "after a mob of raiders shot up her apartment. The police are

Lawsham was impressed. He began to regard Harry Vincent as a very keen young chap. That was not

surprising, for Harry played a much more important part than that of representative for a detective agency.

"Don't credit me with anything clever, professor," warned Harry, with a smile. "This afternoon, I was the last

person in the office, when a telephone call came there. The girl who talked to me said that she was Arlene

"Very safe, apparently," declared Harry. "She even refused to tell me where she was, until after I talked with

"Wise of her," agreed Lawsham. "I suppose she wants you to find Dick Remingwood."

PROFESSOR LAWSHAM paced the floor. He paused, at last, to give his detailed version of the case, much

"Frankly, Mr. Vincent," concluded Lawsham, "I am still at loss. Remingwood is certainly involved with

"You are wondering," stated Lawsham, seriously, "if I told Miss Delton all the facts that I know. I did so, Mr.

Harry heard the professor go out through the hallway, down the stairs to the basement. It was very still,

oppressive, in that little parlor. The curtains seemed like a shroud, that might rip aside at any moment, to

For, as Harry reasoned it, crooks would be quite as interested in the affairs of Professor Lawsham as they

As he waited, Harry sensed a sound. It was like a low, sibilant hiss carrying from the dim hall beyond the

curtains. He pictured it as coming from the stairs to the second floor. Harry smiled. He felt the watchful

Professor Lawsham returned bringing a small clutter of papers. They were letters, memo slips, and other

items, that the professor had found in a desk downstairs. But as he and Harry searched through them, they

As he gathered up the papers, Lawsham found a yellow slip; he stared at it, then fished around and produced

"These are odd," he remarked. "Memos that my assistants left for me. Regarding longdistance calls from

Vincent took the slips. They had been written in different hands, but both held the same notation.

"I remember those calls," nodded Lawsham. "They came on successive nights. Someone calling from Hadley;

Harry wasn't sure. He had heard of the place; that was all. But the matter interested him.

"Those calls might have been from Remingwood," Harry suggested. "Do you agree, professor?"

Harry considered. He said that he ought to tell his chief about the matter, but the office was closed. As Harry

"But this is an extraordinary case," reminded Lawsham. "No time should be lost. Do not worry about

"I understand," returned Lawsham. "You do not know him; therefore, you would not recognize him."

That wasn't the thought that Harry had in mind, but it was certainly an obstacle in itself. Harry stressed that

"Take Arlene with you," advised Lawsham. "I know she will be glad to go. She will know Dick, if you find

THE plan had logic. Harry agreed to it, provided that Arlene wanted it. Professor Lawsham said that he

would talk to the girl, when she telephoned. He called a servant, sent the batch of papers downstairs. Hardly

had Lawsham and Harry resumed their conversation, before a telephone bell jangled.

The telephone was in the hall. Lawsham answered the call; it was Arlene's. Harry overheard the professor

suggesting the trip to Hadley. Finally, Lawsham arrived, smiling, in the doorway.

"Arlene agrees," he declared. "She wants to talk to you, Mr. Vincent; to tell you where to meet her. She

wouldn't tell me where she was" Lawsham's expression had sobered "and I consider that quite wise.

"Arlene fears that men might even attack here, to make me tell where she can be found. Therefore, she does

not want to burden me with dangerous information. I have assured her, however, that I am quite safe. My

So confident was Lawsham, when he made the final statement, that his face showed a shrewd gloat. He was

thinking of what might happen to anyone who tried to thwart his own endeavors. He seemed to look forward

to such attempts with a satisfaction that bordered upon triumph. He revealed himself as one whose own

His hands were twitching, their long fingers acting as though they were breaking something between them.

Certainly, Professor Lawsham, once aroused to action, could become a most dangerous foe.

Harry, meanwhile, was finishing a short conversation with Arlene. Lawsham's manner had calmed when

"We're going to Hadley," said Harry, on parting, "and we'll make the trip in a hurry. If mobsters do get wind

DARKNESS was thicker when Harry stepped from the old house. This time, he was positive that watchers

were about. He felt confident, however, that he was also under the guarding eye of The Shadow. Harry was

Taking a cab, he rode to a garage three blocks away. Stepping into a sedan that was parked there, he

consulted a road map, then drove to a small West Side apartment house. Arlene joined him there. They drove

Harry explained that the town of Hadley was some twenty miles northwest of Manhattan, in the New Jersey

"If anyone is trailing, us," declared Harry, soberly, "that highway will be the first place we'll know it."

They crossed the big bridge, traveled along the turnpike, then veered to the road that Harry had mentioned.

Arlene had not forgotten the statement regarding possible followers. As they sped along a straight stretch, she

Far behind them, Arlene saw dim lights round a turn. From their motion, she could guess that another car was

picking up speed. Tensely, Arlene gripped Harry's arm, for she was positive that they were being trailed.

Realizing that Harry would have to handle the car, Arlene felt suddenly helpless. She knew that she could not

Then, from the blackness of the rear seat, came the token that responded to Arlene's very thoughts. It was a

Arlene's fears vanished in that instant. She and Harry were not alone in the speeding sedan. With them was a

THE trailing car made no effort to overtake the sedan, during that ride to Hadley. Harry was showing plenty

of speed, and the sedan was powerful. Perhaps the followers were finding themselves lucky in merely

In fact, there were times when Arlene thought that they had shaken their pursuers; but always, that other car

Harry was noting the speedometer. They were due at Hadley; but there was no sign of a town, until he slowed

to cross a singletrack railway line. Just past a deserted station, they took a turn and came upon a few dingy

One was an old post office, another a weatherbeaten store, both closed for the night. There was a building

that looked like a grange hall, its windows black and silent. Then one hanging light announced a filling

A man in greasy overalls came out, nonchalantly picked up a gas hose. Harry leaned from the window and

"Sorry," he said, "but the tank's nearly full. We're looking for a place somewhere around here. A friend of

"He might be up at Doc Broyce's place," he said. "What kind of a fellow is this friend of yours? Sort of

"Doc never called it that," the man replied. "He said it was a rest home. Only, we've been wondering," he

He pointed into the darkness, made motions to indicate a road that turned to the right.

"Up there, about a mile and a half," he said. "The place is in the hills. And if you see doc, ask him why none

of us ain't heard from him, since he got back. He was purty sick, the last time he closed the place. Heart

"He was supposed to be shutting the place for good, so he could go out to California and stay there. But the

Arlene started to ask a question; Harry gestured to stop her. He had gotten a sudden inkling from the service

man's remarks concerning Doc Broyce's ailment. The less said, the better, at this moment.

The picture was clearing in Harry's mind. He was coming to conclusions which he believed must be identical

with those The Shadow had already formed: a solution to the riddle of the Dead Who Lived. But the test of

As they started along the road to the hills, Arlene looked back. She half wondered if The Shadow had

remained in the sedan. Arlene was chiefly puzzled, though, because the other car had not come into sight. She

"There was a dirt road that cut right just past the grade crossing," recalled Harry. "They might have turned in

Harry admitted that he did not know. He was less puzzled, though, when a dirt road came in from the right, to

"They may have seen which way we headed," undertoned Harry. "If they did, they could have taken a

Harry was driving slowly, but he didn't tell Arlene to keep a lookout. That didn't worry her; it made Arlene

hopeful. She was convinced, from Harry's calmness, that The Shadow must still be with them.

The road veered; ended at an open gate. Driving through, Harry followed a rough driveway that was scarcely

more than ruts. Ahead, barely distinguishable against the cloudy sky, he saw a sprawly building that looked

When they reached it, the place proved larger than an ordinary farmhouse, for it had framebuilt extensions,

As Harry swung the car about, his lights showed walls that badly needed paint. The windows, too, looked

dingy; the front door had a battered look. He wasn't surprised that the natives had thought the place closed

No other cars were in sight, but there were plenty of tree clusters behind which one could be hidden. It was

certain, though, that by stopping close to the house, Harry and Arlene could reach the front door without

There was a good chance, too, that they would be admitted; for the sprawly house was occupied. Trickles of

light filtered past the drawn shades of a few front windows, and Harry had seen others like them, at one side

Lights out, Harry and Arlene stole cautiously from the sedan and reached the front door. Harry felt for a

pushbutton, found it. He rang; they could hear no bell inside. Harry rang again; as he did, he heard

A bolt grated; the door opened. From a dim hallway, a blocky man craned at the visitors. Noting that one was

a girl, he asked no questions but simply beckoned them to enter. Once they were inside, he closed the door

HARRY was sizing up the fellow; one single word described him. That word was "thug". It made the place

look bad, finding such a man on duty; yet Harry wasn't sure that things were wrong. Perhaps there were

residents here who sometimes proved troublesome. If so, strongarm servants would be needed.

The blocky fellow swung around, spoke in a tone that was gruff, although he tried to smooth it.

"You won't be able to see Doctor Broyce," he informed. "The doc's away. Thought I'd better tell you that, to

"Thanks," returned Harry, coolly. "We haven't come to see Doctor Broyce. We want to talk to one of his

Thuggish features hardened. The tough servant seemed to be controlling a smile. He asked the names of the

During that interval, Harry had been looking past the attendant, into a darkened front room. There, he had

caught the soundless motion of a window shade, that faded as he watched. Harry's tenseness vanished. Such

Harry was sure that his chief had joined them. He would have been doubly positive, had he been able to see

what was going on outside at his parked car. There, slinking figures had moved from another car, beyond a

clump of trees. With guarded flashlights, they were probing the interior of Harry's sedan, only to find it

Conducted through a chain of gloomy, deserted hallways, Harry and Arlene arrived at a big door. The servant

opened it, to take them into a wing of the house. Looking back along the last passage, Arlene was sure that

That motion faded instantly, so surprisingly, that Arlene could scarcely believe that she had noted it. The

incident, however, caused her to form the same impression that Harry had gotten; namely, that The Shadow

Past the big door was a gloomy corridor, with closed deepset doors along the right. There was a wide

doorway on the left; the servant stopped there, to look into a large lounge room. Harry and Arlene saw a pair

There were half a dozen others in the room, pitiful specimens of humanity. One was an old man, slumped

deep in a chair, muttering to himself. Two younger men, weaklooking fellows, were seated at a table

Another was staring from a darkened window; of the last two, one sat brooding, with folded arms, while the

final man, who looked like a dope addict, sat in a corner holding his pale face buried in his hands.

HARRY no longer doubted the necessity of the husky attendants. The term "guests" certainly did not suit this

group of hopeless patients. Harry looked toward Arlene. Sight of the group troubled her; she was wondering

"In his room," replied one of the attendants. "Reading a book, the last I saw him."

The guide conducted them farther along the corridor. Dick's room was the last on the right; there was only

one door beyond it; that final barrier was located in the very end of the corridor.

The man rapped, announcing that visitors had arrived. Abruptly, he opened the door of Dick's room and

shoved it inward. Harry saw a young man rising from a table, laying a book aside. That first sight pleased

him. Dick Remingwood was not like the rest of the patients that Harry had seen here.

Squarefeatured, Dick had keen eyes and firm lips that automatically formed a smile of greeting. His face

was a trifle pale, but not haggard. His clothes looked well; his black hair was smoothly parted.

Dick gave an exclamation of genuine gladness when he saw Arlene. With a happy cry, the girl was across the

threshold; a moment later, Dick was holding her in his arms. Harry looked at the attendant; the fellow gave a

Harry Vincent remained as the lone witness to the reunion between Dick Remingwood and Arlene Delton. As

There were facts, Harry was sure, that Dick alone could tell. Facts, perhaps, that Dick Remingwood regarded

THE big door had opened at the front of the long corridor. A shape of blackness blocked the whiteness of that

door, then faded. The Shadow blended with the gloom along the wall. He studied the doorways on the right.

From one, the last in line, came a thin shaft of light. The Shadow knew that it must indicate the room where

Keeping close to the right wall, The Shadow advanced. As he neared the doorway on the left, he saw the big

room where two attendants watched their halfdozen patients. A third attendant had joined the pair already

there. The additional man was the servant who had brought Harry and Arlene here.

The Shadow spent no time studying the six patients. All looked eccentric; anyone of them might suddenly

glance toward the corridor. Men in their apparent state had the faculty of seeing things that escaped ordinary

observers. If one spied The Shadow, the fellow might imagine anything, and shout it.

With quick, gliding stride, The Shadow passed that danger spot, blended into gloom beyond. He reached the

doorway just before Dick's. Its depth, the dullness of the painted door itself, showed that it could be a perfect

That tested, The Shadow stepped forward and peered into the room where Harry watched Arlene and Dick.

Arlene had introduced the two men. All three were seated, ready for a conference. Arlene's eyes were

troubled, though, as she stared toward the shaded window. She could see the outlines of bars through the

"I'm in fine shape," interposed Dick. "I'm here merely for observation, and because I needed a rest. I

Arlene stared, amazed. She looked at Harry; with a grim smile, The Shadow's agent stepped to the door. He

saw that the corridor was empty. The Shadow had withdrawn to the next doorway, but he resumed his

"I'm leaving the door ajar," Harry told Dick, in an undertone, "so we will know if any one approaches. Let's

hear your story from the start, Remingwood. Never mind what the professor told us."

"It was my own stupidity," he said. "I was in the testing room working with an acetylene reagent, and I

overlooked the professor's instructions. I knew there'd be a gas, but I hadn't counted on the quantity that

"Before I knew it, the stuff had me. In that tiny room, with the door closed, I didn't have a chance. Professor

Lawsham thought I was dead, when he found me. Fortunately, he knew the whole formula that I had been

"How he managed it, I can't guess; but he's a wizard! He knew what was the matter. He didn't wait to send for

Stark realization had come to Harry and Arlene. They knew exactly what had happened to three victims who

"I was asleep, that's all," assured Dick. "Rather wobbly for a while, I'll admit; but the professor made me rest

for a few days. Then he told me he'd tried the same test on guinea pigs. He said he was afraid there would be

"The antidote would work any time within a week or so but he said it took a strong heart to stand the gas

"Don't you realize what's been happening?" she demanded. "Professor Lawsham lied to you like he did to

Dick shook his head. Harry unfolded a copy of an evening newspaper. Dick was horrified when he read about

the shooting at Arlene's apartment. Harry turned to another page, pointed out a column that mentioned the

None of the sleeping sickness victims had shown any improvement. Dick scanned that news; he looked up,

"These Dead Who Lived" Harry was pointing to their names "did you ever hear of them?"

Dick couldn't recall the names, but he remembered something that linked with them.

"Persons came to see Professor Lawsham," he declared. "I remember, one night, that he told me he intended

"The new tests, perhaps. It was always the same problem: finding some way to cut the production cost. But it

"Yes. The one I told you about. We needed acetone, and it can be obtained by fermenting potatoes, but that

never worked out well, until I developed my formula. With the way we have it now" in this enthusiasm,

Dick was forgetting the charges made against Professor Lawsham "we can turn the whole surplus potato

"Bad potatoes, small ones, rotten ones they don't matter. We can use them. We'd looked into prices, and

potatoes are as cheap a source material as anyone could want. And there are thousands of acres of cheap

Dick stopped. His eyes had taken on a horrified stare. His voice was hollowed to a whisper, as he added:

"Lawsham promised to credit me with the process; to buy it from me. But he lied! He saw a way to crowd me

"As he did with the investors," inserted Harry. "They were all right, while the proposition looked doubtful.

But with everything in the bag, Lawsham wanted it all, your share included, Remingwood.

"Your accident showed him how to get it. He saw what happened to you; he figured out an antidote, because

you were still useful. He railroaded you here, so he could cut loose with the gas. He got rid of the men that he

THE whole insidious scheme drilled home to Dick. He was listening, while Arlene recounted her visits to

Lawsham, repeating how the professor had lied about Dick's whereabouts. Dick saw clearly how Lawsham

had tried to get rid of Arlene, because she was the one person who might bring up the question of the

"So he got back those options," gritted Dick. "He's probably keeping them for souvenirs, along with the

record that credited me with the discovery of the new formula. But why" Dick's face showed bafflement

"Because," said Harry, "Lawsham didn't want to be troubled with explaining the death of someone who

worked for him, until he had settled with the others. He's holding you in reserve, to become another of the

Dick was staring for the door, ready to yank it open. He seemed to think that a clear path lay ahead.

"Doctor Broyce," returned Dick. "I know him. He used to drop in and see the professor."

"Broyce must have made one trip too many," declared Harry. "Suppose he took one of those gas doses, on his

"Not Broyce." This time, Harry's head was shaking. "He had a weak heart. Around here, the natives think

Doc Broyce is back from California, but they haven't seen him. Soon, they'll think he's gone away again.

"They don't know that Broyce is dead. They'll think he's gone away again, when this place closes. Nobody

will ever find Broyce's body. Those crooks who work for Lawsham are smart enough to have stowed it where

Harry's words seemed echoed by a whisper from the corridor; The Shadow's approval of his agent's claim.

Along with his evil deeds against the Dead Who Lived, Professor Lawsham had gone the full route, with

This trip to the New Jersey hill country had produced all that The Shadow hoped. It had laid bare the full

machinations contrived by Professor Lawsham. Dick Remingwood stood as a man more greatly duped than

those three Dead Who Lived. Completed crime the murder of Broyce was proof of Lawsham's final intent

The spot where The Shadow stood was an important vantage point. He had heard all that passed within the

room, and he was guarding against trouble from outside. Trouble was due, for Harry and Arlene had

There was a slight sound from the door at the inner end of the corridor. The Shadow drew away from Dick's

door and took to the darkness of another doorway. Outsiders were invading, by a back route. The Shadow

The end door opened. In stole a band of masked men. No longer was their real part unknown. They were

tools of Lawsham, under the command of some lieutenant. They were here for swift action, like the lot who

ON the threshold, the masked leader was flanked by a pair of henchmen. All held revolvers. The leader

snarled a challenge, that brought a quick turnabout from Harry. Up went Harry's arms; Dick and Arlene

"Talking it over, eh?" The masked man's voice was a sarcastic rasp. "That's fine! We'll give you plenty of

"Don't try to be tough. It won't be good for you. We're going to hand you the gas treatment, if you behave.

You won't mind it much. Remingwood can tell you it don't hurt. That'll be for two of you."

"We've got something else for you, Remingwood," he added. "The prof wants to talk to you. Maybe he'll let

The Shadow no longer had doubt as to the identity of the leading invader. He could see the man's profile,

below the mask; he recalled the raspy voice, from episodes of a few years before.

The fellow was Quill Baxton, a racketeer who had always balked before stepping over the borderline into

crimes that would mean combat with The Shadow. Quill was almost the last man that The Shadow would

There was a stir within the room. Harry and Dick were shifting forward, urged by a mutual impulse to put up

a fight. Quill saw it; he took a backward step, as he snarled to the men beside him:

"Grab 'em! Slug 'em, if you have to, but lay off bullets! We want this bunch alive!"

The thugs did not spring forward, as Quill expected, and the masked leader, himself, was instantly acquainted

with the reason. Like the crew that served him, Quill was rooted where he stood, chained there by a weird

Through that corridor burst the laugh of The Shadow. As the crooks stared, they saw a cloaked form

materialize a shape with burning eyes that promised doom. Gunweighted fists leveled their weapons

Crooks were trapped; clustered, they were covered by muzzles of death. Once again, Quill Baxton and his

TO Harry Vincent, The Shadow's intervention was not unexpected. There had been a moment, when crooks

thrust themselves in sight, wherein Harry had wondered what had happened to his chief. But with the first

He saw how completely The Shadow had tricked the invading throng: learning their purpose and bringing

them to bay. As mobsters quailed, Harry was ready with cooperation. Thrusting his hands to his hips, he

pulled two automatics. He planked one gun in Dick's hand, kept the other for himself.

Together, they sprang past Arlene, to cover the invaders. By threatening the crooks from the flank, they

enabled The Shadow to handle another thrust. The Shadow had counted on Harry's cooperation. It was

With a quick wheel, the cloaked fighter faced toward the front of the corridor. He was turned about when the

whitejacketed attendants appeared. It was their turn to be under The Shadow's guns, while Quill and the

From his pivot position, The Shadow held complete control. He had sized the total number of his foemen:

The whiteclad men dropped back; then, when they had almost acknowledged defeat, they started a sudden

drive. Into that surge came more men, to back the few guards. The Shadow was faced by a squad of nine, all

No longer was the doddering old man aged. His wig was cast aside. The mumbling checker players were in

the drive; so were the rest, including the pastyfaced fellow who had looked like a dope addict.

This place had been stocked with more than a few hoodlums passing as attendants. Even the "guests" were

fakes; members of a fullsized mob, ready to prevent the removal of Dick Remingwood!

ANY fighter but The Shadow would have been slated for instant death. His quick choice, his amazing speed,

were all that saved him. Forgetting Quill and the latter's thugs, The Shadow flung himself squarely into the

Guns ripped; The Shadow's automatics thundered amid that rapid fire. He was the center of a milling mass,

and men were sprawling from that whirl. Despite the odds against him, The Shadow was giving those crooks

The Shadow had left Quill's outfit to Harry and Dick. That was where the counterthrust went wrong.

Realizing The Shadow's dilemma, Harry instinctively opened fire to clip the crowd from the big room; and

Dick did the same. There were others, unfortunately, who reasoned that The Shadow was in too tough a spot

to survive without aid. Those others were Quill and his gunners. They thought they were clear to carry out

their original plan. Quill, quickest thinker of the lot, rasped an order to that effect. The others followed it.

En masse, they piled upon Harry and Dick, bowled them to the floor. Arlene had no chance of escape;

leaping thugs trapped her in the little room. They hauled her, struggling, to the corridor, where they had

At another command from Quill, they started through the rear door, expecting that The Shadow could never

They would have made a bad mistake, if Quill had not stopped to take a look along the corridor.

There, Quill saw a thinning of the fray. The inside crooks were groveling on the floor, except for a pair that

still grappled with The Shadow. Even those two were due to be finished; they were fighting hopelessly,

Quill hesitated; he was caught between two desires: The first, to carry away the prisoners; the other, to make

Letting the rest go through the rear door, he grabbed two of his masked squad. Shoving them around, Quill

One of the pair was Bosco Treff. The other was a longlimbed thug, a new addition to the crew. He was

Bosco's present teammate; that was apparent from the gloating shout that Bosco gave.

"Come on, Pike!" Bosco's bellow was louder than the last barks of gunfire. "The job's ours! Croak The

The two drove along the corridor, ready to fire the moment that the last strugglers slumped. They saw two

men halflocked together; the pair tumbled. Bosco and his pal blazed shots. A taunting laugh answered them.

He had left those two mixed in their grapple. Dealing hard strokes with an automatic, The Shadow had

whisked away before the two could sag. He was out of the path of gunfire that Bosco and Pike delivered. The

two halted alongside the big room. They sighted The Shadow finishing a fade. He was silhouetted at the front

WITH that shout, Bosco sprang forward, aiming for the whitish door. His shots splintered the woodwork. The

Shadow had twisted back along his route. Pike saw that reversal; he paused to fire. But he never managed to

A last tongue of flame came from an automatic; it was the only cartridge that remained to The Shadow. The

bullet sprawled Pike to the center of the corridor. Bosco never saw what happened to his pal. For Bosco was

Quill saw Pike fall. He spied the wounded crook coming to hands and knees. Pike was crawling for the big

room, snarling viciously as he went. He wanted cover before he took new aim. Forgetting Pike, Quill tried to

Finding The Shadow was no cinch, in that semigloom. All that saved Quill was the emptiness of The

Shadow's guns. While Quill stared, puzzled, The Shadow performed a surprising move. Driving up from

The scuffle caught Quill's gaze. He saw a sledging gun take a glancing stroke from Bosco's skull. As Bosco

sidled to the floor, The Shadow plucked away the revolver that was loosening in the thug's grip. Wheeling

about, ready with that weapon, The Shadow was prepared for a duel with Quill Baxton.

Quill Baxton was the only fighter who remained intact. He was stunned by the suddenness with which the

entire burden had been thrown upon him. His gun was lowered; even when he realized his predicament he

Baxton was saved by the act of a forgotten battler: one of the whitejacketed attendants.

That fellow had crawled through the doorway of a darkened room. His white sleeve was visible as his hand

reached upward to the wall. At the moment when The Shadow and Quill were aiming their guns, the

That switch had touched off a hidden charge of dynamite. The whole center of the building lifted in a titanic

explosion. In the midst of a fiery, rocketing background, Quill saw The Shadow, a tiny form in contrast.

The blast had struck outside the corridor, but The Shadow was close enough to feel its heavy effect. The door

beside him came bursting inward. The Shadow was flung headlong to the corridor. Quill staggered against

The central floor was shattered. Blinking from the effects of the explosion's blast, Quill saw The Shadow

plunge into an engulfing pit. Guns gone, The Shadow grabbed for any object that could hold him. All that he

clutched was the sprawled form of Bosco Treff. Together, they took the drop into the lower darkness.

Walls and floors were buckling more. Flames were catching dried wood as it collapsed. More of the old

building was crumpling; wounded men were being carried to an awful doom. Quill saw them struggling,

crawling toward him. As he stared, he watched them take the slide into oblivion.

Even the man who had pulled the switch was doomed. Fire was bursting everywhere, as the fellow made a

stagger in Quill's direction. Rising flames showed terror on a whitened face, made ruddy by the spurts of fire.

The fellow made a frantic grimace, thrust his hands forward, hoping that Quill would grasp them.

Then, with a sagging of the floor below him, the attendant went sliding into the same inferno that had

THERE were men, perhaps, who could be saved; those like Pike, who had gained the big room. But Quill

didn't care to help them. Sheets of flame were sweeping upward as a barrier. He'd risk his own life, if he went

to help them. Maybe they'd crawl clear, if they weren't too badly wounded. Quill didn't care.

This inside crew wasn't his. Bosco was his man; but Bosco was dead, gone with The Shadow. Pike didn't

matter much; he was a newcomer, introduced through Bosco. Things were getting too hot for Quill. The

sheets of flame that were scorching toward him would soon engulf the outer walls. What did it matter if

nearly a dozen crooks had gone to doom, since The Shadow had perished with them?

Quill yanked open the rear door. The wall was swaying beside him, as he dashed through. Whipping flame

lashed after him, but Quill was clear. Skirting the crazy old house, giving it a wide margin, Quill saw two

He reached the first one. It was filled. Three prisoners were lying upon the floor, with captors clustered over

them. Quill gave the word to go. As that car started, he flagged the next one. Hopping into it, he told the

"He went with the rest," snapped Quill. "It was the chance we all took! He got The Shadow! So what?"

The words brought approval. Quill was pleased, because he had been smart enough to credit Bosco with

being a hero. None of his mobbies asked about Pike. So Quill said nothing further.

The two cars sped along the lonely road between the hills. From the rear seat, Quill looked out through the

window. A raspy chuckle came from his lips, as he saw the old house burning like a tinder box, a mighty pyre

"We croaked The Shadow!" gloated Quill. "Get it? We croaked The Shadow got him at last!"

No one could deny the statement. The evidence was visible a huge glow in the night. Immune though The

Shadow seemed to bullets, it was understandable because of his quick shifts. But when Quill recounted

how The Shadow had been trapped in the midst of the flameengulfed building, none of his listeners doubted

"The Shadow can do a lot," sneered Quill. "He can do anything that anybody ever heard of, whether it really

happened or not. But nobody ever heard of anyone or anything who climbed out of a mess like that!"

Quill was wrong. In his haphazard school days, he had never studied mythology. He didn't know that men

had once talked of a strange bird called the phoenix, that could arise, alive, from the midst of ashes.

CRACKLES, like the whirr of myriad insects, vaguely reached The Shadow's ears. The sound increased, took

on a less regular tone. The Shadow was conscious of a dull throb at the back of his head; he felt a heat so

His eyes were closed; they seemed tightly bandaged. His whirling thoughts went back to things that he

remembered; not from this night, but from an earlier one. He recalled that ride from Mandor's, when he had

The Shadow couldn't remember the escape that he had made. Groggily, he thought that this was the finish of

the ride; that the stifling he felt was from the promised gas crooks had intended to give him.

That, too, could account for the multitude of crackles, and the blackness. Those were sensations that might

come with the overwhelming gas. Besides, The Shadow could feel a dead weight pinning him where he lay. It

His instinct for struggle returned. Blindly, The Shadow thrust his arms upward. He met with human hands;

one was halfclenched at his throat. He grabbed that hand, gave it a fling. Curiously, there was no resistance.

Heaving one shoulder, The Shadow felt a wooden beam. His hands clutched stone beside him; he braced and

With one hand, The Shadow clawed for the bandage that covered his eyes. It came away; and with the end of

the tight pressure, he was dazzled by the scene about him. In an instant, false recollections were forgotten.

The Shadow lay below ground level, on dampish mud that formed an oasis in the center of an area of flame.

He had fallen to the cellar of the old house, close to the spot where the explosion had occurred. The ruins,

What The Shadow had taken for a bandage, when he had ripped it from his eyes, was his slouch hat, which

had been driven down upon his head. The wooden clamp was the chunk of a beam, that must have struck him

when he fell. That blow, partly warded by the hat, accounted for the time that The Shadow had lain senseless.

Also, the hand that had clutched his throat was real. The Shadow saw it, resting on his shoulder. It was ruddy,

livid from the glow of those towering flames that formed a vast circle around this refuge.

The Shadow had seen that hand before. It lacked a second finger: the hand of Bosco Treff.

Plunging with The Shadow, the mobster had fared less fortunately. There was a burned piece of wood near

Bosco's sprawled body. That one hand, reaching to The Shadow, had probably been thrust instinctively. For

The Shadow tamped the slowburning cloth. He pulled away the scorched mask that had twisted askew.

Bosco's ugly face was seared, his eyebrows singed away. One leg twisted under him. Dried blood caked his

Yet Bosco was alive; one of very few who had survived within that flamelashed house.

Hoisting Bosco's limp frame, The Shadow moved forward, dwarfed by the billows of flame that danced and

THE explosion had hurled the center of the building upward and outward. The center had been free of debris;

therefore, it did not blaze. Close to the blast, The Shadow and Bosco had been more fortunate than others

Flames, though, were sucking air from the vortex that had been The Shadow's refuge. Soon, the central pit

Threading toward the flames, The Shadow found paths where the blaze had burned out. Sometimes he was

forced back, but always he found new openings. The holocaust was an everchanging maze. Ominously, it

closed at times, when he had passed. The Shadow's route was one that offered no retreat.

At last, came the towering blaze that devoured the outer walls. That conflagration was still on the rise. Fire

raged everywhere, forming a menacing circle through which there was no outlet. Worse, walls had begun to

The Shadow was forced back by embers of blazing wood, that came with little warning. He still lugged

Bosco; but the burden mattered little. The Shadow couldn't rush that ring of flame.

He heard clangings beyond the wall of fire and knew that many minutes must have passed, for a rural fire

department had arrived from some neighboring town. There was a hiss; a hose was streaming water

He sprawled, still clutching Bosco. Vivid light showed wooden steps, halfburned by the flames, that led

from the cellar to the outside air. Sheets of fire swept across that outlet, then subsided, as a hose sprayed the

Up steps that were cracking under the double weight, The Shadow carried Bosco's inert figure. He heard the

shouts of the firemen. The steam from the water had formed a hazy cloud; from it, masses of timber were

Dragging the hose, the firemen broke away from the menace of the bursting walls. Only the steamy mist

remained; from it, there staggered a grotesque sight The Shadow, with a halfdead crook sprawling from

Had the firemen seen that staggery exit, they might have mistaken The Shadow for some flame dwelling

demon, carrying off a victim. For the blackcloaked figure, maroonhued by the ruddy light against his

The firemen happened to be few in number, and they were busy, getting the hose clear. They did not see The

Shadow. He did not halt within their view. He kept onward, toward clustering trees that blocked the fire's

There was a coupe in the darkness, revealed by the flickers reflected through the tree boughs. It was a car

belonging to some of the perished crooks; Quill's crew had neglected to take it. The Shadow rolled Bosco

The motor's sound was inaudible, thanks to the hissing roar of the big blaze. It wasn't until The Shadow was

away, driving hard along the outlet to the road, that the firemen saw his speeding car. They raised a shout.

Volunteers leaped into cars to take up the chase. They were too late even to sight the car again.

HITTING the highway into New York, The Shadow calculated the time element. He realized that half an

hour had been lost; perhaps an even longer period. Quill and the prisoners were back in Manhattan, or almost

Bosco was breathing weakly, but steadily. Propped by the open window, the thug was reviving from the cool

air that whistled into the coupe. Keeping the car at its top speed of seventy, The Shadow jogged Bosco with

"Snap out of it, Bosco!" The Shadow's tone was gruff. "This is Pike hear me? We got The Shadow!"

Bosco's next mutter was almost coherent. He was lying back, his burned coat sleeve across his scorched eyes.

The Shadow had learned one important point: Pike's last name. He needed it for future reference, if his

"Lucky I was with you, Bosco," growled The Shadow. "I seen you drop, and got to where you was."

"Sure! He was layin' cold. I drilled him an' left him to burn. Quill's goin' to like that, ain't he?"

"Yeah. It's lucky lucky I brought you along with the mob. I told Quill you'd come in handy. He knows

The Shadow gripped the steering wheel tightly, kept the car at full speed as he hit a long curve. He'd heard

more news, of the sort he liked. Just one more thing was needed. He was preparing to put another question,

"You gotta get there, Pike!" gulped Bosco. "Back to the main joint Quill's hideout."

"Sure!" gruffed The Shadow. Then, smoothly: "Gimme the dope on how to get there."

Bosco mouthed an address on the East Side. The place wasn't many blocks from the corner where The

"I got it," informed The Shadow, in the style that did for Pike. "What about the password ain't there any?"

"Give the buzzer two pushes" Bosco's words were weak "then wait half a minute. Give it a short an' a

Racked by a sudden coughing spasm, Bosco came upright. A sudden recollection had gripped him. His eyes

They were taking a curve to the left; the lights of a car coming from the opposite direction bathed the interior

of the coupe. In that sudden glare, Bosco's tortured eyes saw the driver beside him.

BOSCO'S move was as quick as the rasped recognition he uttered. Gripped by a convulsive fury, the dying

Twisting at the wheel, The Shadow parried the stroke with his elbow. His foot left the accelerator, but the car

was on a downward slope. It was scorching along that straight stretch of road at more than sixty miles an

One curve was past; another lay just ahead. It went to the right; if another car appeared, it would come

squarely into the path of the hurtling coupe. Like Bosco, the coupe had to be controlled within the next few

Shoving his left shoulder through the open window, The Shadow kept a lefthand grip on the wheel.

Simultaneously, his right hand grabbed Bosco's knife hand, held it at bay, the blade point almost at The

A long right leg shoved clear across the car; The Shadow's foot hooked the handle of the door on the right. As

the handle came downward, The Shadow lunged inward from his own window. Heaving hard against Bosco,

The loosened door gave. Bosco took a long, clawing dive to the highway. His last spasm was ended before he

hit the concrete. The crook had given his last ounce of life in his murderous attempt to obliterate The

Gloved hands wheeled the coupe hard, out of the path of an oncoming car. The flapping door, hinged at the

Bosco's body had rolled deep into a gully, to lie forgotten. The Shadow was speeding onward to settle scores

Those tools of Professor Lawsham had handled earlier victims; men, at present helpless, who were termed the

"Dead Who Lived." They were to learn, however, that such a title could be improved and regarded from

They were to meet another kind of Dead Who Lived as represented by The Shadow, risen from a fiery

THE East Side street was in a rundown neighborhood; but it was quiet. It wasn't the sort of thoroughfare

where crooks would ordinarily choose a place for conclave. Perhaps that was why Quill Baxton had picked it;

It was a narrow house, brickfronted, its door boarded up. There were steps, however, that led down to a

basement entry tucked well from view. That was the spot The Shadow chose, when he left the cab that

The Shadow had been forced to use precious minutes, preparing for this foray. That had necessitated a stop at

his sanctum, a hidden room in the heart of Manhattan. Since time had to be taken out, The Shadow had left

Curiously, The Shadow was visible, despite the darkness at the little doorway. That was because of the new

garb he wore. His khaki pants, though darkish, could be spied. The same applied to the brownstriped jersey

Finding the bellpush, The Shadow gave the signals. Someone opened the door, stepped out of sight. Moving

into darkness, The Shadow sensed that a gun was covering him. It would be a bad spot if he didn't know the

A flashlight glimmered to guide The Shadow up the stairs. At the top, the beam was turned upon the visitor's

"Take it easy, pal," he told his challenger. "I'm Pike Fengel. Working with Bosco Treff. Where's Quill?"

The Shadow was guided to a closed door; when it opened, he saw a lighted room, its windows completely

shuttered. Quill Baxton was seated there, eyeing a man who lay bound in the corner. The prisoner was Dick

The room had soap boxes for chairs, army cots for beds. Evidently Quill and his tribe lived tenement fashion

when they occupied these premises. There were other furnishings, though, that caught The Shadow's notice.

A big compressedair tank stood in the corner; the object was fully five feet high. In addition to that large

cylinder were smaller, portable tanks. The big tank was evidently loaded with a supply of sleepinducing gas.

The small ones were used to carry lesser quantities. One had been taken to Mandor's apartment, for the job

The Shadow also saw the apparatus that had been used in Thurnig's Servidor, and the mechanism from the

There was no sign of Harry and Arlene. The Shadow had no time to speculate on their absence. Quill was

Pike's appearance suited Quill. The Shadow looked as tough as any of Quill's own crew. What was more, The

Shadow's present face was copied from a rogues' gallery portrait of Pike. What puzzled Quill was the manner

of Pike's escape. The Shadow answered the query with a blunt tone that made Quill like him.

"You'd have seen me get out, if you'd stuck around," said The Shadow. "Instead, you lammed, leaving me in

"The floor didn't cave where I was. But I had to punch through a wall and a window, before the whole works

"The Shadow got his!" gloated the pretended Pike. "Too bad Bosco went with him. He and me was pals.

"I'll use you," Quill told The Shadow. "Only, there ain't much to do, with The Shadow done for."

"What about them stooges of his that guy Vincent and the moll? Ain't you going to put the heat on them?"

Quill came up from the soap box. He snapped his fingers in a gesture of annoyance.

"What?" he exclaimed. "We figured Vincent was just some dumb dick. It's too late for the heat. We gave 'em

the gas pipe. We shipped the dame back to the joint where she was staying. Then we found out that Vincent

For a few moments, Quill glared, his mind imbued with regret at the lost opportunity. Quill would have liked

to put the heat on anyone who served The Shadow. Then his lips writhed into a grin.

"What's the diff?" he asked. "The stooge couldn't have squawked much; neither could the moll. They've got

what was coming to 'em, and it makes everything more jake than ever. They're two more of the Dead Who

With his comments, Quill's admiration for the foresight of the visitor who called himself Pike Fengel, was

"That's what you said to Remingwood," reminded The Shadow, coolly. "Out at the nut joint. So what?"

Quill's hand came from his hip, empty. He was becoming more and more impressed with Pike.

"The prof don't want Remingwood," informed Quill. "He said to send him on a ride. So that's where he's

"Good enough," observed The Shadow, eyeing Dick. Then: "What're you getting for it, Quill?"

Pike's idea that five thousand dollars was small money, was something that aroused Quill's interest. He

THE SHADOW plucked a bent cigarette from a crumpled pack. Lighting it, he let it hang from a corner of

"Bosco talked to me some," declared The Shadow. "He made out this was a bigtime racket; and with you

being in it, Quill, I figured it was. The way I size it, this guy" he thumbed toward Dick "is worth a lot of

"Ain't he after any?" demanded The Shadow. "Or is he pulling this stuff for his health?"

"There'll be plenty of dough later," returned Quill. "I'll get my share. So will the guys that stick along, Pike."

Quill looked doubtful. He growled that he could count on the prof; that he, Quill, was wise to the racket, and

"Sure!" Rising, The Shadow stalked over to take a contemptuous look at Dick. "Hold this mug for a marker.

"That's an idea!" snapped Quill. "But what'll the prof say if Remingwood don't show up somewhere, dead on

"Tell him you sunk the guy in Long Island Sound. When Remingwood ain't found, the prof will like it all the

better. Only one trouble, though; some of these gorillas you got might know too much. You couldn't keep

By this time, Quill was ready to listen to any suggestions from Pike, and said so. Pike came through with a

plan. He'd take care of Remingwood, using some mobbies that he could summon in a hurry.

With paper and pencil, Pike marked out the location of a hideaway so well located that Quill's own

There was a telephone in the next room. Quill told Pike to use it. When The Shadow reappeared, his

"They're coming to the back alley," he told Quill. "Show me the way through. And listen; these mugs won't

know who they got, see? That's what makes it slick. You can tell your own crew that it was me took

"I'll tell the prof the same," decided Quill. "I'm going over there to see him. Only listen, Pike where'll I say

"Suppose you have me show up," he told Quill. "Didn't you ever take Bosco over to the prof's?"

"No. I could have, though, if it was important enough. It'd be a good gag, having you blow in and hand him

QUILL scrawled the name of Professor Lawsham on a sheet of paper. With it, he added other details, then

They lugged Dick out through a back passage and down a stairway to a door that Quill unbolted. They were

in the alley when a car nosed in from the street, gave its dim lights a double blink.

"The crew," whispered The Shadow. "Don't let 'em see you, Quill. They ain't to know you're in it."

As the door closed behind Quill, there was a low hiss in the darkness. Agents of The Shadow joined their

chief; they were startled when they saw his attire. Only the voice that came from the bloated lips of the

Instructions were brief. Dick heard them along with the agents and listened in amazement, while bonds and

gag were being removed from him. There was work ahead, and Dick would be needed, for other agents had

Watch had to be kept over Harry and Arlene, to make sure that crooks didn't change plans about them. It was

bad enough that they had been made victims of the sleeping gas. That was why The Shadow had made such

As Pike, The Shadow needed a wedge, to work on Professor Lawsham. He was out to play a bold game, and

a rapid one, staking everything to save the lives of Harry and Arlene, along with those three men who were

As soon as the car had pulled away, The Shadow returned into the house. As he ascended the back stairway,

he heard shuffling footsteps above: Quill's crew, returning to the hideout. That bunch of mobbies had come

in from the front, and The Shadow was glad that they had returned. It meant that Harry and Arlene were

where his agents would find them. Quill's crew didn't matter; with Dick removed from the hideout, they

Such was The Shadow's thought. For once, his judgment was to prove wrong. There was dynamite awaiting

him human dynamite, as dangerous as the actual explosive that had blasted the house in the hills.

It came when The Shadow stepped into Quill's main room, confident that his disguise would still serve him.

Scarcely across the threshold, he was suddenly surrounded by bristling guns held by thugs who had leaped

Looming squarely for The Shadow's eyes were two other revolvers. One was gripped by Quill Baxton, the

other by a man whose face glared a similar ugly challenge. At sight of the newcomer, The Shadow instantly

Like The Shadow, Quill's companion had come from the dead. The man with the ugly glower was the real

COOLLY, The Shadow faced Quill Baxton, undisturbed by the guns that prodded him from every side. Death

wouldn't come until Quill gave the word; and Quill had some reason to wait. Otherwise, The Shadow would

Not for an instant did The Shadow's disguised face show a flicker of alarm. Instead, he outstared Pike, at

those intervals when he studied the fellow. Finally, The Shadow centered his gaze on Quill. Keeping his

"You know who he is, Shadow!" sneered Quill. "Leastwise, you ought to know. You've got your mush fixed

"You mean, he looks like me?" The Shadow's growl was incredulous. "Say what is this? Some initiation

Quill studied The Shadow closely, then looked at the real Pike. That was the moment when The Shadow

repressed a grim smile. There was still a chance for life, even though the odds were long ones.

That was proven, when Quill rasped for Pike to pocket his gun. Pike hesitated, snarled a protest. Quill

"His story's the same as yours," Quill told The Shadow. "He says he got out of that side room. Only, he ain't

"Whatta you mean smart stuff?" scoffed The Shadow. "I tell you how to make sure of your dough, so you

"Where I told you. You know the place. If you don't believe it, send some of your gorillas to have a look."

The suggestion was offered coolly. Quill started to admit that it was a good idea, then stopped himself.

"Yeah?" he quizzed. "Send 'em, so there'll be less here, giving you a chance for a break! If you're The

"So you're going to croak me and then find out you're wrong. What's the use? You'll only have to rub out

Gingerly, Pike tapped the point of his left shoulder. The action brought a guffaw from The Shadow.

"He's queered his story, Quill!" The Shadow's harsh tone showed elation. "He don't even know where The

Shadow winged me! He ain't The Shadow he's too dumb but he ain't me either! He's some guy working

for The Shadow. He knows I was clipped in the shoulder; but it was the right one, not the left! Look!"

THE SHADOW thrust his right shoulder toward Quill. The mobleader saw something that he hadn't noticed

Remembering that Quill had seen him shoot at Pike, The Shadow had bandaged that shoulder as part of his

makeup. But he had purposely bandaged his right arm, to make it more effective. Actually, The Shadow had

picked Pike's left side, because Bosco had partly blocked the line of fire. All that would have been too much

As luck had it, The Shadow's touch of added realism had become a vital issue. It not only enabled him to

"You shoulda knowed it would be my gun arm," scoffed The Shadow. "That's the one The Shadow always

shoots for, ain't it? Maybe I'd have dropped him, if he hadn't winged me the way he did. You want to see how

Hauling down his jersey with his left hand, The Shadow showed the reddyed bandage on his right shoulder.

That was another faked proof that caught all eyes. Quill and his craning mobbies, even Pike, scarcely saw

The Shadow's left hand continue its downsweep to the belt that encircled his khaki pants.

Though gunners still prodded him with revolvers, their fingers were lax on triggers. Knowing it, The Shadow

risked everything on one surprise move. Before the startled mobsters knew it was coming, he took a long

As he twirled, The Shadow whipped an automatic from beneath his belt. His spin was leftward; the sweep of

his left hand seemed to carry his weight around, thanks to the heavy gun. He had started for the center of the

room, but his swift whirl took him past the flank of the mobster group. He was halfway to the door when his

Revolvers were barking, late in their aim. Instinctively, the gunners leaped toward the inner wall, where Quill

and Pike were coming into action. Their game was to wither The Shadow before he could reach the exit.

Had he been clad in black, The Shadow might have made a fade, to put up a shifting battle from the gloomy

fringes of the room. His present attire didn't allow him that chance. Not counting the first shots, which were

He might even have clipped a pair before they could drop him; but these odds were impossible. The Shadow

was one against six, all spread apart, and the battle was scheduled for close range.

His .45 spoke without a human target in its path. Not once but in rapid fire, keeping on a certain mark, while

he suddenly reversed his shift. There were clangs that answered those drilling bullets. Those sounds came

from a bulky target that was a more useful mark than any of The Shadow's foemen.

A fierce sizzle issued from beside the wall. The Shadow had punctured the tank that held the sleepinducing

HIGHLY compressed, that vapor spat forth enveloping fumes a yellow cloud that came between The

Shadow and his foemen. Thugs saw the menace; with one accord, they hurled themselves for the doorway,

Past the fringe of the gas, driving like a human arrow, The Shadow came to intercept them. He was locked

with the first of those enemies, smashing their faces with his bare right hand, as he pounded hard with the gun

Crooks went down, some plunging through the doorway. Others paused, hoping to riddle The Shadow from

their path. His shots were speedier. Men caved away. Pike was lunging in the rear of the throng; The Shadow

Stumbling about, Pike came headon against another fighter. That man was Quill; the mobleader was

desperate. Thinking Pike to be The Shadow, Quill jabbed his gun against the fellow's stomach, fired shots

The Shadow, meanwhile, had settled the last opposition near the doorway. In that chaos, crooks had lost their

heads. They hadn't realized that the spreading gas could not immediately overpower them. It was Quill, alone,

Quill was choking only slightly, when he came through the doorway. He steadied there, looked back at the

sprawled form of Pike. With a sneer, Quill triggered his revolver, to enjoy another shot at the man he had

The hammer clicked on a dead cartridge. Quill realized that his gun was empty. So did The Shadow, standing

Shivers of a mocking laugh toned close to Quill's ear. Wheeling savagely, Quill again saw the face of Pike;

he realized his mistake. Starting to tug at the trigger again, he remembered that the gun was empty and made

That savage blow was parried the instant it started. Plucking Quill's arm, The Shadow used his other hand to

get a throttling grip on the racketeer's throat. He shoved Quill back into the room. Bulgeeyed, Quill could

Handling Quill like the rat he was, The Shadow gave him a terrific sideward shake. Half strangled, Quill

sagged; his eyes were dazed. The Shadow gave him a spinning fling that landed Quill close beside the gas

The heavy vapor was settling on that portion of the floor. Quill's flattened figure disappeared in the yellow

haze. From the doorway, The Shadow watched, ignoring the moans of thugs who lay close by him.

There were other sounds, too, to which The Shadow paid no heed: the muffled shrills of police whistles; the

rattles of a nightstick from the sidewalk in front of the house. All that concerned The Shadow was the

As Quill's figure came to sight, like a derelict motionless in settling fog, The Shadow strode over and hoisted

the senseless racketeer across his shoulders. Lighter than Bosco, Quill made an easy burden. Rapidly, The

ALTHOUGH the boarded front door was bursting under the attack of the police, the rear route still was clear.

Descending the short stairway, The Shadow reached the back door, that he had left unbolted when he

returned from carting Remingwood down. He was in the blackness of the alley, when he heard the faint crash

The Shadow had added to the ranks of the Dead Who Lived; but the victims upon whom he had forced the

sleep gas were the sort who deserved its clutch. When found by the police, their part in crime would be

No longer would mystery enshroud the Dead Who Lived. The condition attributed to a malady would be

properly classed as a manmade state, produced through criminal deeds. But there was still a task that

concerned The Shadow. It was the rescue of the other Dead Who Lived innocent persons, among whose

To save them, The Shadow needed an interview with Professor Lawsham. His only course would be to outwit

the schemer who held the precious antidote. After a return to life was assured the Dead Who Lived, The

So far, only one murder could be checked against the crafty professor the death of Doctor Broyce. But

other murder was on its way, creeping in with slowmotion precision. Murder of the Dead Who Lived, unless

Soon, The Shadow was riding in the taxi that had stayed by to await him. Beside him lay Quill Baxton,

That strange breathing was drowned by an even stranger tone, that issued from lips that looked like those of

For The Shadow had found a way to enter Lawsham's closeguarded preserves. As Pike Fengel, he was

bringing a human passport in the person of Quill Baxton, the most recent addition to the Dead Who Lived!

A TINY flashlight glowed upon a grimy hand; in the palm lay a paper, written in the scrawled penmanship of

Quill Baxton. The tiny light went out. A figure moved along the sidewalk, to a gateway between two

That figure was carrying a burden. Lugging it through the gate, the carrier followed a darkened passage

hemmed by old brick walls. He came to another gate, then a tiny courtyard where stunted trees grew from

There were steps that led downward to a rear door of a basement. That was the carrier's destination. He

halted; found a bellbutton and pushed it. Soon, he detected footsteps beyond the heavy door.

The grimy hand delivered a tattoo of knocks. A wicket opened in response to the signal. A blockyjawed

A face thrust close to the wicket. The inside man saw the thuggish features that looked like Pike's. He didn't

guess that behind that disguise lay the unknown face of The Shadow. The guard looked doubtful.

"Quill Baxton," whispered The Shadow, hoarsely. "Take a gander at his mush. You'll know him."

Hoisting the man that he had carried through the passage, The Shadow shoved a drooped face into the light.

The guard recognized Quill; moreover, he knew what had happened to the racketeer. He opened the door.

Together, The Shadow and Lawsham's servant lugged Quill to another barrier. There, the servant told The

Shadow to wait, while he reported. It wasn't long before more servants arrived. They carried Quill through;

Professor Lawsham was in a little corner room fixed like an office. It was an untidy place; among its

furnishings was a bookstrewn couch. The books were removed and Quill was laid on the couch. Eyeing The

The professor didn't doubt that this visitor was one of Quill's outfit. But there were questions that he wanted

"Sure!" The Shadow gave a grin. "That's me! Pal of Bosco Treff's. It was him got me into the racket."

"Ah, yes." Lawsham evidently recognized Bosco's name. "And how did you happen to come here?"

"So's to bring Quill." The Shadow pointed to the slowbreathing racketeer. "That's easy to answer."

The Shadow shoved Quill's direction paper into Lawsham's hand. The professor frowned.

"I know what you're thinking, prof," said The Shadow, in his rough tone. "Quill wasn't supposed to put

nobody wise. Only, he did and I was the guy. His idea was to doublecross you. Savvy?"

THE evidence bore that trend, and Lawsham was shrewd enough to see it. Clasping his hands together, he

suggested that Pike tell his story. The Shadow gave it, suiting the details to his present purpose.

"Quill hands me this guy Remingwood," The Shadow related. "Tells me he's slated for the spot, but the idea

is to stow him somewhere. Then Quill's coming here to collect five grand. I'm to show up later and tell how I

"All the while, he's keeping the guy, to make sure you cough over the coin. And maybe he makes me think

it, anyway maybe he's going to shake you down, later. So I takes Remingwood and croaks him!"

"Why not?" The Shadow puffed his lips into a grin. "Quill was staging a double cross. And the way I figure

"When I get back with Quill, I fixed him! Took him like that" The Shadow spread his hands to indicate a

choking gesture "so's he wouldn't make no squawk! Then I hands him the gas pipe!"

"How come?" demanded The Shadow. "I had to lug him here, didn't I? Anyway, Quill says that you can snap

"That's to hold the mazuma," he told the professor. "Only, five grand ain't enough. I ought to get that much

LAWSHAM was tapping the desk. He saw a possible flaw in the story. That was exactly what The Shadow

wanted, and had expected. He didn't have to read Lawsham's thoughts; he had foreseen them.

There was a chance that Quill had needed special services from one of his men. Logically, he would have

chosen Bosco; but Lawsham knew that Bosco was dead. Quill could have chosen Pike as substitute.

Pike, not Quill, might be the doublecrosser. Knowing too much of the game, he might have gassed Quill,

then cooked up the story, to claim the five thousand dollars and more. Lawsham finished that mental

"Think I'm stringing you, prof?" demanded The Shadow, preserving his thicklipped grin. "That's why I

"That's it!" The harsh tone became earnest. "Look, prof. I ain't selling you no bum bill of goods. You yank

Quill out of this trance he's in and put the heat on him. You do it right and he'll go yellow. When he does,

"Nothing doing!" The Shadow shook his head. "I'm lamming tonight, and I want the dough that'll be coming

to me. Besides" The Shadow added the next bait shrewdly "there's a chance Quill may have put some

other guys wise to something. If I was you, I wouldn't waste no time finding out. Quill's the bozo that can

Lawsham saw the value of the argument. He also decided that Pike's services might prove useful, if Quill

refused to talk. Opening the door, Lawsham called his servants. He told one to remain with Pike; he ordered

While the servants were present, Lawsham reached in a desk drawer, took out a leatherbound notebook. He

The Shadow knew, almost to a certainty, that the little book contained the formula for the antidote to the

sleeping gas. To risk fighting for it at this moment would be too great, especially with three of Lawsham's

Indifferently, The Shadow lighted a cigarette. He asked as Lawsham was leaving the office:

"Thought maybe you had some books with pitchers in 'em," returned The Shadow. "I get the heebies, sitting

Lawsham told the servant to bring some picture magazines from a book rack in a corner of the office.

Leaving, the professor closed the door. He decided that one of his capable watchers could keep Pike Fengel

IN the test room, Professor Lawsham consulted the formula book. His assistants brought him chemical

mixtures as he called for them. From those, Lawsham compounded a greenish gas, that filled a large glass

They wheeled in a portable bench that looked like an operating table, with Quill stretched upon it. An oxygen

tent was placed over the racketeer's head. Attaching a hose, Lawsham let the gas trickle through.

The door of the test room was shut; the scene was tense. Lawsham was counting seconds, as he changed the

flow of the gas. Slowly, the greenish line descended into the cylinder, then stopped.

Like Lawsham, the assistants were intent upon the scene. They didn't notice the slow inching open of the

door, when it occurred. All during the process, they were watched by eyes that peered from the outer

Lawsham tolled off several minutes, then gave another application of the gas. He cut the flow to a mere

trickle, as he leaned beside the oxygen tent to listen. Quill's breathing had changed. It was choky, spasmodic.

One assistant removed the gas hose; the other applied a tube from an oxygen tank. The new flow brought

deeper, steadier strength to Quill's stifled breathing. Lawsham nodded; the treatment was finished.

The little tent was taken away. Quill lay with his eyes closed, breathing ordinary air in long, satisfied drafts.

His eyes opened; he propped himself upon the table, blinked at Lawsham. The professor glanced at his watch.

Quill's senses were restored, although he looked weak and shaky. Perhaps that shakiness was due partly to

another sight that met his eyes. Lawsham's assistants had produced revolvers. One on each side of the table,

"What what's the idea?" gulped Quill. "Say, prof, how'd I get here and why the gats?"

"You don't remember," soothed Lawsham. "Ah! Neither did Remingwood, until I unwisely reminded him. In

your case, Quill, a jog of the memory may be useful. I spoke of Remingwood by the way, where is he?"

"So you doublecrossed me!" he sneered. "It appears that Pike was right. Pike Fengel do you remember the

A look of terror came to Quill's blunt face. His hard eyes darted wildly, his long jaw quivered. The men who

covered him thought that mere guilt caused that expression; but Lawsham knew Quill too well, to let it pass

"I've met him," replied Lawsham, watching Quill closely. "He's here in my office."

"He can't be!" Quill's tone was frantic. "Pike's dead! The guy that's here he's he's "

Lawsham didn't wait for the completion of Quill's gasping sentence. The truth had struck the shrewd

professor. He grabbed his men, pointed them to the door and gave a raucous order.

LAWSHAM'S burly servants were through the doorway and halfway across the laboratory before the

professor was out of the test room. Stopping just beyond the threshold, Lawsham pulled a revolver of his

He saw them yank open the door of the office. As they sprang in, Lawsham viewed the scene they uncovered.

The only person in the room was the servant who had stayed to watch Pike Fengel. The servant was bound

On the desk rested the satchel that the fake Pike had brought. It was open, empty, but not in hope of receiving

Lawsham's tainted cash. Black objects had been taken from that bag; the crooked professor was soon to

An eerie laugh whispered through the laboratory. Lawsham heard it, realized that the sound came from

behind him. The professor spun about, to see The Shadow step from the wall, squarely to the threshold of the

Cloaked in black, The Shadow had become a being of vengeance. He had penetrated to the source of crime;

he held its chief perpetrator helpless. For an instant, Lawsham's scrawny hand tightened its clutch on his

"Unwise, professor!" The Shadow's tone was sibilant. "Your efforts will be useless. Your formula book is on

the bench. The tank is still well filled. I have witnessed your entire procedure. No details were missed."

Recognizing that his life was worthless to The Shadow, Lawsham let the revolver clatter. His thin arms came

upward. At a motion from the automatic, Lawsham sidestepped. Two seconds later, he was gritting oaths at

The Shadow had moved Lawsham over, to point a second .45 at the two servants who had piled from the

office. Tricked by the tone of The Shadow's laugh, they had looked in the wrong direction. When they stared

toward the test room, they saw that they were covered. They let their guns drop.

"Your pretexts were useless," he told the professor. "The evening that Arlene Delton came here, this house

was unwatched. Yet crooks sought her life immediately after she returned to her apartment. It was obvious

"Odd, too, how you 'remembered' those telephone calls from Hadley; how crooks showed up here to trail

Vincent when he left. You had time to summon them when you went below. All in all, professor," the tone

Lawsham stretched to his full height. He folded his arms, tilted back his head to shake away locks of whitish

"Of what am I guilty?" he questioned, cannily. "Thurnig, Brellick, Mandor none are dead. They are ill, like

Vincent and Arlene. You will restore them to soundness and I will be very much obliged to you, for then I

LAWSHAM'S beady eyes were watching The Shadow. Tiny pinpoints, they sought to scrutinize the face

beneath the brim of the slouch hat. Lawsham wanted to analyze The Shadow's expression, before offering

There was one fact which the shrewd professor had wisely dodged. It was The Shadow who suddenly

"You have forgotten Broyce," spoke The Shadow. "One man, Lawsham, who was murdered at your order."

The professor's lips produced a grin. He was prepared for that statement. His smirk faded, his face took on a

"Poor Doctor Broyce," he said. "He had a shock one that his weak heart could not stand. There is no one,

however, who could ever prove that Broyce was here when the attack struck him; that it was induced by

"Broyce was found dead, in a bus, traveling west. He was pronounced a victim of a heart ailment.

Unfortunately" Lawsham's smirk had reappeared "he had no papers that identified him. No, Broyce's

So sure was Lawsham of that point that he stepped closer to The Shadow, raising his head boldly. If ever a

master mind of crime had prepared to meet all emergencies, that man was Professor Uriah Lawsham.

"Should you testify regarding my activities," he chuckled, "you can swear only that you saw me restore a

gassed victim our friend, Quill Baxton. Young Remingwood, it happens, owes his life to me, and will have

to testify to that effect. More than that, I can produce the record that credits him with our new process,

"As for the option that I gave Mandor and his associates, I can produce it also, with receipts for money

already paid me. When they reached Mandor, he can only thank me for preserving them. He will be too

The Shadow shifted slightly. From the edge of his cloak, a bit of white appeared the end of a long envelope.

It told Lawsham that The Shadow had already acquired the papers mentioned, while in the little office.

Despite the professor's smugness, the pretense that he wished to clear himself, The Shadow could see an evil

gleam in those tiny eyes. It was a quickflashed signal, wellcovered; but it gave the next move away.

Behind The Shadow's back, Quill Baxton had risen from the wheeled table. He was reaching for the tank that

contained the green gas, hoping to smash it upon The Shadow's head. That would have been a double deed to

Lawsham's liking: elimination of The Shadow, along with the antidote that could save the Dead Who Lived.

Lawsham's quick look was an instinctive signal of encouragement to Quill. It proved useless. Quill's fingers

The Shadow's right hand sped in a semicircle; his fingers pressed a gun trigger. Quill sagged, stabbed to the

THE SHADOW had seen Quill's moves reflected in the chromiumplated surface of a globular sterilizing

cabinet just inside the doorway. With Quill's figure dwarfed by that convex mirror, The Shadow had too

The sweep of The Shadow's arm took away the gun that covered Lawsham. No longer did the professor

display a faltering gait. He was on the move the instant that The Shadow started to cover Quill.

Recovering his revolver with a longarmed scoop, Lawsham came bounding in with agile speed. His servants

The Shadow made a long step forward to meet Lawsham. His left hand was busy loosing shots at the reckless

servants. While they were doubling to the floor, The Shadow made a sidestep that forced Lawsham to a shift

With a sweep, The Shadow sidled in upon him. A fierce laugh mocked Lawsham; he was covered again, by a

muzzle that almost touched his forehead. Wildly, the professor dropped; as The Shadow's hand slugged

A choppy lefthand stroke was all The Shadow needed to bash the revolver from Lawsham's fist. Even the

loss of the gun didn't stop the maddened professor. He had become a frantic fiend. Clutching for The

Footsteps pounded; more servants were coming from the floor above, attracted by the gunfire. They saw the

struggle between their master and The Shadow. Four in number, they deployed, hoping to get an angled range

While he fought off Lawsham, The Shadow kept the professor as a shield. He had a gun loose; with it, he

could have picked off the servants. Instead, The Shadow gave them a defiant laugh one that halted them.

There was something sinister in that challenge, that told them they were trapped.

New footsteps proved it. Before the servants could wheel to the stairs, men appeared there. Dick

Remingwood had arrived, accompanied by a pair of The Shadow's agents. They had used the old route

Flinging Lawsham to the floor, The Shadow let the murderous professor grovel there, his gun just out of

reach. The servants were disarmed. Dick and the men with him were following The Shadow's lowtoned

It was Dick who pocketed the precious notebook that contained the formula for the antidote. Cliff Marsland

and "Hawkeye" the two agents of The Shadow carried away the cylinder of green gas. The Shadow

Dick stopped to open the rear entrance to the basement. When he had gone up the main stairs, The Shadow

stepped in the same direction. Lawsham, glowering, kept watching him; the servants stood sullen and silent.

Men were coming through that rear passage. The first to arrive was Inspector Joe Cardona; behind him, a

squad of detectives. They had received a tipoff while searching through Quill's hideout; a call from The

Knowing that Lawsham had intended to take half an hour, The Shadow had made that call from the

professor's own office, just after overpowering the lone guard stationed there. When Cardona received orders

THE SHADOW watched the law take over. Uriah Lawsham made a grab for his revolver; but one detective

kicked the gun away, while another pinned the professor's arms behind him. That grip didn't last long.

Madly, Lawsham broke the hold. Fighting, clawing at the dicks, he dived for the test room. The Shadow

couldn't get off a shot; the detectives were in the way. Like The Shadow, Joe Cardona saw the professor grab

Detectives dropped back. Triumphantly, Lawsham, raised those bottles, to heave them into the laboratory.

His murderous eyes were wild with delight; like his highpitched, incoherent cries, they registered his

The Shadow had left! There was still a chance for flight! Moreover, it meant death for these invaders who

A gun spurted from the stairway. That shot was aimed three inches above Lawsham's right hand. It cracked a

bottle filled with purplish fluid, sent the liquid deluging to the floor. Lawsham jolted in stark surprise, as if he

had received the bullet himself. As he clawed the air with his empty right hand, he lost his grip on the bottle

The second container shattered. Thick, blackish fluid mingled with the purple. A puff of smoke filled the test

room; flames spurted everywhere, licking along the shelves. More chemicals exploded in a miniature

Fire roared from the little room, coming in furious spurts. Detectives snatched up extinguishers from the

laboratory, hoping to confine the blaze to the smokefilled test room. In that, they were successful, although

Amid the roar of the flames came a fade of wildscreeched shouts, that were gone with the man who uttered

Those shrieks were the last of Uriah Lawsham, as the evil professor perished in his selfmade hell.

THERE was a laugh, mirthless as a knell, that sounded when Professor Lawsham perished. It came from the

blackness of the stairway. Listening detectives heard it, but could not guess its source.

For the stairway, itself, was void by the time those echoes faded, like the dwindling crackles of the flame.

The Shadow had conquered crime; he had been present to stifle a master fiend's last thrust. The Shadow was

The next sensation in the episode of the Dead Who Lived was the sudden and remarkable recovery of all the

victims who had inhaled the sleep gas. It took place within the next few hours, under the supervision of

First to revive were Harry Vincent and Arlene Delton, whose stay under the power of the death sleep had

been a short one. Thurnig, Brellick and Mandor were more difficult cases; but Sayre's skill eased them back

The three investors were well enough, the next day, to read the newspaper reports that supplied the final links

to crime; for Sayre had also revived the crooks who served Quill Baxton, and for once, such thugs were

That departure from underworld tradition was attributed to the after effects of the sleep gas; but the theory

was wrong. What loosened the tongues of all the crooks was their recollection of the mighty battler who had

The revived crooks wanted no more conflict with The Shadow. To avoid it, they talked, even admitting their

In fact, Sayre's observations indicated that the sleep gas left no after effects upon persons who had been

strong enough to stand the original treatment. Such talk had been a pretext on the part of Professor Lawsham,

The spell of the sleep gas was ended. Those longest under its influence were wholly recovered, except for

TWO days later, at the hospital, Doctor Sayre allowed the three investors to hold a brief conference. James

Mandor showed the options to Martin Brellick and George Thurnig, explaining that the papers had been

mysteriously delivered to him. The three discussed other matters, that were finally left entirely to Mandor.

Himself the proven owner of the formula for the cheap production of synthetic rubber, Dick held the very key

that the investors wanted. The process was his, not Lawsham's, and he was free to discuss new terms. They

The proposed company was incorporated, with Dick as an equal shareholder. The directors Mandor,

Brellick, and Thurnig forthwith elected him president. Dick was given full charge of production, while their

task was to raise additional capital, a matter which offered very little difficulty.

Among those desirous of buying stock in the new concern was Lamont Cranston, a millionaire whose ability

at picking good investments led many to follow his lead. Again, the hand of The Shadow was visible in the

To Dick Remingwood, however, there came a greater reward than any that promise of wealth could produce.

That was his marriage to Arlene Delton, a quiet ceremony attended by only a few friends, Harry Vincent

The bride and groom were aboard a liner, ready to depart for a long West Indies cruise, when Harry joined

them, to see them off. They were seated in the spacious lounge, when they heard a steward's call:

Dick shook his head. He smiled at Arlene. She knew the words that were in her husband's mind.

It was Arlene who spoke them, her tone filled with fervent recollection of the person whose deeds had